Leaves on the Wind

Chapters

Chapter One: Crime
Chapter Two: Assembly
Chapter Four: Exordium
Chapter Five: Bonds
Prologue
Chapter Three: Epiphany

Chapter One: Crime

“We’re about four clicks out, Captain. No Alliance on your tails, or any other soul for that matter. We’re pretty much alone out here, so whatever you do, don’t start panicking and hyperventilating or that suit’s air supply will run out licketty-split,” crackled a stallion’s voice over the helmet’s built-in communication system.

A single reflective helmet popped up from behind a slab of thick metal sheeting, the last remains of a mid-size freighter long since abandoned which sat silently in space as if it had never been anywhere else in its short history. The helmet peeked out warily, scanned the stars and planets which dotted the skies in their vast multitudes for a few quick seconds, and then darted back in to continue its work.

“Perfect, Windy. Keep scanning just in case anything pops up and keep me posted. We’re almost done here. What’s your E.T.A?”

“About twenty minutes, but I can speed things up over here and shorten that up a bit, if you need,” the voice responded after a moment’s delay. The helmet, along with the stallion inside, bent over further to continue its task at hoof.

I think I will pass, Windy. As much as I love my ship, I could use the time away from you.

“No rush, Windy. Keep her on course and get dinner started. We’re going to need some grub once this is all over. Celestia knows we’ve earned it.”

“Hey, I didn’t think you believed in that sort of thing, boss!” Windy answered, confusion and a touch of excitement lingering on the airwaves as the audio piped in through the small tinny speakers. “Hey Dexxy, honey, when did our fearless leader start believing in the supernatural? What exactly are you two digging out of that hull? It’s not a body is it?”

He fired his questions off in quick succession, clearly confused as another body drifted around the corner of the ship’s hull.

“No dear, no bodies yet…” a female voice said calmly, glancing quickly between her Captain and the door which they had spent the last few hours trying to open. The stallion's eyes flared, and as they did she pressed a large button on her little computer to relay another message to her partner.

“Something tells me the Captain may be rethinking that last part. Best not piss him off,” she stated simply, closing the connection with a press of a button. She gave a small smile to her Captain - one which was not reciprocated - and then floated down the side of the hull, grasping at broken pieces of metal and siding as she passed. Without a sound, she landed right beside him, gesturing to the small minicomputer on her forehoof with a glare. She pressed hers, waiting patiently for him to do the same.

Shit, not this spiel again… he thought as he pressed the same button on his own minicomputer, bracing for the worst.

”You know, he really tries to be nice to you. Maybe you should give him a shot, I know he only wants to be a part of the crew…” she said softly, her voice slow and calm, not at all what he had expected to hear out of her. Taken aback for a few moments, he tensed and replied, choosing his words carefully.

“He is a member of the crew…but he needs to understand that it is MY crew, not his to arbitrarily create for himself.” The stallion's voice was firm, his face and eyes probing her own for any flicker of emotion. There were none. Just like old times.

“He’s a good stallion, Captain, and he wants to-”

“No, Dex," the stallion challenged, "he's not 'good' just because you say so. He has to earn that title, and thus far he hasn’t done anything to prove to me that he really is as 'good' as you make him out to be!"

“Hasn’t he? He has been piloting this ship for about as long as we have been on deck! He and Cammy keep her up and running smoothly, and he is always there to keep us from going off the wagon plugging every outlaw or backwater degenerate we end up locking horns with. Celestia know you have no clue what’s going on in the engine room, and he at least knows where the wires go...”

“Hey, if Cammy hadn’t decided to re-wire the whole damn ship, I might not have had to go in there in the first place.”

“Y’know, she was telling me about that incident. What were you trying to blame again? ‘Terrifying’ space monkeys?”

“Hey, you weren’t there. I don’t think I was too far off.”

She started to chuckle, but a steely glare from her Captain was enough warning for her to silence herself. Constructing her argument for a brief moment, she swallowed and continued.

“Regardless, Sir, they got the ship’s engine running better than any time that month. You couldn’t have gotten the extra boost you needed without them, and you wouldn’t have been able to pilot the ship yourself to take full advantage of it without his help. He is the best pony for the job and you know it. He wants so much to be a part of the crew, a real part of it, and he gets continually shafted having to pilot the ship, staying on-board while everyone else runs off. If being in that position isn’t downright unfair then I don’t know what is.”

She stared at him calmly, cautiously testing the waters of her friend’s eyes. She had seen those eyes so many times before, and every time they frightened her more and more. Those were the eyes of her Captain when things would go wrong, the eyes which always accompanied some sudden turn of fortune or twist of fate, even if they were safe like they were now, alone in space with a task at hoof and more than enough time to complete it in. She lowered her head slightly, giving thanks that her inter-helmet microphone didn’t turn on automatically to record her plea.

“You don’t have to be a Sergeant anymore, Sir…” she whispered as her Captain, ignorant to her words, kept his eyes on the door before turning to face her again.

“That’s enough, Dex. We need to get back to work. Get the wire placed and everything secure while I go talk to your husband,” he said gruffly, clicking the little button on his minicomputer to silence Dex’s feed while simultaneously pressing another button next to it. “Windy, what's your E.T.A?”

“Another ten minutes, Captain. What’s the trouble?” the voice crackled in reply after a few moments.

“Nothing, Windy. I just don’t like sitting here any longer than I have to.”

“So, want me to hoof it over then?” the voice said, a suppressed chortle barely evident over their helmets’ speakers. They rolled their eyes in unison.

“Yes, Windy. Please don’t ever make those jokes again.”

“Oh c’mon Captain, lighten up! Geez, the one time we don’t have to worry about Alliance patrols is the one time you get all grumpy...”

“Just do it, Windy. I want to get the goods, get off this wreck, and back on the ship. No complications. Just move it,” the stallion growled. Glancing over to his compatriot, he couldn’t help but notice a twinge of sadness mixed with no small dose of anger coming to a broil from behind her visor.

*sigh*….if I must…

He clicked the button and opened the channel again, struggling to keep his voice sounding somewhat pleasant even as his eyes contemplated murder.

“...Please?”

“That’s the spirit Cap’n. Be there in a flash!” came their pilot's happy reply before a fizzling *pop* silenced his connection, leaving the Captain alone with nothing but the sound of his breaths and the sizzling of the door by which he stood to distract him.

He closed the connection just as Dex broke the seal surrounding the hatch in question. “Full pressure,” she stated happily, glancing behind her at the Captain, surveying the space around them again. “The goods must be intact.”

“Great. Dex, get a line on those boxes: We won’t have time to sort things out, so we'll just take it all with us. If we can’t get it through the door then just rip it throu-”

Windy’s voice exploded through their intercoms, shocking them both into rapt attention.

“A cruiser just pinged us! We’ve got three mid-size gunships bearing down on your position!” the voice yelled hurriedly, and a shared look from Captain to First-Mate confirmed their suspicions.

They were humped.

“Windy, get the engine up to full speed and get your ass over here now!” the Captain shouted as he pressed the large orange button on his mini-computer, toggling the ship's intercom system from afar. “Listen up everypony, we’ve got a fair bit to do and not a whole lot of time to do it in. Windy’s in charge for now, so do as he says. Disengage the Shuttle One lock to the ship but don’t release the shuttle, we’re going to need to pull an Apple’s Folly and we can’t screw it up! ”

He turned and looked back into the hatch to find all of the crates stashed upon a mesh of wires whose edges were sealed around a thick steel cable, creating a jumbled, disorganized, but sturdy net. In one swift movement, Dex grabbed every edge and began fastening them to a large steel cable the Captain was pulling from a drum on his pack.

“We’re going to do a WHAT?” his First-Mate screamed through their connection as he brusquely turned her around, rifling through her pack.

“An Apple’s Folly. It’s very difficult and we can’t mess it up or we can pretty much kiss our furry asses goodbye!”

“And what, pray tell, is this suicidal move we are about to pull?” she gasped as the Captain grabbed a large chunk of broken metal from the hull of the ship, wrapping the thick metal cord around a few times before holding the edges together to hold it in place. “...And what the hell is that for?”

“Grab that welding torch!” he exclaimed, gesticulating wildly with his hoof to the metal gun-like contraption Dex had used to cut apart the door. She slid it over the ground, the lack of gravity negating the weight as the Captain swung it up and around swiftly, dousing the wire in a cool blue plasma flare as he yelled out his rushed explanation.

“We’re going to pull an Apple’s Folly: a rescue move I’ve only heard of once or twice. I guess it’s similar to Applejack’s lasso, from those stories we were told as kids. If this wire doesn’t hold or Windy shows up a second later than I need him to, you can pretty much guarantee that husband of yours will be out of a job and our pretty mugs will be the first thing people think of when they hear the word ‘cheese grater’!”

Drenching the wire in the plasma stream, her Captain continued his work until the wire, white-hot and melting a little onto the steel crates underneath, was as thoroughly molten together as it could be before the heat was doused by the surrounding space, leaving nothing but the shining steely glint of molten steel behind.

“Get outside the ship, Dex: I need you to catch this,” he ordered, Dex nodding before propelling herself quickly through the cut-out door frame with inequine speed. As she hurtled through space, Windy’s voice crackled once more over their relay.

“Five minutes out, Captain. I don’t know what it is you’re trying to do, but those cruisers are inbound in the opposite direction, and they're coming in fast! We will need to sweep by and open the doors; you guys can just crawl in or…”

“No time, Windy. I’m sending something out, and you need to catch it.”

A gasp from Dex behind him, barely audible over the crackling of the cooling metal as it continued to solidify, was followed by a long radio silence.

“Umm, Captain, you want me to do WHAT?”

“Catch it. We have no time to explain, Windy. You’ll know what to do…”

Another glance to his partner whose orange eyes, normally the placid and controlled little pools of color as he had ever known them to be, betraying slight ripple of anxiety.

We’ve gotten out of worse spots, you and I, the Captain thought. But you’re right, we DO need him.

“I trust you, Windy. Let’s hoof it, alright?” the stallion exclaimed, keeping his eye contact with his First-Mate all the while.

Another short silence, and then:

“You’ve got it, Boss. Over and out.”

The Captain could hear him struggling to keep some grasp of the perilous situation they found themselves in at the forefront of his mind as the unidentified gunships barreled towards them, and he could sense that Windy’s last message had been delivered with no small smile behind those little eyes of his. Regardless, both the Captain and Dex were reassured he would be there soon, and they smiled together, knowing that their little white knight was making its way across the galactic board to rescue them from another tight spot.

Closing the connection for the final time, and with a great buck from his well-tempered hind legs, the crate and trailing wire burst clear of the door and hurtled outside to be caught by Dex, her limbs planted firmly on the surrounding metal and her suit’s thruster working overtime to combat his applied momentum and their haul in zero gravity. Clipping the netting to a wire from her pack, she swung the almost-weightless crates wrapped snugly in their wire mesh through the open space as she scrambled for the top of the ship’s hull towards a large flat stretch of sheeting near the bow. Avoiding the many micro-meteorite holes which dashed and dotted the surface, she placed the netting with the crates on the surface and clambered on top as best she could, using her utility belt to strap herself to the main wire before wrapping it tightly around her legs. “Ready, Cap’n!” she barked, shielding her eyes with her free hoof from the glare of their local sun.

A sun whose position in space was rapidly moving. A sun which was getting closer.

She’d seen this tactic before, and a glance from the periphery of her vision confirmed her fears: this sun had split into three.

“Captain, the warbirds are here!”

Her voice cracking through his intercom was all he needed to jolt himself into action. Pushing the scrap metal holding their long wire in place towards the door he gave a hearty shove, pushing the metal out the door and, as the wire’s slack took hold, slightly up and out above the door frame. Taking a deep breath, he slid his hooves up against the wall on the far side of the door just as the metal weight began to rise.

With a great kick from his hindlegs on the wall behind him, he rocketed out of the room like a missile and tackled the metal weight, using his forward momentum and thrusters to swing the weight out and up until it hovered over the ship like a balloon, swaying fifty feet above them in The Black. Once the weight reached its zenith, he gave one last push on the underside, propelling him towards the waiting cargo and its sole occupant.

Fate decided to wait until he was just halfway between the two steel masses to turn the tables.

Three bolts of multicolored lightning glanced off the bow of the wreck, leaving behind trails of charred and bubbling metal in their wake. The gunships were opening fire and rapidly closing the gap between them, tearing up the miles between them at no small speed.

But no sooner had he landed on the crate did their cavalry arrive.

“Coming in hot, Cap’n!” Windy’s voice came out loud and clear over the speakers as their familiar engine’s hum grew in intensity, the feedback and proximity of their radio waves screeching tinnily in their heads. No sooner could the two point out the colors of their attacker’s hulls did they see their salvation.

Propelled by an everchanging wave of swirling light, their chariot rose over the far side of the wreck like a steel sun, hurtling over the mass of dead and drifting space wreckage with a limber agility and control befitting its skilled helmsman as the ship began its close orbit. A sleek silver capsule, flanked on either side by smaller propulsion engines jutting out from steel wings, swirled and spun to avoid the metal wreck’s flotsam as Windy closed the gap. Green and yellow bolts erupted from the oncoming warships, glancing off the hull above the cockpit.

A few feet lower and their rescue would have been put on hold. Indefinitely.

The warships, upon recognition of the offending crafts intentions, began more proximal and deadly maneuvers. Engines suddenly flaring with a greater fire, they swooped in towards the foreign craft, threatening to intercept.

“Don’t screw this up Windy” the Captain growled to himself, clutching wire with his eyes closed, awaiting the inevitable.

The second he closed his mouth, their pilot earned his stripes.

One hundred yards out, the silver craft pulled into a lazy roll, deflecting the oncoming laser bolts from its reinforced underside as it swung its port-side engine, with extended over-engine shuttle, towards the wreckage. Just then, the main engine shut off, propelling the craft on momentum alone as the port and starboard-side engines took up the main engine’s slack.

“Move, Dex! Move!” The captain shouted over their shared feed, grabbing the metal line in his hooves and pulling himself along and upwards towards the metal balloon above. With equal fervor she followed him, making sure to leave enough space between themselves and the balloon for her husband to work with.

Just as the ship passed over the two waiting forms beneath, the metal balloon snagged between the shuttle’s undercarriage and the engines extended wing, forcing the balloon-like shard of metal to wedge firmly between the two. As the connection was made, the starboard-side engine pointed downwards slightly, causing the ship to swing main engine out around the balloon as a focal point. Their closest engine shut down, allowing them a brief chance to scramble up the wire and close the gap between themselves and the waiting craft. The resonating hum of the main engine through the speaker feedback was enough motivation to make a sharp and very prominent point:

The engine is charging. Now’s your chance.

No sooner had the connection been made did the Captain and Dex scramble up the cable, ducking underneath the port-side engine as more jagged bolts of light erupted from the advancing gunships, tickling the shuttle above their heads with dancing points of reflected light which were just as pretty as they were horrifically dangerous. In a flash, the two squeezed themselves as close to the shuttle’s hull as they could before continuing their ascent to the ship, their space barding’s magnetic hoofpads allowing for some grip on the surface.

“Engine’s about 50% from fully charged. Where the hell are you guys?” Windy’s voice came loud and clear despite the rumbling engine’s din, causing them both to wince as their speakers screeched.

“Punch it as soon as she’s ready. You leave our safety to me, just focus on the cargo!” was the Captain reply as he drew another, smaller, wire from a drum on his belt, clipping the attached carabiner to Dex’s barding as he made his way towards the roof of the ship with his free arm, sliding his hoof into a notch on the roof and twisting.

A hiss of compressed air and gas erupted around a several square foot patch of metal as the paneling hiding the ship’s airlock split into halves, the two pieces of metal sliding inward and away to open the airlock fully.

“Engine’s ready, Cap’n!” came Windy’s voice over the intercom.

~~~~~

On board, Windy grabbed a small lever with a bright red handle in his teeth and pulled outwards, the lever extending with a few clicks to lock it in place while a small sign above it with the words “Dash!” in black marker taunted him to slam it forward before its time. Just as soon as the lever was fully extended did the engine’s hum begin to increase in volume, the previous rumblings rapidly speeding up into a deep hypnotic drum as the engine kicked into overdrive.

~~~~~

Wrapping his wire to Dex in one hoof, The Captain pushed himself into the airlock with his back legs, hitting the glass beneath while pulling their shared wire with everything he had. His added pull aided in her speed as she swung herself towards the airlock, and just as her hindlegs cleared the metal plates inside her Captain punched a button on a small panel inside the airlock, watching as the plates started to slowly close, making their way towards one another.

While the engine spun and droned with a deep thrum, the swirling light erupted. Flares of rainbow light grew in size and speed, orbiting the engine’s interior with a rapidly pulsing and ever-growing shine. From behind, the normally lazy pulse of rainbow light lining and swimming in the open drum formed by the engine had become a veritable hurricane of color, small bolts of lighting flickering between the arms of a miniature tempest before being pulled apart. Prominences of rainbow color erupted from ventilation holes on the outside paneling, arcing outwards like solar flares into space before being pulled back into the spinning maelstrom . Windy’s eyes flickered over the screen at the helm, monitoring the engine’s readouts for any sign of engine failure.

A small ping from the helm signaled the engine’s charge was complete, and as he grinned, Windy twisted the lever 90 degrees and slammed it back into the helm with his hoof, the lever handle sliding into a carved notch on the side of the helm.

Windy’s face, steeled by the pressure and galvanized by the fact his wife and Captain's lives lay squarely in his hooves, broke slightly as the edges of his mouth curled upwards into a wickedly devious grin. His eyes on the stars in front of him and his hooves twisted around the handles of the craft’s helm, he smiled at the ‘Verse laid out before him, issuing a final farewell to the warships at his heel.

“Here’s something you can’t do!”

The few inches afforded by the airlock’s closing plates afforded the Captain and Dex a brief glimpse of the greatest light show in space: their ship's glorious Hyper-Boom.

The port-side engine fired to life as the craft’s stern exploded in a ring of rainbow plasma, propelling the craft forward to breakneck speed as the funneled light channeled itself into a conical bolt of pure color. The warships behind the craft were inundated in a blinding flash of searing light, throwing their courses askew as the plasma buildup from the engine’s overdrive washed over them, melting metal and bones alike as the ships crumpled in the vacuum, hull and rainbow plasma both dripping away from the accelerating craft as the nozzle of light pushed the Captain and his crew ever forward. The metal balloon between the ship’s extended shuttle ripped open a jagged line of steel on the underside of the shuttle, luckily not piercing deep enough to sever the interior plating and pull the air out from the craft and into The Black. The attached wire took up the slack, pulling the crates on the bow of the wreck along with it with a wrenching jerk as they matched the speed of the ship, floating behind them as the craft pushed onwards. They left the wrecked ship and their previously breathing assailants smoldering from the afterglow of the Hyper-Boom, compartments crumpling in the vacuum as the plasma ate away at their metal hulls.

The rest of the wrecked ship, its main body and large portions of debris unaffected by the tumult glinting in the light from the nearest star, tumbled as it always had as the sleek silvery ship above it, with cargo in tow, powered through the darkness and blinked out of sight.

A few moments later, it was if they had never existed at all.

Author's Note

A world of thanks to my amazing editor, Coco, and all the work she's put into helping me with the chapter and the rest of the work. Special thanks as well to my pre-reader kamil for his work on this and every other chapter.

Chapter Two: Assembly

Upon landing on the first desolate moon they could find, The Captain and his Lieutenant pulled everything aboard to survey their take. As they moved the crates in their netted bundle into the airlock adjoining the cargo hold, they didn’t speak a word to one another. Dex knew better to confront the Captain when he was in one of his moods, and she would gain nothing by prying on his reasoning. Wordlessly, she assumed her duties as First Mate the second the airlock pressurized and the crates, which had previously floated weightless in space, came crashing down atop a cart. As she rolled the cart into the cargo hold, her Captain calmly plodded up the stairs lining the walls of the vast storage space and trotted silently to his room towards the helm as the engine fired to life beneath his hooves, making the floor vibrate as their taxed and slightly worn out engine swirled to life, pushing them further along to their destination.

Only when he arrived at his room and checked that the door was securely locked did he remove his space barding, grabbing the fabric in his teeth as he placed it as carefully as he could on a hanger, leaving the helmet on his desk. He pulled out a hidden sink from the wall with his teeth and washed his face, making sure to thoroughly clean the neckline where his sweat had collected the dirt, a common and annoyingly pervasive hitchhiker, and plastered it to his coat. When he was sufficiently clean, he wiped his face off with a towel, glancing at the mirror to survey the damage.

The face which looked back at him was perfectly clean, and the only remaining dirt left on his face was forever encapsulated by the new skin growing from the several small scars on his face and neck. His chocolate-brown coat, pockmarked by a few dark freckles here and there around his nose, was undamaged: a fact which was becoming more and more unheard of as work grew more scarce. His hair hadn’t been impacted either: it was still as straw-colored, coiffed, and short as it had always been. He smiled and allowed himself to finally relax, satisfied at the condition of his coat, face, and their soon-to-be well off circumstances should his contact have been true to their agreement. Without a word, he clambered up the tight spiral staircase leading to the deck, sealing and locking the door behind him.

He arrived in his hold to find his crew awaiting his arrival like children on Hearth’s Warming Day, eagerly pawing the ground to split the take and enjoy the benefits of their new-found wealth. The three of them closest to the crates looked up at him expectantly, their faces portraying patience while their eyes--the Captain’s preferred method of ascertaining the truth of things--betrayed their excitement and their insatiable need to rip into the crates like the mad children they sometimes became upon the presentation of their ever-more infrequent rewards.

With a nod from their Captain, the crew grinned widely at one another and tore into the crates with shrieks and yells of mirth, steel and wooden lids rattling on the floor of the hold, packaging pellets and hay alike strewn everywhere as joyous pandemonium broke out below. He smiled broadly, watching them fight over the trinkets and riches inside as he propped his fore-hooves over the railing, surveying the damage.

“You know, if you don’t let your babies fly they will never leave the nest, and we both know you wouldn’t want that,” came a voice from his right as Dextra the zebra’s stark black and white Mohawk came into view. The mare which followed was as limber and toned as any member of her species, further hardened by war and her years spent shouldering the burdens and assignments of her Captain.

Her skin--like the Captain’s--was slightly scarred, the burn marks, knife slashes, and gun holes highlighted on her skin just beneath her coat in lines of pink. The glyphs and markings in a foreign alphabet that had previously graced her flanks had been sullied slightly as the passing years and the acquisition of gunshot wounds ruined their prior perfection. Her tail, knotted tightly as always in a long braid, was as stark and as clean as he had seen it in a while. She hadn’t had the chance to dirty it by using it as a very effective knotted club, as she enjoyed doing on occasion. The handle of her modified carbine gleamed at him from its harness at her side, the polished brass catching the interior lights of the hold as it flickered brightly.

“I know that, Dex,” he smiled curtly. “They haven’t been off the ship in a long time, and I hate to do that to them...but sometimes it’s worth it to see them like this even if it means me being a little hungrier or a little more battered trying to make sure my world doesn't spill into theirs. It makes me learn just how much I can push myself to make them better."

Casting his eyes downward to the grated floor beneath his hooves, he watched his reinvigorated crew play and enjoy themselves before turning to his Lieutenant.

“It makes me love them even more, even if I never tell them, and especially if I hate their guts at a certain moment. Besides, they continually surprise me: hell, I didn’t know he was that limber!”

He pointed a hoof at the oversize and heavily muscled stallion below who lay on his stomach, curling backwards as he tried to wrest control of a sparkling piece of machinery clasped firmly in his female coworker’s teeth, her face beaming around the shiny new metal component as she avoided his swiping hooves.

"Keeping them out of harm's way entirely is the only way I know to keep them safe. If it means I take some additional punishment...then so be it."

He stamped his hoof resolutely while his Lieutenant turned her gaze from her childish partner below to face him in surprise.

"Them?! They've been in tight spots before, Captain. You were right to exclude them from this job though: they would be better off not knowing whose cargo they're ransacking." Watching her husband and the rest of the crew as they sorted their rewards from the objects they were told to acquire, she leaned her head towards her Captain's as she surveyed their work.

“You know, they might just raise a mutiny if they heard you talking like this,” Dextra whispered coyly. “Shadow Bastion, the stone that broke the Alliance’s hoof, a softy?!”

She smiled wide, probing his face for a sign, even a flicker of laughter, but there was none to be found.

The two warriors sat in silence, having perfected the art of using body language to convey orders and aspirations. It was a skill picked up in nights of total silence, of nights spent behind bunkers and in dark corners behind enemy lines.

“I’m glad you gave him a chance, Sir,” his Lieutenant muttered quietly, making sure not to raise her voice enough to echo around the hold as she broke their silence. “I’m glad you listened to my advice.”

“It was sound advice, even if I didn’t need it at the time,” Bastion replied, grinning again as two of the crew, the large stallion and his previous opponent -- a smaller yellow earth pony mare -- bounced a sack of grain between them as they played keep-away from the pilot.

“He has always been reliable," Bastion began, watching the pilot in question jump in vain to snatch the bouncing package. "It's just he has never seen combat, and he doesn’t know how to handle himself in tricky situations. I doubt he even knows where the point the barrel of a pistol, let alone knowing how to squeeze the trigger properly.”

Let alone knowing how to survive afterwards with what you’ve done.

“I know he doesn’t, but he has his niche and he excels in it. It would be nice to see him out about, he only talks about it constantly..."Dextra paused for a moment, watching her loving partner play below before nodding at the Captain.

"But you're right: sometimes it’s worth taking an extra bullet just to see days like these...when everyone is safe.”

She concluded her observations, placing a hoof on her friends shoulder as she grinned mischievously.

“I know you feel the same way, I’ve seen your fuzzy-wuzzy side!”

She gave a rather uncharacteristic giggle to her Captain, nudging his shoulder in a playful punch. He gave a little smirk, moving his gaze from the zebra mare to his crew and beyond to the walls of the hold, gazing at what he imagined to be an infinitely small mote of dust on a faraway crate.

“Besides, it’s been a long time since any of us have had a break. A little R&R will be good for us, Sir, you’ll see. C’mon, let’s get into character!” Dextra exclaimed as she proceeded down the steps into the hold. When she turned around to follow the stairs, her face was set just as he’d grown accustomed to seeing it before he became her Captain: emotionless and steely. Only their shared wink broke her illusion as he followed her, donning his war face as well.

~~~~~

“At last! We can retire and give up this life of crime,” the larger earth stallion remarked, snark and sarcasm, along with a few other things, oozing from the corners of his heavyset jaw.

Of all of the members of the crew, and in particular the three more militant ponies, he was by far the most formidable. His dark charcoal-grey coat hid layer upon layer of muscle, crafted and toned to the point that it appeared to be bulging with every move, casting small shadows on his frame as the light wrapped around the bends and curves which pushed out from beneath his skin. His face, complete with a thin jagged scar from cheek to left ear, said more of his years of hardship and combat than any of his words, when he happened to spare them, could ever address.

His barding, every visible surface of which covered in patches and glints of hidden armor plating, sported a large hunting knife along with several firearms, complete with one or two grenades on each shoulder which rested like epaulettes near his face for easy access. Across his chest, in two swaths of red cloth, rested homemade bandoliers lined with various ammunition of myriad calibers, dirtied and stained in the places where sponge and soap had been unable to fully absorb or remove the blood of his enemies.

The only thing not completely sinister about this earth stallion was his hair: a close cut mane of pure cinnabar red, the same color as his carefully groomed goatee, shone like a splash of fire. Yet despite the bright red blaze erupting from his scalp, his mane was topped by a single line of bright pink running like a stripe off center down the middle, the one trait he inherited from his mother before she passed.

His chest-borne insignia designated his last name as 'Wildfire'. Not one of the crew knew his full name, and the one pony they met who did know hadn’t been heard of since.

“I mean, we get a bunch of junk, some grains and oats, that random book of numbers and business things, that damn calibrator that Cam keeps hiding from me, and then this?! What the hell is it? We risked our asses for this of hunk of crap?” Wildfire snarled, gesturing wildly to the object on the table which had been the final point on his long list of annoyances.

When they had cleared the packaging and sorted out the food they had somehow managed to find, they were left with a little lockbox securely fastened with a padlock bearing the Alliance crest. The box held only this object: an oblong metal ingot, completely seamless and unmarred except for a small four-starred diamond-shaped puncture placed squarely in the center of the box’s otherwise perfect top surface. It rested on its wide base, slightly longer than its topmost facet, in the middle of their kitchen table, contrasting slightly with the table’s mahogany finish.

“Correction:WE risked our asses for this hunk of crap!” came a sharp reply from the kitchen where a range, an oven, a sink, and a series of tightly sealed compartments for storing food and various spices lay unopened and locked. The sound of a few crashing pots and closing cupboards betrayed the presence of their pilot and sometimes chef, Wind Dancer: an cream-colored pegasus stallion who trotted to the table with bowls of food perched precariously on his outstretched wings. “I don’t remember sitting around and reading those awful magazines of yours as being the definition of ‘earning your keep’ around here.”

Wind Dancer slid the bowls off his wings as he orbited the table, placing spoons tangled in his feathers alongside them as he went.

“Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do, Windy? Pilot the ship? Tinker with the engine? Try and cram myself into those stupid space suits?” Wildfire spread his hooves wide, challenging Wind Dancer as he lay back in his chair which teetered on two legs and groaned under his colossal weight. Leaning back even further, he snarled at the pegasus as he continued with his tirade.

“I wasn’t left with a whole lot of options. Besides, it’s not like doing what you do is hard: You get to sit in a nice comfy padded chair and spin a little wheel around while your little wife feeds you grapes…or apples…or whatever. Hell, you’re two togas short of a full-on orgy while I’m getting shot at and stabbed!” he exclaimed wildly, pointing a hoof at the bandage wrapped around his shoulder. His wild gestures ended up in him bumping his injury, causing a sharp wince of pain from the earth stallion and a little smile to appear on the pegasus.

“That little wife of mine can kill us both with her hoof…we both know this...” Windy stated evenly, jabbing a free wing towards Wildfire. “...And I would love to see you try to do my job, or anything involving your brains for that matter.”

The pegasus trotted over, placing the final bowl on the table before ringing a small triangle by the kitchen counter to signal the arrival of dinner. “Have you done anything recently which didn’t involve being shot at?” the pegasus challenged as he sat down to consume his meal.

“In fact, I have, Windy: while you went around pressing buttons and being more-or-less useless, I was reading.”

Wildfire smiled wide, displaying his pride for his supposed accomplishment as he stuck his spoon in the sludge the pegasus had prepared, making no small grimace when, as he lifted the spoon, the bowl and its contents followed it.

“Reading? You can read?” Windy questioned, cocking his head to side in a look of pure surprise.

“Well, the kind of material I read doesn’t necessarily require me to be…” Wildfire paused, looking for the appropriate word to use before continuing.

“…Literable?”

He tested Windy’s gaze for a sign of comprehension before giving up entirely, summing his thoughts with a simple grunted conclusion.

“I've got my things, and you've got yours. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?” Wildfire sneered, trying to extract his spoon from the oaten goop as Wind Dancer chowed down happily, speaking when he got the chance.

“It’s just I’ve never seen you so, you know, engaged with reading as you are with that pulp you gawk at,” the pilot said with a twinge of disgust, cocking his eyebrow and looking over his bowl as he addressed his seething and well-armed compatriot. “You’re usually complementing your reading with…other things...”

“Whatever, Windy: you’re just jealous I can distract myself more than you can.”

“Whatever, Wildfire,” the pegasus countered, “I don’t need to distract myself with panting heavily while I ‘read’...I have a wife for that.”

The look of surprise and anger erupting from behind Wildfire’s eyes was nothing compared to the zebra mare’s from the hallway entrance, though her years of training and combat alongside the Captain had made her anger much more subtle than Wildfire's. Grinning devilishly, she watched as the mercenary attempted to chase down the pegasus stallion, losing his balance and knocking over his chair to send him rolling onto the floor as Wind Dancer laughed uproariously, snorting his porridge out of his nose.

“Straighten up, Wildfire. The Captain’s on his way,” Dextra ordered from the doorway, her assertion and her strict forceful tone causing Wildfire, with a little glare, to stand his chair back up and sit down heavily. That same dangerous and sultry zebra sauntered over to her husband, wrapped a towel around her hoof, and proceeded to clean him up, eying him dangerously as she did so. The look of terror and confusion arising from the suddenly intimate behavior of his pampering wife--and the understanding of the complete and utterly terrifying power his angry zebra bride was capable of--made Wind Dancer sit up straighter than ever, a paragon of proper dining decorum, as Wildfire slopped down his food noisily, grinning widely as he did so.

The sound of hooves down the corridor signaled the arrival of Captain Bastion, adorned as he usually was in his long, clean, and patched up duster, as he followed in the footsteps of a dainty yellow earth pony mare named Chamomile Calm. She was of a slender build, and in the places where she was not covered in brown and black oil and grease stains or her heavily patched overalls, her banana-yellow coat peeked out. She wore her pure white hair down, draping down her neck and in front of her face, her bangs held back away from her bright green eyes with a small butterfly hair-clip--one of her more prized heirlooms. She had her tail cropped short, both out of fear for possible entanglements with rapidly spinning machinery and just because it looked, as she often stated to the floor whenever asked, “nice”. Atop her head, to keep her hair more or less clean and out of the way, she wore a stained red and grey paisley bandana, frayed at the edges and with more than a few holes. It was obviously used for tightening the many screws and bolts which her profession entailed, and while her slender and dainty build might have suggested her lack of a sturdy backbone, there was no better ship mechanic still flying.

“With all our loot, Cammy, you should really go into town and buy something nice,” the Captain offered, smiling as his favorite mechanic matched his pace, bouncing slightly ahead of him. “Give those jumpsuits of yours a break, and perhaps wash them…”

He grimaced as the odors of years of coagulated engine grease and rust wafted silently into his nostrils.

“…And yourself…” he added, followed by a gag. “...Please?”

“Awww! Thanks, Cap’n!” his companion beamed, unaffected by her utility jumpsuit’s odor as she challenged him a little, puffing up her chest as she hit him on his chest with her little hoof. “...And that’s what you get for telling me to get her all worked up pulling that stunt of yours. Do you have any idea the kind of strain the Hyper Boom entails? I’m surprised she’s still running, to be completely honest...”

“Well, next time," he smiled, chuckling a little at her diminutive anger, "I will make sure I pick a job where we don’t have to use it.”

Chamomile smiled her consent as she turned back around to make her way to the kitchen, Bastion following close behind, still slightly reeling from the engine reak.

“Cammy, I know it’s mostly my fault you are the way you are, but next time: wash up before you come to dinner. We can’t be spoiling your otherwise pretty face with those damn grease stains, now can we?” He nudged her shoulder playfully with his own hoof as they stood in the doorway together.

“D’AWWW! I love my Captain!” Chamomile chirped, nuzzling her head under her Captain's neck. “Why can’t I find a guy that’s as nice as my Captainy-Captain?” she added playfully as her ‘Captainy-Captain’ visibly reeled from the heavy rust scent forever encrusted inside of her bandana.

“Probably because you use those stupid little kindergarten words."

Wildfire’s gruff reply was clearly audible even as he used his long tongue to lick the interior of his bowl with a high degree of dexterity and obvious practice. It was a move which made Wind Dancer shut right up as he watched in shock and embarrassment.

“Whatever, little Mr. Pony Prancy-Pants,” Chamomile sneered, sticking her tongue out at the mercenary. “At least I can control myself when I’m mastur-”

“Enough, all of you!” Bastion barked, cutting off his mechanic as she and Dextra took an empty chair, not noticing when his favorite yellow mechanic made a funny face at her tempestuous, but ultimately harmless, mercenary crew-mate.

“We need to have a talk.”

Bastion waited until all were seated and paying attention before continuing, watching the four of them as he stood at the head of the table.

“So, Cammy informed me about the strain we put the engine under…”

“Strain you put the engine under…” both Windy and Wildfire said surreptitiously though Bastion heard them, continuing after momentarily staring them down.

“…Strain I put her under, and I don’t think we have any other choice but to get her all patched up when we pull into the Hoovesdown Docks tomorrow. We have our contact who will want his cut of the take, and with our portion we can afford to replace some of the engine’s parts.” This remark earned him a glowing smile from his mechanic, who ground up some sugar with her hoof to add to her porridge as he continued.

“Dextra, Wildfire, and I will deliver what goods we need and fence the rest before looking around for some more work, but I think we might need to take on a few passengers in order to get by. Cammy, if you wouldn’t mind playing hostess, I would much appreciate any extra fare you can manage.” He looked over to his mechanic as she nodded, sampling her meal. He smiled back before nodding to his pilot.

“Wind Dancer, I would much appreciate it if you would go grab some food for us. I don’t know how many bits you will have to work with, but I trust you can make it work. You always seem to do a good job.” The vote of confidence made Wind Dancer look up with a little surprise, and both he and his wife smiled back at Bastion, grateful for his comment.

“We have a lot to do tonight and a full day tomorrow, so eat up and hit the hay,” Bastion concluded before grabbing his bowl and spoon with his teeth and leaving the kitchen without another word, long brown coat trailing behind him.

The rest of the crew did as they were told, finishing their meals with only small amounts of conversation before setting off to do their pre-bedtime chores. Chamomile hesitated as she looked at the chair at the head of the table in which the Captain usually sat, puzzled by his reticence. When they were finished, she and Wildfire walked silently to their rooms, turning off the kitchen and hallway lights behind them. Dextra and her husband made their way towards the helm, where they shared the ship’s larger passenger dormitory near the bow.

When all the indicator lights on his screen showed that his crew were safe in their rooms, Bastion remotely locked the doors around the ship and doused the lights. The lantern's glow flickering in sequence as one-by-one the lights died out, the electrical current traveling down the hallway to die silently at the end. The hallway to the helm was cast in the ethereal glow of the stars and passing planets, though no one was there to watch them as they passed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The following morning found the crew caught up in the hustle and bustle of the morning marketplace of the Hoovesdown Docks, a teeming and active spaceport adjacent to the fairly large, only slightly Alliance-overrun city of New Bridlesburg, the capitol of the planet on which they stood. Such a prominent Alliance presence both in the docks and their surrounding market saddled Captain Bastion with more than a little unease as he and his crew walked down the ship’s airlock wall, which also served as their chief loading ramp. Their ship had looked worse, with the siding and metal plating only modestly burned by the combination of warship lightning-bolt gunfire and the decay of their own engine’s plasma Hyper Boom gunk.

Chamomile began her work patching up the low-lying holes and tears, welding torch and wrenches peeking out of her heavily pocketed, but now refreshingly clean, utility barding. At her feet, a lawn chair and parasol, two of her favorite possessions, laid sprawled out on the walkway leading to the cargo hold with a sign leaning against it. The words "We’re Taking on Passengers, Inquire Within" were splashed on the sheet in bright colors and floral patterns. He chuckled to himself as he watched his mechanic move about their ship, the pops and hums of her welding torch punching through the audible din of the marketplace as she made her preliminary repairs. She was taking her role seriously, and they shared a little wink and a smile before Bastion and his compatriots moved out to go about their tasks.

For the most part the ship was intact and more stable than half of the ships which the crew found themselves weaving between as they made their way towards the central market, a fact which made Bastion’s face beam with a little Captain’s pride for his vessel. His crew was likewise outfitted, all of them happier and healthier than most of the urchins who had made the Hoovesdown Docks their permanent home: ponies with mangled limbs begging for change, griffon mercenaries standing silently as their well-to-do employers bartered with the wealthier merchants, indentured mules struggling under the heavy loads of whichever pony or zebra held their contracts.

It was places like these that made Bastion glad he had the means to leave that life behind, and while a soldier’s stipend was small he had made the best of what he had earned.

But then again, Shadow Bastion had been no ordinary soldier.

With a nod back to the Captain and a kiss to his wife Wind Dancer departed with his wagon, his saddlebags clinking with the money he’d been given as the wagon creaked behind him. He made his way about the marketplace, his shrewd eye picking out only the freshest of foods and the most thrifty of deals. Dextra watched him as he left before sweeping back her duster, identical to the Captain’s in size and weight--though lacking in sheer number of bullet hole patches--to expose her carbine, a small rifle only as long as her forearm though as deadly and precise as a surgeon’s scalpel from short to medium range.

Wildfire didn’t exactly need to sweep back any of his clothing: having grenades on his shoulders made wearing anything more than his bandoliers and various weapons sheaths superfluous.

They had an easy enough time finding their fence, and as they traded those things they had found for the money they so desperately needed, they counted out what money they’d earned into a large satchel, keeping special care to protect their contact’s requested documents which they’d found stored inside one of the crates. Counting out the bits they’d earned from a rather odd looking merchant pony with an equally odd accent, Bastion clinched another bag with their own take shut, weighing it in his hooves before smiling to himself and his Lieutenant.

It was quite a haul, even if the other half of it would go to their contact. He regretted having to pay that roach when he did little to nothing to contribute, but that money which they did receive would be more than useful around the ship. Bastion couldn’t complain: it was a well-earned reward for their efforts.

Making their way into a main square of the bustling market with their bits and their contact's documents secured in Bastion’s saddlebags, they surveyed the throngs of ponies and other races milling about them before Bastion turned to his crew-mates as they huddled together to divide duties.

“Let’s spread out and find our contact, he has to be around here somewhere,” Bastion ordered, gazing over the heads of the various races inhabiting or milling about the market square. Dextra and Wildfire obliged and began to pace forward, but were stopped in their tracks by a most unnatural sound.

“Too late, Bassssstion.”

Those three words, accompanied by an airy whistle and a prolonged hiss, signaled the arrival of their contact. The three of them turned to face what foreign and unnatural sound they had heard, and as they gazed Wildfire recoiled in shock at just what horror he was witnessing for the very first time.

A large, foreboding male griffon stood before them, proudly sporting faded business attire which did nothing to hide the obviously bedraggled condition of his hide and feathers or the smell of stale blood emanating from his long, serrated talons. His signature hiss was the byproduct of his beak: a yellow mass of scarred bone filed sharp into a dangerous point, topped with two gaping, rough holes where his nostrils should be. The numerous scars on his face and body were no doubt the souvenirs of long campaigns which he, accounting for his gruff demeanor, unblinking eyes, and heavy-set and muscular body, was undeniably the victor.

The final main feature of the soldier-turned-business griffon rested in his eyes, or what was left of them: his left eye gazed heavily at the crew, flicking back in forth between his two acquaintances and the other foreign crew member, working overtime to compensate for the other. An old bright-red scar coursing through his eyebrow and down to the center of his cheek had sliced his eye in half, infection and deterioration causing the entire eye to become a milky white. The scar had rendered him lidless, and Wildfire recoiled as the ripped orb flickered around, unable to see and unable to close--an effect which made business dealing a little more difficult, but rendered his opponents shaking in their boots if his infamous reputation wasn’t enough to do so.

“I thought that whistle might be you, Battlebeak: you’re the only griffon I know of stubborn enough not to get those holes plugged.”

The Captain turned to face the massive beast as his crew-mates, unknown to the aging griffon or his bodyguards, readied themselves for combat. Dextra quietly cocked the hammer on her carbine as she turned to face them, Wildfire doing the same, their movements masking their preparations. As they flanked their Captain, Bastion turned to directly address the business-griffon.

“If I knew any better, I might be willing to shake your hand. But then again, I know where those things have been,” the Captain said, eying the griffon’s lidless eye with trepidation.

“Mossst good to sssee you too, Sssergeant” was Battlebeak’s reply, his left eye sizing up his old rival. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d decide to uphold my requessst.”

After a moment of staring down the chocolate-colored pony in front of him, the aging griffon turned to the side and swept his claws out towards a solitary iron door on the furthest wall of the market, his bodyguards flanking the crew as he did so.

“Would you care to join me? I believe we have sssome things to discusss, you and I.”

Much to Wildfire’s surprise, his Captain sidled up to the griffon like an old friend, though the slight click of his own pistol’s hammer gave them some slight relief:

Their Captain wasn’t completely crazy.

“Keep your eye on the left bodyguard, I will do the same on the right. Be careful: Battlebeak has a pretty long and sordid reputation. You don’t want to be on his bad side.”

Dextra’s quiet order to her heavily armed compatriot snapped Wildfire back to attention, even if he had no clue what ‘sordid’ meant. His gaze rested on a particularly curved and beautifully serrated hunting knife adorning the forearm of the griffon bodyguard nearest him, and it took him a few moments to shake his attention from the blade and fall into step alongside his zebra Lieutenant.

“This is our contact? Who the hell is this guy? If I had known we’d be dealing with him, I don’t think I would have come along with you and our psycho Captain on this deal,” Wildfire jabbed, trying to keep from staring at the griffon’s many scars which laced his legs and sides.

“Watch your tongue, Wildfire. What, are you scared?” she snapped, her anger at his disrespect quiet enough so only he could hear.

A look of surprise and pride surged through his eyes as he struggled to keep his anger in check, shaking his head wildly. “NO!” he barked, catching the attention of one bodyguard. With a little more control and a glare from his winged opponent, he looked over at Dex, finishing his thought.

“No, Dex. I’m just surprised the Captain and this guy aren’t outright killing each other right now. I mean, did you see how that griffon was staring him down? I was about ready to jump him and his little gang of chickens before our dumbass Captain decided to get all buddy-bud...”

He was cut off by the zebra who, quick as a flash, had rounded in front of the mountainous earth stallion, a single hoof placed squarely between his bandoliers, a look of pure and unbridled rage dancing around her sneering mouth and wide, livid eyes.

“Listen, dumb-shit!" Dextra snarled, punching his chest with her insult. "The Captain is your employer and you will address him as such! He gave you your life back when we rescued you, so you had better buck up and show a little more respect. The Captain and that griffon have a history, and a stupid and completely brainless move from you is going to ruin this or any other chance we have to get paid!”

Reeling slightly from her caustic temper, Wildfire returned her gaze, staring her down as he loomed over her only-slightly smaller body.

“If Bastion is going to keep associating with obviously untrustworthy types like him, than he deserves to be mocked! He must be insane! I’m not going to follow some meat-head who doesn’t think about where he gets his money from. He's just begging to be taken advantage of, and I don't want to be shafted!”

“That doesn't matter!” Dextra growled, keeping her voice low as she whispered venomously at the mercenary as he looked over the zebra's shoulder to see his Captain and their contact gaining distance on them. “You are a member of this crew, and therefore you will listen to your Captain. You will do as you are told, or you will leave. Do you understand?”

“You can’t make me do anything,” Wildfire sneered, his eyes tightening as he shot her a broad grin of defiance. “I can respect the Captain for what he’s done, and I will follow his orders as long as I like them, but I don’t owe my allegiance to him or anyone. Got it?”

The silence lingered, the two warriors staring each other down as their accompanying bodyguards looked at one another in confusion. Without dropping her gaze Dextra gave one last little challenge, Wildfire mirroring her squinting eyes as she snarled under her breath for his ears alone.

“The next time you step out of line, I will kill you myself.”

Her words betrayed her lingering fears, and Wildfire, though taken aback by her sudden display of fury, countered without hesitation.

“You can try. Believe me, I will too.”

Their griffon escorts balked, puzzled by the sudden dissolution of their camaraderie as the two backed off one another slightly. Their gazes still locked, Dextra turned to follow the griffon and her Captain, her pace accelerating to close the distance between herself and the pair of soldiers. Wildfire followed her, waiting several minutes to allow her some time to cool off before speaking.

“So what’s with the tension?” Wildfire began, catching Dex’s attention. “What’s got you so spooked? How do that griffon and Bast…The Captain…know each other?”

“What, so now you care?"

She spoke over her shoulder at the mercenary, keeping her Captain and their contact in her field of vision as she filled him in.

"He was there when the Captain and I served in the military. He led us on many missions...missions we never lost. It was rumored that the more damage he took during a battle, the more likely we would be to win. Many of the soldiers would follow him blindly, thinking that even if they were completely outmatched Major Battlebeak would lead them to victory. In some cases, they were right.”

She glanced at the pair in front of her, considered her next words carefully, and continued.

“The Captain didn’t take too kindly to laying down his life for Battlebeak, and he encouraged others to disobey his orders. They bashed heads more than a few times, and eventually the whole thing came to a boil. The Captain always has been a good shot...”

She pointed at the Captain, then towards the griffon, and then tapped her nose with her hoof. Wildfire, impressed by his Captain’s audacity, picked up her words where she left them.

“That doesn’t sound so bad, I probably would have done the same thing! If my friends started throwing themselves on grenades for the likes of his feathered ass, I’d shoot him too!" Wildfire chortled, looking a little more kindly towards the Captain as he finished his thoughts.

“Why should he have to follow the orders of a madman? Even if he was a great soldier, I wouldn’t even think to obey anything that old griffon says.”

“We had to, Wildfire," Dextra countered with a quick glance. "He was our commanding officer, we didn’t have a choice. The Captain’s insubordination was punishable by death towards the end of the war, and the officers didn’t look too kindly on the Captain not only shooting his commanding officer, but Battlebeak pardoning him.”

The look of pure confusion from Wildfire which followed her offhanded statement required Dex to elaborate.

“Battlebeak issued the Captain a small force of about twenty to thirty soldiers, myself included. Command thought he was being promoted, but the Major assured them it was something else.”

“What else could it have been?” Wildfire quipped, trying to consider the full impact of being given more responsibility. To him, at least, more responsibility meant more money, especially in the military. Her gaze never left the dirt in front of her as she caught up to her Captain, following a few paces behind, glancing at the bodyguards on their flanks as she whispered to the mercenary behind her, keeping her voice low so that Bastion wouldn’t hear.

“It was his punishment.”

~~~~~

They arrived through a metal door and traveled down a dark corridor to find a furnished office with a large oak desk, polished with an only slightly scuffed finish, with various items and weapons strewn about haphazardly and mountains of paperwork and files reaching towards the ceiling along the back wall. The business chair behind the desk, torn and well used with padding threatening to break free, creaked as it took up the old Major’s weight. The Captain and his two crew-mates stood silently as they watched the old griffon remove an old cigar from a desk drawer, rip apart the end with his shear-like beak, and light it with a flame on nearby candelabra which emitted only enough light to cast dancing shadows on the reflective surface. Plopping a large bag of bits on top of the documents Battlebeak had requested, Bastion slid the two parcels over the desk, his voice cutting through the musky atmosphere as Battlebeak puffed away, smoke curling out of the bullet holes on the roof of his beak.

“You’ll find your cut is all there, Battlebeak, along with all of the documents, just as we agreed. I did, however, remove a small amount from your portion to cover our damages.”

The Captain’s gaze never moved from the aging griffon as the old Major leaned forward in his chair, dumping the satchel full of bits and assorted larger bills on the table in front of him, sorting the currency into its varied denominations. After a moment of mental calculation, his gaze lifted and his solitary eye glared back at his previously-subordinate challenger.

“You dare to cheat me?” the griffon growled, his venomous eye flickering between Bastion’s crew-mates, sensing an imminent attack. His bodyguards, more than familiar with his dealings, readied their weapons as well as various clicks and pings echoed around the formerly silent room.

“I’d recognize your insignia anywhere, Battlebeak. It’s not like your gunships were being very discrete about trying to finish me off once we had the cargo in hand. Next time,” Bastion challenged, looking the griffon dead in his eye as he leaned over the desk, stating his intentions clearly and malevolently into the griffon’s better ear, “...have the common decency to finish me off before you try and screw my crew over.”

Bastion leaned back as the old griffon grinned, raising a wing to usher his bodyguards’ weapons to the floor. His tongue, briefly visible as he dragged it over the holes in his beak, moved the cigar to the back of his mouth as the rest of his mouth opened in a sneer.

“Busssinesss is busssinesss, Captain. I am not in the habit of losssing anything I don’t have to. I will at leassst pardon you for killing three of my boysss.” Leaning back in his chair, he drew the cigar from his mouth and blew little rings from the side. “I never really liked them anyway...”

“I never wanted to injure anyone! They should never have been there in the first place! I don’t kill people I don’t have to...that was always your job,” Bastion shouted in defiance, stamping his hoof on the floor. “I don't see how you not caring about the three lives I had to take just to get that stupid cargo is going to make this better! You made me kill your ‘boys’ when I sure as hell didn’t want to! You put me and Dextra on the firing line, Battlebeak! I should kill you right now for even trying!”

His bodyguard’s weapons flicked upwards, but Battlebeak’s outstretched wings ushered them down again. Holding Bastion’s gaze as he leaned forward, Battlebeak slid some of the bits to the side as he leaned his elbows on the table.

“I know how you operate, Bastion: You have alwaysss been too careful...too protective. You’ve been throwing wrenchesss in my dealingsss for yearsss. You run jobsss for my competition, which makesss thingsss harder for me. I just wanted to make you...reconsssider...”

“So you wasted three lives on trying to buy me?” Bastion snarled in disgust, Dextra behind him readying her weapon beneath her duster as his voice changed tone. “Do you still think throwing lives into a pointless situation is the best course of action, even after what happened during the war?”

They glared at one another only briefly before Battlebeak bowed his head and reclined in his chair, taking a long draw from his cigar and releasing the smoke slowly out of his beak’s bullet holes.

“Ssstill challenging me after all thessse yearsss...jusssst like old timessss. Eh, Sssergeant?” Bastion's griffon rival hissed.

“I’m not a Sergeant anymore, Battlebeak. We both know the war is over.”

“For sssome, the war will never be over."

They shared a glance which filled Dex with more unease. She’d seen her Captain’s leg tense for a brief moment before relaxing, remembering an old wound or an old flight response he’d crafted through years of unending physical pressure. She readied herself, preparing for the worst as her Captain removed his hooves from the desk, not even gracing his former mentor with a nod before turning to make his way back to the door through which they had entered.

“Goodbye, Battlebeak. Don’t contact us again.”

Bastion nodded his silent command to his comrades, his coat splaying out around him as he pointed his muzzle to the door.

“Wait.”

The old griffon rose from his seat, half-finished cigar teetering on his beak, threatening to drop as his beak moved to form his final parting words, an offering he knew Bastion would be a fool to refuse. The griffon made his way around the desk, bags of coin rattling and tinkling from his breast pockets as he made his way after the Captain.

“I have another job for you. It'sss a good one: a little delivery to an old friend of oursss. A competitor, though I won’t hold that against him. You might know him: he wasss in my contingent, jussst like you.”

He made his offer without a hint of malice or clandestine undertones, his tone even and neutral. Bastion stopped in the doorframe, Dex and Wildfire trotting ahead of him, looking back in surprise as their Captain moved his gaze from the floor to the corner of the doorframe, speaking towards no one in particular.

“…And why should I listen to another word you say? I did your little task and you tried to kill me. If that was revenge for-”

The griffon raised a wing, cutting off the Captain as he stood in the doorframe.

“I’m not trying to be your enemy, Bassstion. The war wasss hard on both of usss, maybe even more on me than you. I know I’ve been lesss than truthful to you over the yearsss. If you’ll lisssten, I have another tasssk for you, one lassst job I think you’ll be interesssted in. The pay isss good, and when you’re done...I will honor your requessst and never contact you again.”

The griffon swung his wing back towards the desk, waving his talons in a friendly offering.

“Don’t do it, Captain,” Dextra whispered from a few feet ahead of her Captain, her eyes trained on the bodyguards surrounding the griffon as she looked deep into her Captain’s eyes. “He is going to try and kill you again. Whatever he has to say won’t be anywhere close to the truth, you and I both know it.”

Wildfire, his hooves clicking back the hammers on his own guns, nodded in agreement.

“I don’t like the looks of him. Besides, my tail’s getting itchy, and we both know that means someone’s about the start shooting. Mark my words,” the charcoal mercenary continued, surveying the old griffon carefully, “he’s got something up his sleeve. Let’s just get out of here and back on the ship. His money is no good to us if it means we get killed.”

Bastion cast his gaze once more to the floor. After a few moments, he looked up into the pleading eyes of his compatriots, assessing the weight of his options before arriving at his verdict.

Their Captain turned fully around, his coat trailing and hugging the edges of the frame, to stare at the aging griffon, greyer and less feathered than he had been used to seeing him.

He remembered the proud, stalwart griffon who had afforded Bastion the opportunity to see the system, gave Bastion the power and discipline to destroy his enemies, gave him a brand which he would carry for all of his days, an emotional mark which his crew, save his fearless zebra First Mate, was unaware of.

It was a brand which compelled him to open his mouth and seal their fates.

“What do you need, Major?”

~~~~~

“Well, isn’t this just great!” Wildfire grunted heavily, disregarding the throngs of staring ponies, griffons, and other races as they left the ramshackle market, proceeding with money and weapons in tow after meeting with the lecherous griffon Major. “Now, not only did we just nearly all die because of some winged kitten-freak’s old army grudge against the Captain, but now he lets him go with a pat on the head and a few extra coins?”

Dextra looked over her duster at the offended stallion, keeping herself squarely stationed between the angry mercenary and his target who walked ahead of them silently and, luckily for Wildfire, out of earshot.

“He didn’t have much of a choice, Wildfire. The Captain owes Battlebeak everything he has, even if they don’t see eye to eye on many things…or anything for that matter. He was our superior officer, and he told us how to straighten ourselves out and start taking care of ourselves when our lives didn’t work out. I don’t think a little delivery job to an old friend was too much to ask,” Dextra stated calmly, returning Wildfire’s angry gaze. “Battlebeak saved us, much like the chance the Captain gave you. Keep that in mind next time you challenge him. I already gave you the courtesy of informing you that I will kill you if you face him...”

She turned fully, stopping again in front of the stallion, the tip of her Mohawk brushing the underside of his chin as she looked up into bright yellow eyes, eyes which shored up her strength before lowering slightly to avoid her piercing gaze.

“The Captain won’t be quite so lenient,” she concluded firmly, turning on one hoof and trotting to meet up with her Captain before passing him to enter the ship. Bastion, having reached their destination, was engaged in conversation with their waiting mechanic.

Wildfire’s gaze rose from the ground, his hooves scratching at the broken rocks and dust below as he watched the Captain and Chamomile converse. With a grunt, Wildfire tightened his saddlebags, heavier with his new stock of ammunition courtesy of a local vendor, before following with an injured pride after his Captain.

~~~~~

Chamomile rested with her front legs crossed over one another, surveying her handiwork as he Captain looked on, commentating merrily on her progress as her Captain inspected her progress. “The ship’s tip-top, Captain: I got the lower dents, scrapes, and blaster holes all patched up, though the epoxy will need at least another 20 minutes to set.”

Chamomile’s face sported a new layer of dust and sweaty grime, but her yellow cheeks beamed with pride at the condition of the ship, a vessel which, even though she didn’t own it, she cared for like it was her own child. Enough of her blood had been spilled in the rusty cracks between paneling and on the many thousands of screws and bolts she had to fasten that the ship which stood behind her was almost a family member.

The hull sparkled with an obvious wash and wax job, the blaster scars and residual soot having been scoured away by hoof and machine in his absence. The dented parts, or at least those which were salvageable, had been hammered back into position and adjusted to cover any vulnerable areas. The old armor plates, their replacements gleaming on the hull of the ship, lay in a heap nearby where Windy stood attempting to barter the scrap for extra food money with an old mule whose eyes bounced happily between his new-found sheet metal and the pretty yellow mare who had offered it to him.

With her parasol over her shoulder and her lawn chair carefully balanced on her back, she smiled merrily, proud of her accomplishments for the day.

“We also got a couple new passengers for our journey, and they all paid in advance! Guess that cleaning you suggested paid off, huh?!” she winked, making the Captain smile a little at her excitement. “I’ve never played ‘Hostess’ before, do I get anything special for it? Huh? Huh? Hey! Aaack!!!”

She giggled and snorted with laughter as the Captain whisked her up into a big hug, swinging her back and forth as he stood on his hind legs, his long coat splaying out around him like a thin brown dress as he twirled her through the air. When he was thoroughly winded, he plopped her back on her hind hooves, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead as the demure little mare sat down hard, eyes spinning and cheeks blushing from his sudden display of affection.

“Geez Captain, I didn’t know shore-leave made you such a softy!” she squeaked, wiping some dust and sweat from her brow as stood dizzily on her hooves. The Captain pulled her again into a little hug, kissed her lightly on the head, and sent her off back to the cargo hold, noticing an extra little jingle in her step as she passed two stallions moving a heavy metal crate inside the ship with the combined powers of their magic.

The two burly stallions grunted with the weight of their cargo: a large metal box laden with stenciled marking and a blinking electronic plate. It stood out when compared to the rest of the ship, but not nearly as much as the stallion who stood but a few feet away from the workers who carried in their magic the package which could only have been his.

“Please be careful with that,” a much smaller green stallion barked lazily from the side, addressing the struggling hired hands The stallion stood adorned in what the Captain assumed was his Sunday best, with a small white vest peeking out from behind the breast of a tailored suit-jacket with long coattails draping over his sea-foam green backside. Little brass buttons were encrusted down the middle, holding it tightly to his body as he surveyed the workers moving his luggage. From what was visible behind his small sunglasses, he looked to be only slightly older than Chamomile, who the Captain could see staring at the new arrival with a little flicker of wonder and curiosity. How so nobly-postured and regally adorned he was mattered not to the Captain, though Bastion couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was something off about this new passenger. A gentle-colt like him had no place in this backwater market square, even with the heavy Alliance presence nearby.

A worker carrying another of the strange stallion’s boxes grumbled something behind the Captain, shaking him from his little observations about the new arrival as he moved away to allow the hired hand to continue his work. With a glance behind him to make sure his goods were packed away and not forgotten in the square, he whistled to Windy who, with a nod and hoofshake to the very-excited mule scrap merchant, grabbed a bag of produce and his remaining bits and made his way inside the cargo hold.

“Close her up, Windy,” Bastion yelled over his shoulder as the pegasus punched a large red button on a small terminal near the airlock’s door. At once the whole ramp lifted, pulled smoothly on hydraulic lifts which lifted the Captain along with it as it tilted back in towards the ship. With a final glimpse over the marketplace, Bastion followed the steep decline back into the hull of his ship as the door banged shut and sealed behind him.

As Bastion made his way over to the zebra mare standing on walkway overlooking the hold, he could immediately tell something was off. She pawed the ground nervously, making sure to avoid his gaze at all possible, behavior which he would not condone out of his usually trustworthy First-Mate. As he stopped a few feet from his companion, he allowed a few seconds of silence for her to come clean. When no sound save the rustling of the new passengers gathering and sorting their goods was issued, he turned on his Lieutenant.

“What exactly is it you’re not telling me, Dex?”

The zebra mare shuffled her feet, thinking of the appropriate words to say before raising her head slowly, afraid to make eye contact with her angry Captain. She began to say something, but his gaze caused her to hold her tongue. Eyes searching frantically for something to address, she alighted upon an object on the far side of the cargo hold. With an audible gulp, she quietly whispered, keeping her voice low.

“You don’t recognize that bag over there, do you?”

Bastion turned slowly, his eyes probing his newly cargo-laden hold in search of the object she was pointing out: a small lavender handbag, its tassels ending in glass beads of varying shades of purple, pink, and blue, resembling hanging fuchsia flowers which accented the light beige floral pattern on the exterior. Though he could never have guessed to whom it belonged, he knew that its presence on his ship, in stark contrast to the browns, greys, and steely glints of his drum-like cargo bay, was foreign and therefore of some importance to his own personal well-being.Turning back to his Lieutenant, he cleared his throat.

“No, Dex, I have no clue whose bag that is. Would you mind telling me what in the hell has gotten into you that a little frou-frou bag like that would scare you to the point of hiding something from me?” As his voice increased in fervor and volume, Dex’s head sank lower to the ground at each passing word. He continued his beratement, his words flicking out like invisible slaps to her face.

“You don’t hide things from me, Dextra! You’re not allowed to hide anything, that’s your job! This is NOT the behavior I expect out of my lieutenant, and I will be damned if my First-Mate doesn’t conduct herself as I have explicitly-”

“That bag is mine, Shadow,” came a soft, lilting voice from over his head.

He would have known that voice anywhere.

The rustling of long, trailing fabric flitting over the corrugated floor of the upper landing was accompanied by the soft click of manicured hooves, each hoof tapping softly down the steps as they made their way to the zebra mare below. Reaching the landing on which the Captain and his Lieutenant stood ogling, their latest arrival rounded the staircase and came into the Captain’s clear and unobstructed view.

An explosion of pink and purple cloth heralded the arrival of Violet Satine, a mare who would have looked like something out of a dream had the Captain been ignorant as to her history. Her light and immaculate fuchsia coat was draped in a satin dress of a purple so dark it was almost midnight black, individual strands of a thin silver ribbon tracing whorls and swirls of glinting light in patterns running down her forelegs, the main body of which hugged closely to her lean build. Her hair, a rich purple set in short waving curls which tickled her chin and lower neck, was highlighted by bright magenta stripes which coiled and flowed with the larger mass, almost playfully wrapping themselves around the larger purple strands as it flowed into the long and loose curls of her matching tail. Her eyes of ocean blue were accented by three glittering diamonds set in an only slightly tarnished silver hair clip which held the mass of hair at bay, both freeing her vision and bordering her face to highlight her toned and sumptuous frame. The almost-airy faded purple shawl on her shoulders fluttered softly as she stepped lightly towards the Captain and Dextra, her hooves shod in padded porcelain which gave little muted clinks as they hit the metal floor below.

“She has nothing to do with this, Shadow. My presence here aboard your vessel is my doing, not hers. Therefore I would kindly ask you to unhand her at once!” the new arrival snapped, her eyes locking with the Captain’s as she struggled for some foothold.

Silence reigned in the cargo bay as every pony present stopped what they were doing, watching the proceedings with open mouths, completely flabbergasted as to the sudden presence of the highly ornamented and utterly gorgeous mare before them. More than a few ponies’ eyes drifted lazily towards her flanks, their owners struggling to corral them before her wrath might befall them as well. The ones who did notice the Captain’s icy glare looking back at them continued their work without a word, their eyes focusing on stray motes of dust on the floor as they carried on their business. The ones who did not would come to regret their audacity, but to them that was a worry for another time: her appearance and startling beauty was enough to keep them enraptured as the others swept them along in front of them, clearing the cargo hold an other living souls in the space of 10 seconds flat.

Bastion turned his gaze from his now empty hold to his Lieutenant, his eyes ordering her to leave. It was an order she had seen many times, and one she jumped to obey. He finished his circuit by resting his eyes on the new mare’s neckline where a small jeweled necklace hung, swaying lightly as the mare breathed quietly, the veins in her neck pulsing faster as she stared silently at the Captain.

“Would you mind telling me what you’re doing here, Violet?” the Captain said curtly, fixing his gaze on the wall behind her as he made his way past the unicorn mare, his concentration holding his eyes to the wall as he drew dangerously close to her.

“I signed a contract to engage your vessel for a voyage, nothing more,” Violet muttered as he passed by, her head following the Captain as her eyes tried in vain to make contact with his.

“So, out of all the ships in all the ports in all the system, you just had to sign on with mine?” Bastion retorted, his eyebrows furrowed viciously, momentarily casting his gaze behind him to the visibly hurt mare. She thought carefully before answering.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. There is nothing more for me here in New Bridlesburg. I thought I might be able to-”

“You thought wrong, Violet,” Bastion snapped, cutting her off with a raised hoof as he turned his large body to block the walkway, effectively pinning her movements. “You know I told you I never wanted to see you again, but here you are...again! Was the first time not enough playtime for you? Was my definition of ‘never’ not abundantly clear to you?”

“Listen, Shadow, I’m sorry…it was only an accident, I didn’t mean-”

“Yeah,” Bastion quipped, his temper rising as he confronted the almost-forgotten mare in front of him, unconsciously advancing towards her with a violent intent. “I bet you didn’t mean to do a lot of things, but what you did was inexcusable and you know it.”

She struggled for some purchase, both on the floor and in their dialogue, trembling slightly when she discovered she was unable to find either. The most she could do was hang her head a little and draw her chin towards her necklace, trying desperately to avoid physical contact as she held his eyes in vain to see some sign or flicker of the Bastion she had known, tearing up when she saw nothing there but malice.

“Shadow, I don’t have anywhere else to go...”

“That’s not my problem!” her offender replied gruffly, breaking their eye contact as he spoke to the floor between them. “Listen, I’m sorry things haven’t worked out for you here, but you had so many options for ships...why did you choose mine?”

Violet scuffed her hoof on the floor, looking from the empty hold to the hooves of her attacker as she struggled to explain herself.

“I...I missed her...I missed my shuttle. I missed a lot of things.”

He hadn’t expected that, and as he looked at the beautiful mare before him he could almost remember the lingering memories of her walking the halls, her hooves giving off that eternally annoying clinking sound as she moved through the body of the ship, sometimes with her favorite tea by her side, savoring nothing but the taste of her brew and the humming of the engines and mechanical apparati around her. They made him smile a little, even if they’d long since passed. She’d lived on this ship back when it was still newly re-born...back when she was naive to what lay out in The Black.

He’d felt the same way once.

“Had I the option, I would leave you here and not even give you the courtesy of saying goodbye,” he began, taking another step towards the mare in the corner of the walkway held captive by the bannisters encapsulating the walkway and his own body, which blocked her only escape route. He sighed to himself.

She was never this cruel, Shadow...

“…But seeing as you’ve signed on…”

He peeked a glance at the mare before him, her eyes still locked with his but only slightly wavering as she kept control of her tears.

He exhaled heavily, moving cordially to the side to free up space for her exit. She knew better than to argue, or even to say more than a few choice words.

As she trotted quietly past him, not a sound was heard but the clicking of her porcelain-shod hooves, the brushing of her silk shawl on the nape of his coat, and a whispered “thank you” which courtesy required her to say, even if it was just a formality, even if only for herself to hear.

As she passed, Bastion closed his eyes, shielding himself from her movements as his ears tracked her footsteps as they quietly tickled the stairs and made their way to the far side of the hold. The grating of metal, the swinging of a door, and the heavy clunk of the lock were his cues to open his eyes.

He found himself alone in the empty hold, the only other sounds the ruffle of superheated air followed by a profound silence as the ship, his ship, broke through the atmosphere and gravitational hold of the planet and proceeded silently on an invisible course to their new destination.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner found the crew engaged in active conversation with their new guests, doing their best to make the new ponies feel at ease aboard their well-furnished vessel. Food, drink, and various bowls and plates stuffed to their brims with cheeses, crackers, fruits, and vegetables lined the table as pockets of crew members and passengers alike swapped stories, shared the latest gossip, argued over politics, or discussed the scores of the latest games. All were enjoying the discourse.

All save one.

The Captain drank quietly by himself, only nibbling on the various foods on his plate, compliments of his pilot Wind Dancer. His drink of choice, a private reserve of wine from his home planet which he kept stored beneath his bed, was his reward for his good behavior, or at least his reward for being present during the festivities entirely. He was never known for his enjoyment of social functions, and more than a few times Chamomile would hunt him down from whichever dark corner of the ship he would find himself in and remind him of his foremost duty when new passengers were to be entertained:

Smiling.

Biting into a sesame cracker with a lump of fresh cheese on top, he reveled in the combination of flavors. If there was one single solitary thing which would make him partake in social functions like these, it would have to be food experimentation. Leaning back in his chair to analyze Wildfire’s latest hoof-wrestling gambling scheme, he waved to get Wind Dancer’s attention.

“Windy, would you mind telling where you picked up this cheese? It’s really quite good!” Bastion shouted, moving from the table to get away from the raucous cheers and only slightly drunken rabble as Wildfire’s massive fore hooves succeeded in defeating another opponent who sat in his chair, rubbing his sore foreleg.

“Actually, I didn’t pick this one out, though I wish I had,” Windy began before pointing out a stallion across the room with his free hoof. “That gentle-colt over there was kind enough to pay for his ticket in the food we get to eat tonight, along with half of whatever else we have to eat for the next two weeks. Celestia knows where he got it, I’ve never seen so much gru-”

He continued speaking but balked slightly when he realized that he was speaking to thin air, the Captain having moved to the far side of the room to analyze his latest benefactor.

A light-grey earth stallion in a simple, high-collared black shirt rested against the doorframe, overlooking the tables and its joyous occupants with a steady eye. He almost appeared to be watching over them as it shielding them from predators, wherever they might be lurking. A small yellow sun hung from his neck at the end of a long trail of beads, the bottom of the sun caressed by a silver crescent which intertwined with the sun’s various solar flares and projections. The beads clinked softly as he moved, some chipped and cracked in places, all of them lacking the lustre and shine which new porcelain beads usually held. They were obviously well used, and they matched the color of his cutie mark perfectly: a faded sun of a goldenrod hue graced his flanks, matching the emblem he wore upon his chest perfectly save the crescent moon below which, upon closer examination, was a few shades lighter than the rest of his coat, sparkling with stray pure white hairs.

He appeared much older than most of the crew, a fact which was confirmed as he gave a wrenching cough, turning his face away from the assembled crowd as he went about evacuating his throat of whatever had caused the offense. His creme-colored hair was set in rows of tightly wound dreadlocks held behind his head in a short ponytail. Turning towards his new-found company, he swept his leg forward in an elegant bow which, slight wavering aside, was kept perfectly straight denoting years of practice.

“I believe introductions are in order, Captain. My name is Golden Sun. I am a priest in the local abbey,” the grey stallion began as the Captain peered around, inspecting his flank.

“Golden Sun? Never would have guessed…” Bastion commented to himself, gazing at the older stallion’s cutie mark one last time before moving to the older pony’s side, matching the holy-colt’s gaze over the assembled party. “I heard tell from Windy that you supplied the food and wine. I would like to thank you for that.”

The Captain nodded graciously to his passenger before continuing. “I can’t help but notice you are not partaking in any of the proclivities. Being a priest I can understand if you’re hesitant to engage in the drinking, but the food is good and the crew…”

Bastion glanced over his crew once again, surveying the events unfolding: Wind Dancer and Dextra were engaged in conversation with the elegant unicorn stallion, little Chamomile leaned over her chair’s arm picking up every word the unicorn had to say. Bastion didn’t even think she knew what they were discussing, but the topic did not seem to be the focus of her attention.

Wildfire has finished his hoof-wrestling tourney, counting his winnings as he and some of the passengers, thoroughly inebriated, began singing space-traveling carols of their own construction, wine sloshing on the table as they swayed in unison to the tempo of their shanties.

Violet sat towards the end of the table, reading from a little book and sipping a small delicate glass of wine, both held firmly in the opalescent pulse of her glittering white magic. She had taken great lengths to mask her face and outfit herself in her best, using the few hours since their last encounter to her full advantage. A few of the singing passengers broke from their merry-making, sitting down hard in the chairs as their vision very-indiscreetly eyed the unicorn mare nearby. Though her gaze never left the words before her, a lingering smile betrayed the fact that, somewhere in that icy heart of hers, she was enjoying the attention.

With a nod and a smile, he turned back to the pious stallion and continued.

“The crew is the best you could ask for.”

Golden Sun cocked his eyebrow as he grinned sideways at the Captain, eyeing his new companion with a certain degree of interest.

“Might I ask you the same thing, Captain, if I may be so bold?” Golden Sun queried, swinging his leg wide to catch the entire collected party in his sweep. “You have undoubtedly earned some relaxation; why not take advantage of it? I am perfectly content on my own, though I would be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the company. Her teachings are enough fuel to keep me occupied tonight.”

He finished with a pat to his chest where an old faded book lay in his pocket, its pages gilded in gold leaf. From where Bastion stood, he could make out that the cover was emblazoned with a little sun, complete with stray solar projections and prominences stamped in solid gold.

“I’ve had enough for one night,” the Captain said with a sense of finality, his eyes lilting over Violet and the passengers ogling her as he did so.

“A stallion after my own heart” was the priest’s reply as the Captain stood beside him, mimicking his gaze over the festivities which had become more and more subdued as the drinks they had had kicked into full and excruciating force. Bowing to the priest, the Captain took his leave, making his way to the opposite door-frame. Wrapping his hoof around the attached stick, he rang the kitchen-side triangle a few times to gather everyone’s attention. When all eyes were upon him, he cleared his throat and began to speak.

“Thank you, everypony. I would like to thank our passenger, Golden Sun,” Bastion said evenly with a note of thanks, gesturing to the priest with his hoof, “for the wine and cheeses…”

A hearty roar from Wildfire’s side of the table and a few more splashing drinks was proof of their appreciation, and the priest nodded slightly in their direction, a small blush on his cheeks. The Captain waited until the fanfare had died down before continuing.

“…As well as our resident chef Wind Dancer for our delicious dinner.”

A polite clapping followed during which Wind Dancer, his face perked up in anticipation of a similar ballyhoo given the priest, looked more than a bit downtrodden. His disposition was remedied a kiss on the cheek from both Chamomile and Dextra and a small, polite clap from the unicorn mare seated nearby, her face beaming in appreciation for his excellent choices of herbs and spices. The Captain, watching his crew from afar, continued his speech.

“My name is Captain Bastion, and I’m glad we could be the ones to get you wherever you need to go.” Silence followed, but that was to be expected.

“Following dinner, Cammy can escort you down to the cargo hold to collect your personals if you wish, though I will have to ask that you don’t go about exploring the ship. The helm, crew quarters, medical bay, and cargo hold are off-limits while the craft is in the air. These are my rules, and I would appreciate it if you obeyed them.”

A warning glance from Dextra and Chamomile was enough notice for him to know that he had said something wrong. He cleared his throat, making sure his next comment was heard by all.

“If you do require access to the medical bay or crew quarters for any reason, please ask the crew and they will be happy to make sure you have everything you need.” A smile from Chamomile signaled that he had recovered.

What would I do without her, Bastion thought quickly to himself.

“So, with that I will take my leave. Dextra, the ship is yours. Goodnight, everyone.”

A few drunken repetitions of “nighty-night” in various slurred versions were heard from Wildfire and his passel of passengers, more than a few of whom had begun softly snoring when the Captain took the floor. While the party continued, it was slightly hindered by the fact that only half of the remaining members were either conscious or in the right mind to continue civilized conversation. Violet, abandoning her place at the table to go back to her own quarters, proceeded past the drunken passengers carefully, taking extreme measures to avoid the spilled wines and food lest they stain her dress.

Chamomile and Dextra, along with the very drunk yet still somehow conscious Wildfire, hefted the sleeping passengers on their backs and proceeded to carry them down to the passenger dormitories. The two friends shared stories about the new arrivals they had met as they made their way down the hallway, Wildfire swaying along behind them as he revised the words to the tune he had made up, balancing an empty bottle of the priest’s fine wine upon his nose.

Wind Dancer, slightly swaying on his hooves, proceeded to begin cleaning the kitchen of various used pots and pans as Golden Sun grabbed a broom between his hooves and began sweeping the floor. When the kitchen was clean and the table reset, Wind Dancer filled up a few glasses of water and perched them on his outstretched wings, gripping a pitcher of ice-water in his mouth as he proceeded to follow his wife and the mechanic towards the passenger bay, watery gift in tow, no doubt, to ease their passengers’ suffering the following morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As was custom when new passengers arrived on his ship, Bastion found himself surveying the presence of the new crates and bags lining the walls of his cargo hold. It was an old habit, one which he never had the chance or desire to give up as each passing day his hold was never the same, the boxes laid out or moved into new configurations. This was the first time in a long while he had seen anything new grace the floors, and as he did every time, he loved poring them over.

He had seen similar things as a child: crates and packages from far-off destinations with various languages, dialects, and codes scrawled on the surface, oblong wooden boxes containing mounted weapons for an airship docked in the spaceport nearby, baskets as large as the little colt himself containing foreign and exotic fruits and vegetables, destined for trade in his local market. They would never sell as much as the staple crops, and they got more and more scarce with every new arriving shipment, but their bright colors and enticing odors had more profound an effect on the little future captain than any boring oat or grain ever could.

His mother used to say that when he started working in the warehouses was when she knew he was destined to fly.

The arrival of an armored griffon adorned in dress-khakis and an armored kilt with stories of faraway conflicts and bizarre enemies was the final nail in the coffin for the both of them. She knew she would never see her baby again, and even if she did, it wouldn’t be the same little stalwart stallion she had come to love with all of her poor heart.

The hum of the main engine and the many varied sounds of the ship’s inner mechanics were not enough to silence the muffled clink, clink, clink of hooves moving up the stairs behind him. Without glancing back, he raised his voice to address his company.

“You know Miss Satine, those shoes don’t really have a place on this vessel.”

A pause filled the space between the two, followed by the ruffling of fabric and a shy whisper which echoed lightly off the walls.

“I know they don’t,” came Violet’s soft reply, “but my others are in my room. It always behooves a lady to make sure she is always looking her best.”

Bastion allowed himself one honest chuckle, recalling that lingering memory when she’d last been on the ship and Wind Dancer, enraptured by her presence even as his new wife glared at him menacingly, had decided to teach her some humor.

“You still remember those puns?”

“Of course” Violet replied, scuffing the floor again as her mouth twisted into a little grin before dying away. “I also remember they used to make you laugh.” With another little grin, Bastion kept his eyes trained on the hold even though her words had prompted him to smile.

“You haven’t changed a bit” he smirked, masking his grin before turning around to face her.

She was standing immediately behind him, only a few paces shy of uncomfortably close to the Captain. Her hair was only slightly disheveled, but given her proximity to Wildfire’s inebriated friends she considered this a remarkable achievement.

“I think you’ve changed more than enough for the both of us, Shadow.”

With a monumental effort on his part, he raised his head enough to make eye contact. His head looked down into the mare’s eyes as she cocked her head to the side, each taking stock of the changes brought on by the years spent hating one another.

Her face had tightened since he had last seen it, no doubt the product of every cosmetic and beautification treatment her profession entailed. The miniature crow’s-feet on the corners of her eyes were almost completely covered by a light dust of foundation, and were more brought on by her obvious sleep-deprivation and her inability to adjust to the rapidly shifting time changes that moving between heavenly bodies required than her age, for she looked, breathed, and spoke just as she had all those years ago.

“I know I might not show it,” Bastion began, his eyes dropping slightly as he pawed the ground. “...But a little part of me is glad to see you again, even if most of me still…well…”

“Hates me?” she provided, shuffling her feet slightly as she counted the number of holes in the walkway beneath her hooves. “…Yes, I feel that way too.”

They stood in silence, neither needing confirmation for their remarks nor willing to provide it, both locked down as their will to stay in the other’s presence dwindled though their hooves stayed firmly planted to the walkway.

“I know that what I said earlier…hurt you, a bit…”

Bastion guessed by her sudden tension that was the wrong descriptor. He amended himself quickly, much to his credit.

“…A lot…I hurt you a lot, didn’t I?”

She nodded lightly, casting her eyes downward as she thought through what he had said, what she had done, the naïveté of it all and yet, despite the years, how much it still hurt them both. It was a flutter of emotion he shared, picked up on, and addressed quietly enough so only they could hear

“I’m sorry, Violet…”

“No no, I deserved what you said…the cornering me off thing was a little rude, but…” she muttered anxious, hesitating to find the right words to adequately convey her emotions. Finding none as time slipped away, she concluded with a simple nod and a glance.

“Apology accepted...and if it makes you feel any better, not a day goes by I don’t think about it. I should have told you what I did for a living. It was wrong of me to avoid telling you that part of my life.”

She broke her eye contact, pawing the steel floor as she considered her next move carefully, trying to make her proposal fall on accepting ears.

“Shadow, I have a question to ask you,” she began, Bastion’s ears perking up as she did. “I have been less than lucky finding work in the city, and my expenses have, well..."

She stopped momentarily, trying to find a suitable euphemism for her situation before continuing.

“They’ve become a little…tight… and I was wondering if I might be allow-”

“On two conditions,” Bastion interrupted as Violet’s look of shock at his disturbance broke as the wave of the meaning of his words slowly overtook her. Looking back into her eyes, he continued softly while holding her gaze to emphasize his words and intentions.

“First, you are never…NEVER…allowed to bring your work home with you. What you do with your clients is your business and I will not have it on my ship. Do you understand?”

Her rapid nodding answered any questions he had if she understood what he meant. As the tiny clip-clopping of her dancing hooves became more and more pronounced, he raised his hoof to continue, silencing her premature excitations as he made his final point.

“Second: I will expect your rent at the first Monday of the month. We will not enter your quarters, as per our previous arrangements, without your express permission. But if I believe that you are not keeping your shuttle in space-worthy condition, I will revoke your lease. Fair?”

A look of surprise erupted from her face before the Captain had even begun addressing the conditions of her rental, and the tapping of her dancing hooves increased steadily and got louder in volume throughout his speech until finally, as he finished his statement, she pounced on him in a close embrace not at all befitting a lady.

The silence which hung in the air of the cargo hold was a dash of cold water on her face, and even before she knew what she was doing she had released the startled Captain and backed away to the far banister, hair frazzled from her rapid movements, the Captain’s back pressed firmly on the railings in an attempt to distance himself from his attacker. The silence continued, disturbed only by the ruffling of her dress and tinkling of her jewelry as she straightened out the creases her joyous attack had created.

Her gaze never lifting from the floor, she whispered a small “thank you” and rushed past the Captain towards her old shuttle, closing the door behind her and locking it firmly into place. His eyes followed her as she went, picking up her little smile and the glint of a solitary tear on her face. It could, of course, have just been her necklace catching the light of the dimming cargo hold, but Bastion knew better.

He waited until the light in her newly rented shuttle went out, then made his way towards the door leading to his room, shutting off the lights in the hold as he went.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note

I was bereft of my fearless editor Coco for most of this one, so I apologize for any mistakes. My thanks to my first two commenters ever for their support so early on. Your input helped me make some much needed changes.

Chapter Four: Exordium

“Explain yourself" Bastion growled, his leg pointed awkwardly to his side as he reclined in the wooden chair beneath him, addressing the sweating doctor before them. The crew had finally settled around the kitchen table, their hooves drying from the amniotic muck and their whispers dying away as they sat in rapt attention, awaiting what was to come. Wind Dancer was the only one mobile: the pegasus balanced a pot of tea on a pad on his back, sliding out cups to his fellow crew members as he passed behind them. He gave a little nudge to Violet who, with a nod and glimmer of magic, proceeded to divvy out her brew, bobbing the piping teapot from one member of the crew to the other as she stared with the Captain at the doctor who stood away at the head of the table. Salve had returned with Golden Sun from delivering his shivering and terrified sister to the medical bay, and as he stared at the floor and pawed the ground in hesitation the priest passed by through the door frame and gave him a polite but firm little nod to bid him speak.

The Doctor allowed himself a deep calming breath and a long sigh before clearing his throat to began his story. His eyes held the floor as if he addressed the little hybrid directly below his hooves in the medical bay, and the smallest of smiles played over his face as he watched over her form afar. The crew stared at him wordlessly as he mumbled his words, giving him an opportunity to struggle through his memories.

“…I am very smart, but there is still so much I do not understand…” Salve began, looking up from his vigil over his sister and directly into Violet’s eyes. He found them to be quite warmer than the room in which he stood, a room he was barely aware of as everything else save her died away. He blocked out the world and focused on her kind face alone, and found it was the push he needed to continue.

“I had little trouble in medical school, graduated at the top of my class, and have done well for myself working in the finest hospitals all around the inner Alliance planets, even though my family came from little wealth and great hardships. While I enjoyed my work, and the sizable paycheck that came with it, I found that I could never leave my family behind where they were. When I was young, my mother was putting in long hours at her work, straining just to put food on the table for my sister and I…”

Salve dropped his head, and he shook his mane towards the floor. Giving himself a little time to collect his thoughts, he looked up again to find Violet’s eyes not lined with anger at his seemingly arrogant and self-centered appraisal of his own life, but with an understanding of his life story. With a little nod Violet urged him to speak, holding his gaze in an effort to comfort him against the crew as he continued.

“…my Dad passed not long after my mother became pregnant with my sister. His death was a difficult time for us, though in our family we always have a way of making it through the harder times.”

He glanced at his cutie mark now freed from his scrubs or suit jackets, finding a little wooden boat staring back at him with a rope held taught by an invisible force below the surface of his coat. The rope cast ripples around the little craft, and as his leg tensed the boat gave a little bob.

“We lived by the sea, and it was customary for us to launch our dead back into the ocean to be with the Goddesses on their final voyage. It’s an old tradition that my mother’s family kept in an effort to hold onto their customs,” he stated with renewed vigor, the sense of purpose which his cutie mark represented flooding back to him. “When I was a little colt, I was there when my mother pushed my father down our ramp and sent him off to be with The Goddesses, and if there is one thing I remember about that moment...it was her smile.”

He looked to Golden Sun, seeking some recognition of his tradition, and hopefully its significance, in the old priest’s eyes. He found himself smiling when the face looking back was nodding in understanding.

“She wasn’t sad to see him go. She knew that where he was going he wouldn’t need to struggle to live with his pain, and that eventually, when she herself died, she would see him again. We pushed him back out to sea and I knew then, like my mother had always taught us, that everyone has a time and place to die and that that time shouldn’t be one of pain or sadness, but one of rest and preparation for the end. I knew then I wanted to be a doctor," he said with pride, smiling back at the little craft held steady by an invisible anchor beneath his flesh.

“If I could keep my patients healthy and happy for as long as I could, I would keep that part of them which they need the most from breaking away before its time. My family defined me, and I couldn’t allow ponies, griffons, or anyone else to be lost without their families by their side.”

He looked around the table with a renewed sense of purpose, but recoiled when his gaze lingered on Wildfire. The massive stallion’s hooves were tapping on the floor in annoyance, and it looked as though he couldn’t care less about Salve’s story. The doctor doubted he had even heard a word he had said, for it was not the contents of the story which would have annoyed him, but the mere presence of the doctor himself.

“...And we care about this, why?!” the grey mercenary sneered, cocking his eyebrows in annoyance and crossing his hooves in front of him, the glint of the knife on his shoulder catching Salve’s eye. “I don’t see how your little biography is going to explain just what the hell happened down in the cargo bay, and why the hell our mechanic almost died!”

“My sister is part of my family,” Salve retorted, “and my actions are the reason she is on your piece-of-crap ship.”

Wildfire snarled back menacingly as the doctor held his ground, and the mercenary grinned in anticipation of the fight to come. But it would be a fight which would never get the chance to begin as Bastion, grunting slightly as he adjusted to the pain of his leg, raised himself up on the table between the two.

“Wildfire: sit down, now! Doctor, if I ever hear you bad-mouthing my ship again I will make good on my threat from before. Don’t even think of crossing me!”

Bastion’s bark reverberated around the silent dining room, the stallion’s breaths labored as he kept himself upright and pointing his hoof at both ponies in turn. Salve lowered his head to the floor, a little “sorry” escaping his lips as the hope he had been given by the unicorn mare and her priest companion drained almost visibly on the floor. As Bastion took his seat again the doctor continued, hesitating slightly as he regained his courage.

“When I left to go to medical school, I had no choice but to help support my sister and my Mom. I sent back a portion of my paychecks every week, along with little gifts and souvenirs I thought they might like. My Mom would send back pictures of her and Riptide, care packages...little things to keep me going. My sister was just starting to really grow, and boy did she eat a lot! I remember one time she…”

Smiling as he sank deeper into his thoughts, he started slightly when Wildfire’s restrained little grunt and eye-roll illuminated the fact he was getting back off track. Salve coughed a little, reassembled his thoughts, and then began where he left off.

“She was a smart little filly, and she got even smarter as she grew up. I may have graduated at the top of my class, but she...she could do so many things, understand so much more than I could. She would write me every day she could, and her penmanship and understanding of grammar and linguistics far surpassed my own knowledge, even though she was much younger than me. She excelled in mathematics and magical theory long before I did. She was better than me at controlling her magic when she was barely old enough to go to school...when she actually went to school...

“She never had any challenges: her work and understanding of her course material far exceeded the grasp of her teachers, who all started to separate her from their other classes.They tried to run her through magical and mathematical exercises, but she soon became far more adept in their lessons than they were. They tried to placate her with extra work, but it would be completed before they even left the room.”

Shuffling his hooves on the floor, Salve shrugged his shoulders and gave another fleeting glance to Violet, who sat alongside Golden Sun. She looked slightly impressed, but her eyes urged him to continue with his pace regardless of her appraisal. Smiling his assent, Salve raised his head and continued speaking towards the table and the assembled crew.

“My mother had to keep changing her schools, but she was getting smarter and smarter all the time, so much so that my mother could never keep up with the transfers. So, in the end, she took some money she had saved up and bought a bunch of old textbooks, opting to just teach her herself. My sister took up calculus, physics, chemistry, poetry, even dance and calligraphy before she ever got her cutie mark, and still she kept growing…kept on learning...

“One day, I learned about a program catering to the special skills and advanced minds and magic of young unicorns, and I told my Mom thinking that Riptide would want to go. When we got around to actually considering the cost, my mother wasn’t able to afford it...so I decided to pay for her schooling myself.”

Salve couldn’t help but smile, and when he raised his head he found that Violet and Wind Dancer were smiling with him. He rested his eyes on the table, lost in thought, as he imagined his little sister as if she was there, jumping around, dancing out her glee as he imagined she might have been.

“I’ve never seen my sister so excited: I got so many letters about her plans and dreams, the subjects she wanted to learn and things she wanted to try. I had a hard time keeping up with writing her back...the letters just kept on coming. When she finally went to The Academy it took a sizable chunk out of my paycheck, but for once...she actually had a challenge. She had friends, a life outside of her house and new experiences to share with us.”

Casting his face downwards, no one could see his eyes fog over and lose themselves in the dust on the floor as he shielded himself from the memories to come. The image of his smiling and dancing little sister sputtered and died with his resolve, and he swallowed slightly to brace himself, keeping his tone as even as he could as he continued.

“A few months after she began her schooling, the letters stopped coming in as frequently as they used to. Mother got worried, and winter was coming on our home-planet so she wasn’t able to leave the house without contracting an illness, no matter what antibiotics or remedies I prescribed.

"When we would receive letters from Riptide, her penmanship would be inconsistent, her spelling incorrect, her grammar flawed. She was correcting my mistakes before she even went to school! These were mistakes she would never have made had she been in her right mind. My mother didn’t believe me when I told her something was wrong, but it didn’t take a psychiatrist to know she was suffering just as much as I was, that her body was falling apart with worry...just like mine.

“One day the letters stopped, and we heard nothing from her for months. My mother caught pneumonia and was bedridden for weeks, and I almost lost my job struggling to take care of both her and my patients. She got worse and worse, and no matter what I did to keep her healthy the only thing she could think about was my sister. Then, one day, I got a letter in the mail from the Academy where she was, and I rushed home to show it to my mother...to let her open it first, let her read what her daughter had written...but she...she...”

Slowly, quietly, his head fell from the table to hide his distress from the assembled crew, and his eyes focused on his hooves as he shirked their gaze and stared only at the floor and the little hybrid just below them. She might as well have been miles away.

“...Riptide had misspelled her own name...”

He gritted his teeth and his eyes sealed shut as he struggled and fought to remain strong, but his clenching stomach betrayed his rapid decline into despair. Violet watched him in worry, clutching her little handkerchief in her hooves as she sent what thoughts she could to the doctor, and as she did he raised his head up again and spoke to her and her alone, casting every other face aside as he focused on the one he knew would listen. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, his timbre broken and hesitant, but a little smile from Violet gave him the boost he needed to carry on.

“My mother panicked and hyperventilated, and she injured her lungs trying to calm herself down. I admitted her to the hospital and cared for her myself, but her pneumonia resurged and… caught her immune system off guard… and...”

The pattering of his solitary tear could be heard around the room, now as silent as a crypt. Even Wildfire was held at attention, looking from the Doctor to Wind Dancer at his side and back again, his previous challenge dashed on the floor as Salve remained, motionless and silent.

“She…” Salve gasped, his breath rattling with tears as he steadied his voice, his eyes locking with Violet’s. He gave himself a few breaths, struggling to restrain his beating heart just like he had been trained, to calm his trembling limbs like he had learned how to do...but there was little he could do now that everything had come flooding back.

He thought he was prepared for anything...but he wasn’t prepared for this.

“…I cast her off myself…” he choked out to Violet, his eyes pleading with hers hoping she might understand...that any of them might understand. Violet nodded, her face still smiling even as they shared a tear, Golden Sun behind her shaking his head with a solemn pain.

“Riptide wasn’t there to see it, and I don’t think she knows that Mom is dead… I don’t think I can tell her without making her…worse...”

The Captain took this moment to finally break the silence, raising himself up in his chair as he kept his voice calm, addressing the Doctor with a soft intent.

“What do you mean, ‘worse’?”

“The dragon scales weren’t a giveaway?” the doctor chuckled weakly before shaking his head to remove the cloud forming around his words. “She wasn’t always like that. She was once normal: a little too smart for her age maybe, a little introverted for the most part, but normal. Her letter though…”

He paused again, looking around the table before casting his gaze to the floor.

“The filly who wrote that letter could not have been my sister. She spoke of projects, experiments the Alliance was running on them, the ponies in charge who’d inspect them, test them. She rambled on and on about the conditions of their living quarters…they were treating them like savages, not ponies.”

“Why?” Dextra piped up from the far end of the table, struggling to understand the complicated reasoning which might be hidden behind his words as to the Alliance’s actions, though she got the strange feeling it wouldn’t be something she wanted to hear. Salve paused, trying to find a way to best encapsulate what his sister had survived, alighting on the words he needed with a shudder.

“They were harvesting them.”

The ripple of shock which ran through the room was punctuated only by the stallion’s soft words as he continued, ignorant of their reactions, focusing instead on the few things he did know...the things of which he was undeniably certain. He drew what little comfort he could from his understanding before speaking.

“They had been training them to be the most powerful magical forces in the system, engaging them in rigorous coursework and schooling to weed out the ones who would be unable to perform to their specifications while finding those who truly excelled. My sister was exceptional, but then again, so were the others who they tried it on. All of the others died; their brains couldn’t take the change. But she…”

He imagined the mare sleeping peacefully near Chamomile in the medical bay, her mind ablaze as it always was as her body remained immobile and unconscious. She would have been twitching as she slept...she always twitched. Her mind would always be a few steps ahead of her body, but that was what made her truly remarkable. That was what made her his beloved sister. He gave a little smile to the floor, just in the hopes that she might feel him nearby as she wrestled with the demons in her beautiful mind.

“...She could take it.”

“Take what?”

The doctor pulled himself from his reverie, looked at the pegasus pilot who had finally spoken, and relayed everything he knew about her transformation:

“I don’t know much, but I do know that they were doing something to their brains, their bodies, attempting to change something inside them to their benefit. I can only assume, given that they only accepted unicorns, that it had to do with manipulating what magic they could perform. The other subjects...they never knew what they were getting into. Had their parents known...had anyone known...I have no doubt it would have been stopped immediately.”

“Hold on,” Wildfire exclaimed as he held his head in his hooves. “How exactly do you know anything about what they did? You weren’t there! Why do you just assume they were trying to screw around in their heads?”

“I personally saw to those dying children,” Salve countered, though his tone abandoned his previous annoyance and adopted the warmth of sincere understanding. “I worked in the Central Alliance hospitals, remember? The Trauma Surgery Wing is not necessarily where one finds little colts and fillies with massive brain damage.”

His explanation apparently sufficient for the mercenary, Wildfire looked back to the table and his cup before him as he mentally plodded along just a few steps behind the rest of the crew. Salve afforded him a little time to catch up, and then continued.

“I thought it was odd they were bringing in children every week, almost like clockwork. They were always brought in under other circumstances: a concussion playing hoofball, a cranial fracture as a result of falling off a ladder, walking into walls, falling down stairs...they tried to hide it from me, but at least for a little while…”

He smiled to himself, thinking of Riptide and her childhood snarkiness as she corrected his homework when he wasn’t looking. She would always do that...and he had learned to be observant because of her.

“For a while, I was proud to be related to my sister. I knew the signs and saw what was really happening: these children’s brains, they had literally ruptured in their heads from the pressure and electroshock therapy they had endured. From what I have been able to gather, my sister was their last test subject.”

“What did they do to her?” Violet whispered in fear, her hooves clutching the priest's arm as she stared in horror at Salve, both wanting to hide herself from his next words and at the same time struggling to gather everything he said. He looked back towards her and the priest.

“They learned that their test subjects’ skulls had been unable to fully adapt to the magical surge of energy mainly because they were brittle pony bones. They needed something which would both repel foreign magical energy and keep the power contained within the brain, and there is only one substance that we know of which has that ability, one creature which can naturally repel magical energy…”

“Dragons...” Golden Sun whispered under his breath, though loud enough that everyone at the table, including the doctor, rounded in surprise at his proclamation. The priest’s eyes never left Salve’s as the doctor nodded in confirmation. Golden Sun shuddered at the concept of such arcane magics being used on the innocent, and the doctor’s next words did nothing to assuage his moral distress.

“They needed a dragon’s body to seal with my sister's. They were forced to surgically recreate her spinal and cranial structure to be able to handle the magical energy they wanted her to use, but with the dragon’s own bones in the place of hers. If they could find something to contain what magic they instilled in her in a framework which could handle that kind of power, they wouldn’t suffer those losses again. From what I can tell, they succeeded.”

“Wait a second,” Bastion stammered as he directed his hoof towards Salve. “You’re telling me that The Alliance went around the system looking for some miniature dragon bones that somehow could be changed to create her body? How does that work? Dragons and ponies are so different...”

“Yes, Captain, they are,” Salve continued, “but evidently that didn’t stop them. Science is a terribly effective tool for changing the physical world, altering the very nature of things...including something as strong as dragon bones. They must have had some problems making the bone structures match enough for a clean transfer, but they succeeded in transplanting the bones, and other DNA, into my sister."

His head looked around the table and his eyes darted around to face each crew member in turn before speaking to Bastion directly.

"...But that was not the end of the experiment. They had the DNA present and the new skeleton, but they could not extract her brain without severing it from the body entirely, which would have killed her if they didn’t have another body they could use to keep the cells alive. They needed to build a body from scratch, a body which would be totally unable to reject the brain or any other organ they need... and they had only one possible donor who could have worked."

"Who?" came Dextra's inquisitive voice from nearby, her words tainted in confusion.

Salve merely looked at her before giving a declaration so devoid of emotion that she couldn't help but shiver:

"...Only Riptide would do...so they cloned her."

If his story had not brought home the full weight of the trials suffered by the mare mere meters below their hooves, his calm statement was more than successful at driving his point home. Salve watched as the crew recoiled in shock, though Wildfire, skeptical as always, challenged the doctor as he struggled to wrap his rather uncultured brain around the concept and its implications.

“So you’re saying that little dragon-filly in the med bay ain’t even your sister? That she’s some blood bag organ factory or some other science-fiction mumbo-jumbo?”

“You do realize you’re hurtling through space right now being driven by a spacecraft whose sole method of propulsion is pure magical energy, right?” came Violet’s snide remark as she lifted her cup from the table to finish off the remaining dregs of tea. Pouring herself another cup, she watched the tea for signs of spillage as she railed on him even further. “I think a little genetic cloning isn’t too much of a stretch, even for you.”

Wildfire tried to snarl an undeniable crass and offensive remark at the mare’s expense, but Salve interrupted him to set his raging mind at ease, if only temporarily.

“Yes, she is a clone," Salve remarked, nodding at Wildfire as he did. "But the thing about clones is that they are exact copies. Even though her body may be new, it's still the same body it once was. Her mind is still the same and her brain is still hers. She is still my sister, and I will love her regardless.”

His statement earned him a little smile from Violet and a big scowl from Wildfire, though he personally didn’t care about the latter’s condition in the slightest as he addressed the mare before him. Salve straightened himself up again before getting back on track.

“They used her new body as their vessel, recreating her muscles, organs, and tissue around the dragon bones. They were able to transplant her brain into her new body with minimal cell damage or necrosis...but what they did after that, I haven’t been able to tell. I haven’t been able to find an X-ray machine, a neural imager, an MRI, anything which will allow me to find out. Having to run from the Alliance has put me in a position where finding anything adequate to do that will be next to impossible.”

“So where does this leave us, Doctor?” Bastion stated plainly, glowering as he raised himself from his chair to stare down the green stallion at the head of the table. “Would I be correct in saying that you’ve succeeded in stealing Alliance property, property they are willing to kill for, to cover up some conspiracy which only you are aware of?...and now, you expect us...you expect me... to help you?! You’ve put me in a position I don’t really want to be in! Why in the hell should I help you?!”

Salve stood firm, holding his gaze on the Captain as the rest of the crew watched the pair in silence. Bastion did nothing save glare at the doctor: this singular pony who had placed the whole weight of the system and the Alliance’s wrath back on his aching shoulders to be borne towards some cause he had no say in. No matter the reasons for his actions, Bastion could never look upon this selfish doctor in a good light even if he tried, and even if his intentions had been pure.

Salve raised his head a little as he tried to summarize his history, only to find himself thinking instead on a single memory of his sister. She had been playing with him, jumping onto his back, biting his ear as they wrestled on the grass behind their home, on that little patch of land before the lawn dropped off to meet the sea below. It had been right before she had left, and it was the last time he could remember his sister as she always had been: happy, innocent, and safe. It was the last time he had remembered himself being as happy as she, and it gave him the perspective to address the Captain again with his head held high.

“They succeeded in creating a pony capable of doing anything and everything they wanted her to. They played with my sister’s brain out of such naiveté, and I don’t know what they did or why. I don’t know what they turned her into, but regardless of whether or not Riptide and I remain on this ship, the Alliance will know you’ve helped me and for that they will hunt you.”

“You’re not making this better!” Bastion growled, his gaze on the Doctor hiding his eyes from the wince of surprise from Violet, who listened as her Captain broke those fragile bonds of civility to address the doctor as his voice shook with rage. “You need to tell me everything!”

“I’m sorry,” Salve began, holding his head bowed before the Captain.

“...But that’s everything I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The light bulb wasn’t screwed in correctly.

She had counted the number of threads showing on the device and the possible number of grooves which would be required to keep it from falling out, and had reasoned based on the lengths of both that it had been improperly installed. That was the most probable explanation for the flickering she had been staring at for an hour.

These hooves are made for screwing, that’s just what they’ll do…

Those voices, their insidious nothings, their little whispers...

It had been so long since they’d spoken, she’d almost forgotten they were there, plaguing her, their little talons gouging holes in her brain. It was if they had always been there: they were present when she’d first opened her eyes to find a brown stallion staring back at her, they were dancing in the corner when her brother kissed her on the head and told her everything was going to be okay. They screamed in fury as she closed her eyes tight, wincing from both the vivid and violent images they created and the pain in her leg as he doped her into a peaceful state before leaving her behind...leaving her to be haunted and forgotten.

She closed her eyes tighter and the throbbing died away only a little. They would be back. They always came back.

The ignition of some infernal beast from the bowels of the ship released a vapor from the ceiling. It slid out, cascading a thin mist from the overhead grates, slowly drifting in long curls and folds down atop her body. She held her breath in panic as the wave washed over her nose, but after a few moments she couldn’t resist giving a sniff.

Hints of iron oxide and potassium-nitrate plus sweet sweet particles of dihydrogen monoxide equals rusty internal ventilation system on a mid-size freighter.

Nothing to fear, Riptide, she thought to herself, allowing herself a few breaths. Just air and water...nothing to fear...nothing to fear...

All rest and no play makes Riptide a dull pony.

Riptide slid to her side, struggling to avoid the glaring light above her and the cacophony of various voices whispering their malevolent nothings into her mind. With a little twist she shifted her position, coming to rest with her head hanging over the makeshift bed she’d woken up in. Glancing around the room in which she found herself, she couldn’t help but count the number of tiles on the floor.

Two hundred and forty-one. Not an even number. Somepony screwed up.

Blinking the drug-induced sleep from her eyes, she cast her bleary gaze towards the yellow mare lying a few feet away from her on the surgical table, her arms bandaged along with her chest as she lay naked, like her, alone in a warm room with nothing but the beeps of a familiar computer to keep her company. Riptide traced the line of the mare’s spine with her eyes as she examined the body before her: she was not too much older than herself, or at least not much older than she thought herself to be. Riptide couldn’t help but admire her: she was exceptionally pretty, and her white hair was almost blinding in the overhanging lights of the medical bay. It fell in long waves and glinted, just like the metal walls around them, draping over the edges of the table, fluttering in the mist...

Snap her spine.

She closed her eyes quickly. She’d done this before, and the whispering in her ears was never something she would obey. Now was not the time for panic. Now was the time for calm.

Snap her spine.

“…No...” she muttered, clutching her head.

Rend her flesh.

“No!”

Rip her apart.

“NOOOO!”

The blood-wrenching scream erupting from Riptide’s mouth was just as vigorous as the shriek which came from the yellow mechanic as they both tumbled out of their beds, the needles in the mechanic’s arm somehow holding their place. Chamomile reeled in pain as she examined her arm: her fall had caused the skin to bend and rip a little, and her bandages were unable to completely soak up the little trickle of blood which began to run down her arm. That will definitely leave a mark, she thought to herself.

Riptide, on the far side of the room against the wall, cradled herself in her hooves, her dragon plate sliding on skin in places as she struggled to hold herself. The amniotic slime still coated the scales, and she found herself unable to keep her grip no matter how much she needed to, no matter how furiously she tried to brush it off only to reapply it with the next swipe of her hooves.

You ripped open her vein, you silly little girl, the voice hissed. Riptide could almost hear the edges of its forked tongue vibrating in her mind as it sidled up close to her ears, its voice bold and unafraid.

“Shut up…” she whispered to the knees now firmly pressed to her chest, rocking herself as if trying to shake the little imaginary demon who dug his claws in her head, grinning sadistically.

That’s not how you make friends, Riptide...

“Please…don’t do this…” she whispered, shaking her head as she rocked herself.

She’ll never love you...you’re worthless to her...

“Please…”

Why don’t you just die already?

“…I don’t want to play anymore…” Riptide murmured into her knees, her mouth wide in a grin of pure wretchedness as her face contorted her thin little lips. Her eyes closed shut and tears, squeezing out where they could, drenched her cheeks as she watched as the horrors cast their shadows in her vision. She tried to throw off the voice in her head, but the harder she rocked, the tighter its grip became.

“It’s okay, honey…” a soft voice whispered back, so unlike the voices of her monsters that her ears swiveled to gather every last note of that melodious and warm sound. “Everything is going to be just fine… you’ll see…”

With a slight pressure and a sudden warmth, Riptide opened her eyes to find herself locked firmly in the chest of the yellow mare on the floor, Chamomile’s coat brushing against Riptide’s nose. She could smell her perfume, she could feel the heat radiating from her body, and as the hybrid felt the fur on the mechanic’s breast she wrapped all four of her hooves around the mare’s belly as Chamomile cradled her into a long-overdue state of calm. Riptide stifled her tears as the mare slowly bleeding on the floor whispered into her ear, casting away the demons with nothing but her reassurances and promises.

“Sssshhh...just relax, honey…everything is going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you, darling. I won’t let anything happen to you…”

Chamomile reaffirmed herself to her namesake as she lulled the hybrid in her hooves into a tranquil state, Riptide’s sobs and wrenching gasps slowly decreasing in intensity and frequency before snuffing out entirely. Her easy breaths brushed past the stray furs on the mechanic’s coat as she became more and more subdued, and Chamomile could feel the mare’s heartbeat against her own, once frantic and unregulated but now pumping in time with her's. It was only when she knew her charge was completely and totally at peace did Chamomile pull back her head and look down at the dragon-pony. Riptide’s head leaned up against Chamomile’s chest, and as the demon died away their eyes met for the very first time.

“Hi there, darling…what’s your name?” Chamomile smiled sweetly, the pain in her chest masked by the swelling of her heart as the mare in her hooves smiled back.

“Riptide…” the little hybrid whispered, her gaze still locked with the mechanic’s, her heart still beating in time, her breaths still long and slow and steady. Chamomile gave her a happy smile as she held Riptide closer, her eyes twinkling.

“Hello, Riptide. You can call me Chamomile…”

She’s not your mother, Riptide.

“That doesn’t matter!” Riptide barked, her head twisting to the side as she yelled back towards her inner demon who, in Chamomile’s presence, was hiding away...somewhere...somewhere inside her head. She could feel those little claws moving away, and as she stared into oblivion she couldn’t help but cry in frustration.

“Hey hey hey! Eyes on me!” Chamomile crooned to the young mare in her arms. “Eyes on me, dear. I’m all that matters right now, okay? Just concentrate on me…that’s it. Don’t worry about them, just think about me, okay?”

Riptide relaxed, her eyes glaring at the opposing wall where her demon had crawled out before they closed, her face nuzzling deeper and deeper into the mechanic’s chest as she struggled to contain herself.

“Breathe with me, Rippy. Feel my chest, okay? Can you breathe like me? Breathe in!...”

Chamomile’s voice came lilting through the little mare’s hair as the mechanic’s chest rose, forcing Riptide’s head to rise with it. Without her acknowledgement Riptide began breathing too, sucking in gulps of air as her lungs filled with the sweet and fragrant gas.

“…And breathe out…”

They let out a great gust of wind as the two mares released their lungs’ cargo in unison, fluttering their hair as they did. Two more repetitions of their little exercise got Riptide calm enough to allow her muscles to relax, a movement which Chamomile picked up, causing her to smile at her success. She tightened her grasp on the little hybrid, struggling to maintain her grip as her hooves reacted to the slick, matted fur. They rested together in silence for a little while longer, hearts and breaths in unison, before the little navy unicorn’s voice somehow escaped the furry breast she found herself lost in.

“…Only my brother calls me ‘Rippy’…” she stated matter-of-factly, her muzzle still buried in the mechanic’s chest, a little smile peeking out from the scowl her demon had resurrected.

“Well then, looks like your brother and I have one thing in common: we both think it’s a great nickname, huh?” Chamomile smirked playfully, her words causing the little mare’s eyes to peek out from her chest and back towards her face.

“My brother is a doctor though…and you’re just a mechanic…” Riptide muttered, slightly confused as she tried to make the connections between her brother and the yellow mare in front of her. Chamomile looked down at the little mare in confusion, not only for that fact that the little dragon-pony in her grasp had relatives, but also for her keen observation.

“How did you know I was a mechanic?” Chamomile asked quietly, checking her body for any tell-tale grease stains which would have given away her station on the ship. Riptide swallowed before replying calmly.

“Your skin has been soaked in iodine solution which is usually used as medical grade antiseptic, but your hair and chest smell like wildflowers and a hint of vanilla which suggests to me that you used a little perfume not too long ago, enough that it lasted through your cleaning.”

She beamed up at Chamomile while giving a little wink, finishing her words with a little jab from her hoof into the mechanic’s side:

“I hope whoever he is was impressed.”

Chamomile’s blush and furtive glance towards the door was missed by Riptide, who continued her analysis of the yellow mare.

“You missed a spot on your chest, which smells like a mixture of standard household bath soap and the chemical substance polydimethylsiloxane…so I’m guessing you tried to clean yourself by washing your coat to get rid of that substance, which I’m sure we both know…”

The two smiled together as they finished the sentence in unison:

“…is used for greasing engine parts.”

Their shared smile was enough to get them both giggling, and for the first time in a long, long, while: Riptide began to laugh. Her belly shook with mirth as the two mares rocked with great fits of laughter, still holding each other as tears of merriment cascaded from their eyes. This was the first time she had laughed since she’d seen her mother. She hadn’t been this happy in a long while, and only her mother could make her this happy.

She will never replace your mother you know…her demon whispered, the lingering needle of pain lancing in her head as the claw dug deeper.

But even though her demon came back out to play, she didn’t mind. For the first time in a long while Riptide was happy, and it was all because of the mare still entangled in her hooves. Although she missed her mother deeply, and though she yearned for her chance to see her mother’s face again and hold her close, she didn’t mind the distance. The mare who held her ever-so-tenderly was enough of a conduit for all of her mother’s love that she didn’t need any more assurance to relax her head and nuzzle the mechanic’s chin before closing her eyes and allowing herself to be rocked to sleep.

Just as her mother would do, so many years ago.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So what happens now?”

“Nothing happens, Doctor. You and your sister get off when we hit Nagadoches and you take your troubles elsewhere. We won’t have any part in what you’re up to.”

“This is your battle now too, Captain! Do you honestly think they will let you live knowing what you know now? Do you think the Alliance sending a mad demon-pony to slaughter all of us was as bad as it was going to get?”

“I wouldn’t have had to deal with that if you hadn’t turned yourself into a fugitive and almost gotten me and my crew killed.”

Scoffing audibly through clenched teeth, Salve rounded on the furious Captain as he stood his ground.

“Yeah,” Salve countered, “because that was the one thing I thought of when I got on your ship: How can I fuck up someone’s life today, and how can I make their death extra-super special?”

“Honestly, your behavior makes it seem like that’s all you're capable of thinking,” Bastion shouted, his voice rising higher in volume as he drowned out the doctor. “I think a certain yellow pony down in MY med bay would agree. Why she decided to save you, I will never know. I do know, however, that if you ever pull another stunt like what happened a few hours ago I will put a bullet in you myself and spare the Alliance the effort!”

His last jab shut the doctor up quick, and Bastion knew he wouldn’t get much out of Salve after that. He turned his attention to his crewmates now poring over the box in the middle of the table, its edges catching the little light available in the kitchen. The ship readjusted the lights, dimming them slightly to complement their nearby cluster of little planets. It was an automatic measure to ensure everyone was adjusted to their destination’s corresponding Circadian clock, and a few members of the crew looked to check the time. The others, however, looked directly at the silver ingot on the table.

“I’m lost…” Wildfire pouted, his head resting on the table as he glared hatefully at the mysterious box not inches from his nose.

“That’s a shocker.”

Wildfire glared venomously at Wind Dancer who had just returned from the kitchen with another pot of tea for some and a bottle of the finest liquor they had to calm down the more robust among them still shaken by the day’s events. This translated to Wind Dancer, Wildfire, Bastion, and surprisingly Violet who, much to the Captain’s amazement, could slam back a shot with the best of them. Her drinking technique was impeccable, though she was unable to hide the pain completely as Wildfire and Bastion could. A little grin lined Bastion's face as he gestured with his head towards the box, catching Salve’s attention.

“Why did you steal this from our kitchen?”

Salve looked from the ground back to the Captain, who had just finished drinking with his crew. Expecting to find malice and hatred locked away in those venomously green eyes he'd become all too familiar with, Salve was startled when nothing but concern and curiosity poked through the Captain's visage. Encouraged to tell the truth, he spoke up.

“I honestly don’t know, but when I broke her out of the hospital they had her locked in I saw a paper with pictures of things which looked just like that box. That first night we had dinner, I noticed it lying there…and so, I panicked. I’m sorry Captain, but I don’t know what that box is or what it does. All I know is that it is somehow connected to what happened to my sister.”

“And do you know this for a fact?” The Captain pressured, trying to wrap his head around the idea that this little box was somehow holding the fate of the hybrid mare below them within itself. Salve’s little shake of his head was sufficient enough to tell Bastion everything he needed to know:

They were lost.

They needed some help. They didn’t know where to start, and now they had a ticking time bomb in the form of an unstable pony hybrid sleeping it off just beneath their hooves. For all the Captain knew, she could rip a hole in the side of the ship, murder every one of them without much effort, and could probably do it with her brain alone. The thought, and the shot of whiskey he took to calm his nerves, made him shudder.

With a sigh and a glance at the remaining drops of whiskey in his glass, Bastion attempted to weigh his options, but the one thing he was able to react to was the fact that he, like his crew, was completely exhausted. Wildfire slumped in his chair, cradling a shot of the amber fluid as if he were holding a child he would never foal, like that little glass was the most precious thing in the world. It was a good thing he was so protective: 100-proof straight whiskey didn’t come cheap out in The Black. Wind Dancer and Dextra conversed in hushed tones, eying the box and each other in mixed measures of fear and confusion, engaging in the silent heated discussions couples like them often engaged in. Golden Sun cleaned, his mind distracted from the day's events as his brain gave him little jobs to do around the kitchen. The Captain didn’t really mind: a tidy room was the product of a tidy mind, after all.

All that was left was Violet, who hovered a shot of whiskey to her side and closed her eyes as she struggled to ward off sleep’s embrace made warm by the alcohol in her belly. She grinned like every tired soul does when savoring a creature comfort as the glass graced her lips. She went to drink before turning to the Captain, who stared both at her and the glass held clutched lightly in her magic as if a single nudge would send it hurtling to the floor. Her eyes sparkled, and she remembered her manners as she poured him a glass with her magic, holding her own with a hoof as she offered the new glass to the Captain.

Nodding his thanks as he took it, their glasses clinked as they pulled down a drink together, the warm and biting rush nearly held back silently by them both. Violet gave a little cough which pushed through her closed lips, while Bastion gave a little growl of pain and burning pleasure as his old friend went down smooth. His cocked eyebrow was the only signal she needed to keep the aqua vitae coming: a challenge she accepted gracefully, though not completely without a little glint of unladylike competition.

Salve watched them all from the far end of the table, knowing that he had doomed them all. Nothing good would come out of their helping him and his sister, but the crew of this little boat tumbling through space, its helm and guiding star his one greatest enemy, was doing it nonetheless. The thought of having someplace to call home, if only for a little while, made him smile briefly before another truth dawned on him.

Soon, the two of them would be alone again, fighting the Alliance by themselves. She would be taken again. He would die, a physical end to match the gaping hole his mother left behind. The crew would be killed by her hoof or the Alliance’s, and there was nothing the doctor could do to stave off the inevitable. Casting his glance back to the ever-friendly floor, he turned silently and made his way to the medical bay to check on his charges.

No one watched him leave, and after a few minutes it was as if he had never existed.

The Captain and Violet were the only two who remained, their faces flickering by candlelight, the rest of the crew having made their ways to bed some minutes prior. Wind Dancer and Dextra had turned out the lights when they left as per the duo’s request: the fluorescent lights were doing nothing but distracting them from their drinks and the ensuing haze the spirit had created. Soon, they found the dancing mote of energy held tethered to the world by a solitary candle and that little flame's celestial brethren the only source of illumination.

Candlelight had always been preferable to them both, though for different reasons. Violet looked into the flames and it reminded her of home: it reminded her of the softness of the evening and the fragility of her art, the inconsistency of a capricious heart and the power of a resolved one.

Bastion savored every moment the flame flickered to life, sometimes dying out a little before pulling itself back from the brink to continue its purpose. They always burned on as long as things were calm, and wouldn’t go out if tended. He always imagined he was like that, that his ship was the fuel he needed to keep on going, and as long as things remained calm, as long as they were safe, he and his crew would always keep on moving...keep on burning...

Candles had a nasty habit of being more revelatory than other ponies sometimes.

“That’s quite a story Salve’s got,” Bastion said to his drink on the mahogany surface, the light of the candle dancing off the little waves which formed along the edges as their ship moved through the nothingness. “Something tells me there is a little more we don’t really know, though.”

“He was quite earnest, Shadow. You should at least give him credit for that” was her pleading response, her purple shawl hugging the table as she turned her head slightly. “You’ve been a little hard on him…”

“ A little hard? Are you kidding?” Bastion reeled, catching her eyes as he lightly banged the table with his hoof, both glasses thrown slightly into the air before coming back to the table. “He brought this whole heap of mess down on us, nearly got us all killed, and then played it off like nothing happened! He brought a weapon on my ship, put my crew at risk, and then expects me to help him? He’s trying to swing everyone over with some crazy story and expect me to go along with it, to pretend like that's okay!”

Bastion paused a moment, cooling himself down though his voice, never raised above normal conversation volume, still crackled with his trademark rage. He cast his gaze back down to the table, sliding his waiting shot of whiskey a little closer.

“I’m trying to understand all of this, Violet, I really am…”

“I know you are, Shadow, but you are the Captain: you have to do something about all this, even if it's something the crew doesn’t like. You’ve done well in the past, and I know you can do it again.”

“What should I do?” was all he could muster his pride to ask the mare at his side, whiskey and confusion making his rationale more and more irrational. He noticed her start slightly at his question, her face locked with his in astonishment before looking away quickly. After a moment, she drained her glass slowly and explained her reasoning, watching his eyes for signs of comprehension.

“He’s a kind boy, Shadow. I know for a fact that he didn’t mean to bring this down on you specifically, even though I know you feel he did. He just doesn't understand how life works out here, and now he has to protect her by himself, without his parents, and most certainly without any resources. He's lost, just like you and I were. I think you have more to lose by kicking him off this ship than you do by letting him and his sister stay. When was the last time you’ve had a good medic on this ship, or even one at all?”

She let her words linger a while, boring a hole in his mind with her logic. The correct answer was ‘never’, and they both knew it. Her words set his mind at a little more ease as he considered her defense, draining his shot with a little grunt before placing the glass back on the table.

“You don’t even know him, but you speak as if you can read his mind.”

“You’re right, I don’t know him,” she admitted, pouring herself and the Captain another little drink. “But I know you well enough to know that if you had wanted him off your ship, there would have been nothing stopping you.”

“What, am I that heartless?”

Looking over to the mare who lingered there beside him, even more stunning than usual in the candlelight, Bastion found his question answered. Her cocked eyebrow was enough of a response, and he reminded himself of just who he was really dealing with.

Of course you would, you big oaf. That’s the first thing you would have done.

“Hey, don’t take it so hard,” she cooed, pushing his drink in his direction as she took up her own in her glimmering magic. “Being a softy isn’t as overrated as you make it out to be.”

With a nod and a clink of their glasses, they pulled the drinks down their throats, Violet getting more and more attuned to the bite of the whiskey as the bottle slowly drained. She wasn’t even giving off her little cough anymore. Bastion almost missed it: it was always a sign that she was imperfect, especially when she seemed otherwise...just like she did now. With a little shudder, Bastion grinned sideways at the mare as he refilled their glasses.

“I’m not a softy...”

Violet brought up her glass with her magic, looking through the liquid at the candle on the table as she pondered his words. She looked over the edge of her glass still hovering on her lips as the liquid’s aroma wafted silent and seditious into her nostrils. The edge of the glass playing with her tender bottom lip before she drained it with a single deft movement. Choking it back, she dropped her glass and gave a coy little wink to the stallion at her side, affording him one quiet but full little whisper.

“Liar.”

Rising to the challenge, Bastion drained his glass as well, and when he was finished they smiled warmly at one another. Her little grin was enough to set him at ease. Of anyone on deck, she would be the only one he would suffer to call him a liar. She was also the only one who would ever be allowed to call him by his first name.

She had earned those rights, if nothing else.

They refilled their glasses, her magic shaking the bottle slightly as her concentration, whether being impacted by the whiskey or the mere presence of Bastion at her side, broke a little. As she filled the glasses, Bastion broke the silence.

“Have you made contact with any clients? Nagadoches isn’t exactly your kind of world, Violet, though I do know of a few wealthy plantation owners who might fit the bill.”

He had never offered to find her work, and the thought of him interceding in her affairs made her reel slightly. Just the alcohol talking sweetie, she told herself. Just the alcohol…

“I have actually. As soon as we hit the stratosphere, I’m gone.”

“Does the crew know your plans?”

“Dextra does, but only because she has that nasty habit of being a little more perceptive than we’d like.”

They both chuckled as another round was poured. “That she does indeed” were the last words Bastion would say before knocking back another shot, the bottle now mostly empty.

They sat in silence for a while, both staring at the little candle flickering on the table as it cast long, shifting shadows on the box in front of them. Violet looked at it with a sense of wonder, very unlike her companion by her side. The box’s edges were perfect, its facets flawless, the gleam from the candle looking almost as if it were casting an ever-churning rainbow sheen across the metal’s surface. As she rubbed a hoof over the top of the box, she could have sworn she saw the little diamond shaped puncture sparkle with a light of its own, casting a wave of cold shivers to run up her foreleg from the contact.

Owing it to the cold of space, she looked back at her drink now filling up again as Shadow poured what was left of the bottle for the two of them. It would be a while until they could restock their supply of spirits, so she took his offering with no small smile on her face. He might have been mad for all those years, but he was at least cordial.

In fact, he was almost kind...

There was something about him which had changed, some portion of his ever-angry heart which had softened in her absence. He might have been strict and unforgiving still, but now...now he was polite, generous, loving, much less the ruffian she had known in the past. He watched over Chamomile as if she were his own, and regarded his crew as his family instead of as his employees as he had ever so long ago. It might have been the liquor which greased their wheels and made them nicer to one another, but even when they had spoken alone in the cargo bay after their first dinner, he was gentle, understanding...forgiving. Why had it taken him all these years to become this way? Why had he changed his behavior now?

Had it been her absence?

Had it been her arrival?

He was a hard stallion to know...but she knew his heart, if nothing else. It was his compass, and he never deviated from it. He was one to hold grudges, remember the past, dwell in his failures day after day. He remembered and honored those who aided him, and sought to ruin his foes. But if she was his foe...why was he afraid of hurting her? She meant nothing to him. She was the mare who hurt him, so why wouldn't he abandon her? Why would he allow her to stay on his ship? Why would he share his spirits, his secrets, his weaknesses...

Why would he ever show his weaknesses...to anyone?

Unless he had forgiven her from the pain he held in his heart, unless he had forgotten the madness and anger which had once been his constant companions in her dismissal...there would be no peaceful sleep for Shadow Bastion with her around. He had forgiven her, he had let go...that was the only explanation she could think of. He was embracing everything he had spent his long years hating.

He was embracing her...and he wasn't the same angry stallion he had always been. He was somepony else entirely.

Her chair moved a few inches closer to his as she approached him for heat...his heat, their heat, the whiskey’s heat...any kind of warm contact. Though she was hesitant, and even though that sober portion of her mind screamed at her for her audacity, she knew she could find it here, now, on the ship...

...With him.

Swirling the contents of her little glass she chose her words carefully, trying to play into the Captain’s sentiments as she made an argument she knew he would refuse outright:

“Shadow, please: don’t leave them there. Please don’t abandon them. They've gone through too much as it is, and things are only going to get worse. She doesn't deserve that, and he doesn't deserve to have her taken away. They need you. They need us...”

He eyed his glass with a mixture of longing and hatred, envying the people who did not require the sting of booze to cast off the few, strong walls between themselves and their thoughts. Whiskey, this whiskey especially, always made those walls come down just enough for his truthful intents to come over...though as the drink wore off the walls of his reservations got a little higher and higher to the point where it was easier to keep up the façade than tear the walls down.

Right now though, with her help, Violet’s plea reflected his own...and when the time was right that ambition, that little thought, gathered the courage and leapt over the wall entirely.

“I won’t, Violet...I promise.”

They shared their last shot in the dark together silently save her little adorable cough, and as the light died down he watched with a smile as her hooves slid in between his own. The mare curled up beside him, her head on the table as she rested parallel to the mahogany counter, her eyes closed in an easy sleep. He relaxed when her sides pressed firmly to his own, and closed his eyes a little as their shared heat lulled them both further down the road to sleep. Shadow looked down at the slumbering mare, playing softly with her skin, her hooves wrapped up tightly in his own as he laid his head down beside hers, watching over her as she slept.

Keeping her safe.

Keeping them all safe.

“Just like a good Captain should” he whispered to her, even though she would never hear his words, never understand his full meaning.

She had been the victim of so much of his neglect, so much apathy and hatred, that he had forgotten himself and his duties. It was a promise he had broken ever so long ago...and she deserved an apology.

She deserved the world.

He smiled at the candle before snuffing it out with his hoof, enshrouding them in a warm darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dr. Salve Breakwater slid open the door to the medical bay as quietly as he could to find both of his patients absent from their last locations, their shared breathing the only sign of where they had gone. He turned to find them curled up together, sleeping in a corner with little smiles on their faces, both looking happy and healthy considering the severity of their ordeals. He grinned and closed the door behind him as he made his way to the machines on the far side of the room, examining the yellow mare’s vitals one last time before deeming her stable enough to no longer require any medication.

Making his way as silently as possible towards the mares on the floor, he crawled forward and, with a light pressure on her bandage with his hoof, slid the needle from Chamomile's arm with his magic. A little grunt of discomfort arose from the mechanic as she opened her eyes drowsily to figure out what had happened.

“I'm sorry Chamomile, I just needed to make sure that-”

Chamomile's little hoof pressed against his mouth and her glittering eyes looked downward at the mare in her lap. They were the only signs Salve needed to keep his voice down. He gave a little nod, and as her hoof dropped they both turned to watch the hybrid on the floor, her eyes rolling behind her eyelids as she tackled her dreams and the horrors which occasionally resurfaced.

It had been a while since he’d seen her sleep without the medication, and he watched Riptide as her chest slowly inflated without the help of the drugs. As far as medicine was concerned he had succeeded in serving them both, and he gave himself a little grin as he rested alongside them on the medical bay tiles.

He smiled the easy smile of a pony that had done his duty, a smile of acknowledgement that his sister was safe. It was one which required no planning or even awareness: he had saved their lives, and that was something on which is life relied. But so far outside the norm was the fact that this little almost-mare, this little prodigy curled in the hooves of an unfamiliar mechanic, was less tempestuous than he had ever known her to be, so lacking in the nervous energy which had been her constant companion ever since her birth. Right now she was completely serene, so lost in sleep and warmth that she barely twitched...something which she had rarely done. Riptide, for the first time in a long, long while was actually dreaming. This only made him smile more as he watched her sleep, allowing himself another little thought to set his mind at ease:

My sister is safe

“I’ve never seen a pony this calm before...”

Their silence broken with his whisper, Chamomile stroked the little dragon-pony’s mane with her free hoof, brushing it away from her eyes as a few strands trembled slowly with her easy breathing.

“Hey,” she grinned back at the stallion lying with them on the floor. “They didn’t name me ‘Chamomile’ for nothing.”

Their shared grin was enough to warm the two of them up to one another, and it had seemed like years since they had last spoken. They slipped back into conversation just like he had drawn the needle from her arm: a little blunt and painful at first, but Chamomile applied the pressure until they both were comfortable, as was her forte.

“‘Chamomile’…how does someone with a name like Chamomile become a mechanic? A ship’s mechanic especially?” he questioned silently, taking great care not to reawaken his sister lying in the yellow mare’s lap.

“Simple!” she piped up, her voice kept low even though her excitement poked through a little bit. “I have three younger brothers, and my Dad was always busy running the repair shop so I spent most of my time in the garage helping him work and taking care of my brothers at the same time. His employees always called me ‘Camshaft’ whenever I tried to work on the engines they serviced, but they only meant it as a joke. It was only when I started fixing the problems they couldn’t that they took me seriously…”

“Man…” she digressed, a warm nostalgic smile causing her eyes to squint as she giggled, “…you should have seen my Daddy’s face when they told him about it. They never let that down too…”

She got back on track when she noticed the stallion’s attention starting to waver as he checked her eyes for signs of deliria. A shake of her mane and a little sigh brought them both around again.

“Ever since Mom left, he had to take the whole ‘family’ thing on himself along with the business, so I got really good at calming my brothers down when he wasn’t around to play with them. I also got really good with engines, enough that I could fix this old girl up when the Captain and Dex came around looking to get her off the blocks and back in The Black. I signed on with the crew, and now, here I am. The rest, as they say…”

“…is history” they whispered together, smiles appearing on their faces as they finished each other’s words. When she knew he was loose enough to speak on the subject, she responded in kind.

“Alright, hotshot: your turn! How does someone with a hoity-toity name like Dr. Breakwater find himself all the way out here with us vagabonds?”

She poked him playfully as she shifted slightly to nudge the sleeping mare in her hooves into a more comfortable position. The little hybrid stirred to adjust and then lay still as Salve offered his own etymology to complement Chamomile’s.

“First of all, my name isn’t 'hoity-toity': it’s just the family name! I mean, we might have had a little wealth, but it’s not like we had a mansion and servants and everything.”

He turned back to the mare, expecting to find her glazing over the tedium of upper-class life, but as he lingered he found them much aligned in the reverse: her eyes glinted in interest as he continued with his life’s story.

“We grew up by the sea...my Mom, Dad, my sister, and I. It was just a little sea on one of the central Alliance planets, but it was removed from the Capitol and other major towns. We had a little dock we used for fishing...and other things…”

She did not notice him trailing off as she was playing with Riptide’s hair again. He stared at his sister, lost in thought, before he cleared his throat and continued.

“My Mom and Dad spent a lot of time tending the fisheries near where I grew up. We never ate the fish, but Mom’s employers had a contract with the griffons, so we lived and breathed the ocean just like her mothers had. My Dad was a foreman in the fishery’s processing plant, and he...well, he worked with machines too.”

He offered his statement to the mare, hoping to be able to skip the painful parts of his story, counting on her understanding of industrial plants to know what he truly meant by ‘worked with machines’. She nodded sadly, permitting him to continue around the salacious details.

“He got injured one day and the wound got infected, but I didn’t understand medicine at the time. Mom did everything she could, but he didn’t make it. We pushed him back out to sea, my Mom and I, and as he left I watched his little boat roll around on the waves. It was then I understood why my Mom had named me ‘Salve’.”

“Why?” Chamomile whispered, lost in thought as her mind raced with the imagery his words had created. He cleared his throat and looked deep into the mare’s eyes, so much like his mother’s that it scared him a little...but at the same time he felt relieved, calmed. It was almost as if he got the chance to speak to his mother again.

“We watched him go, and I realized that I never really got the chance to say goodbye. If I could have made him hold on until he was ready, everyone would have been better off. So I pursued medicine as a way to combat ponies dying before their time, to give them a little time to ‘beat on against the current’, as my Mom would say.”

“…and you use salves to keep people healthy, to keep them from dying. That makes sense.”

She pondered her words a little, tapping her chin with a hoof as she cataloged his history for future use, locking them away in her memory with a little smile.

It was a smile he didn’t share.

“Exactly…” was all he could say to keep his emotions from boiling over, sighing as a wave of relief rushed over him. Knowing his story was finally over, he stroked Riptide’s mane and smiled when she turned into his hoof, feeling him there in her dreams.

Hopefully he would never need to retell his history, as it killed him a little more every time.

“And ‘Breakwater’? That’s a little weird too…” Chamomiles puzzled, one half of his name solved as she struggled to work her way around the second part. Noticing her befuddlement, he gave his rationale.

“Breakwater was my father’s family name. He came from a wealthy family, but when he met my Mom he decided that love was worth more to him than a title or an affluent last name. He took what money he earned himself and moved away with her. I never really understood nautical terminology in my youth, and I still don’t know now...not like I’d need to…”

He finished his sentence with a whisper. Chamomile knew better than to press him before his time, so she allowed him a few minutes to stay lost in thought before she questioned him again, trying to piece everything together.

“…and your Mother? What happened to her?"

She paused: something had shifted in his face. Micro-expressions were a language she could read, and the squinting of his eyes and tightening of his lip could only mean one thing. The two had one more thing in common, another entry in the growing list of similarities which would define them, shape them, make them reevaluate the world:

They were both orphans.

She knew that look, for it was the same she saw in her own eyes when she looked in the mirror every morning. She dropped her head, knowing just what he would say even before his little sigh shattered the tense stillness.

“I’m sorry, Salve…” was all Chamomile could muster, and from her tone he knew she understood. Salve’s hoof rubbed her shoulder as he looked blankly at the mare in Chamomile’s lap, lost in thought, not even noticing when Chamomile took his hoof in her own.

“My Mom was enough of a parent for the both of them, and she raised us well. When my sister was born, she was just getting used to living on her own again. I was old enough to help out with the groceries and other things, but she pretty much raised us on her own. My mother knew, almost immediately after she was born, that my sister was special. She knew there was so much more going on below the surface than could be seen, and she knew, well before her daughter did, that she was destined to be swept away in whatever she pursued.”

“So, what was her name? Your sister's, I mean…” Chamomile queried, curious as to the fate of the unknown prodigy he spoke so highly of. “It’s just you keep referring to her as if she’s not here with us. I mean…y’know…alive?”

All she could see was Salve’s face, his eyes downcast as he watched the mare in Chamomile’s lap as she slept, his mind elsewhere, drawn out by some invisible current while his body remained. He smiled slowly and stroked the dragon-mare's head as he kept his breaths calm.

Nodding his head to the little mare in the mechanic's lap, he whispered his reply.

“Ask her yourself.”

The full gravity of his words meant nothing to her at first, but as the little mare in her hooves jockeyed for a more comfortable position, a wave of understanding smashed into her full force.

“…Riptide.”

He nodded his assent as the yellow mechanic stared at the hybrid mare in her arms. Her eyes lingered on the mare’s scales, her whip-like barbed tail, her dragon’s eye just barely visible in the space between the mare’s eyelids as she slept. She felt her bones with a free hoof: jagged, rough, not at all as smooth as her own. The mare’s body was limber and thin, and those same bones jutted out from odd positions around her flanks and near her ribcage, as if her organs were held in place and shielded from damage by some invisible steel coffin.

There was no way that was possible! She could only have been some type of unknown organism, some unique and special species! There was nothing save her coat and her horn which differentiated her from something inequine...something terrifying and foreign. But his hoof...it caressed her mane so delicately and her face lit up as she felt him nearby through the cloudy expanse of her troubled mind. That smile on her face could only have been one of love, there was no doubt about that.

“I had no idea she was your sister,” Chamomile whispered in awe, watching Riptide as she moved into his touch.

“How could you?” he chortled, rubbing his hoof through his sister’s hair. “It’s not like there is much of a resemblance anymore...and bragging about the accomplishments of a dragon-pony isn’t necessarily good table conversation.”

She looked to the doctor, his face still lingering on the mare lying peacefully in her lap, the mare who struggled and twitched only slightly as she dreamed. As far as Chamomile could remember, they hadn’t stopped in a port or docking station since she’d gone under the knife. She looked back and forth at them both in confusion before asking the obvious question:

“How did she get here?”

Still lost in his sister’s hair, he responded with an air of almost resigned ease.

“I broke her out of an Alliance hospital and brought her to Hoovesdown, thinking I could take her pretty much anywhere. As it turns out, I brought her right here.”

“The Alliance did this to her?”

He shook his head a little. “Only a few scientists did, but the Alliance backed them, so you can take it how you want. I personally blame all of them, but what’s one doctor against the government?”

“I didn’t mean to offend, Salve, I really didn’t…”

“I know,” he whispered, feeling the silky sheen of his sister’s mane as he struggled through the mire of his thoughts. “I’m still struggling to understand it myself.”

The yellow mare yawned as the little hybrid shifted again, her head curled against Chamomile’s lower chest. Her legs were prostrated behind her as she wrestled with her little demon as she slept, her legs twitching on the floor as the legs within her mind raced from the shadows. It was a yawn which the doctor shared and, realizing he had accomplished his mission some minutes before, got to his feet as quietly as he could.

“Please get some rest, Miss. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you up…”

“Not a problem, Salve. We’ll be right here in the morning.”

“Are you sure? The table has some padding left; you might be a little more…”

His words never reached their destination. They merely bounced off the hides of the two mares wrapped in each other’s embrace as Chamomile Calm lowered her head next the little mare’s horn, drifting to sleep as the vaporous ventilation whirred to life again, wrapping them in a warm steam.

Salve, knowing he could do nothing more, gave them a warm smile, giving his thanks for the mechanic who would protect his dear sister through the night, guarding her through the undeniably terrifying world in which Riptide was now forced to survive alone. He closed the door behind him with a little click, watching through the window nearby as Chamomile gave the little mare against her breast a little kiss on the head before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t care how busy he is, I need to see him...Now.”

She concluded her statement with a stomp of her hoof, her khaki field uniform matching adequately with the dust beneath her hooves as her red silk scarf flapped in the roiling wind. A sandstorm brewed on the horizon, no doubt aided in its advance by the large shuttle hovering only miles away, its engines blasting the surface outside of Hoovesdown with a vigorous blue light.

“His Grace is not taking unscheduled visitors. You will have to come back another time, Ma’am” came a gruff reply from the guard by the door, the beak clicking as it closed.

“HIS GRACE!? What a crock of shit!”

Her irritated scoff was doing nothing save marring her sterling officer’s reputation, and the soldiers which had her back grinned at each other in appreciation of her hidden side.

Admiral Winter Tempest was just like them: just as mad at being refused, just as tired of being on this backwater side of the planet as they were. Readjusting their holds on their rifles--magical, clawed, or otherwise--the contingent at her back of every race under the Alliance’s umbrella proved quite the formidable squadron. The market cleared of shoppers and merchants alike as Tempest railed at the guard by the little door, the target of all of her fury, while her soldiers stood at the ready.

“Miss, I will have to ask you again to leave, before-”

“Miss?...MISS?!” she screamed in fury, scarf rattling in the wind, the chest of her uniform straining to hold back the mare’s rapidly inflating lungs as she gathered her reserves and screamed into the guard’s face.

“Do you have any idea who the hell you're talking to?! Do I look like someone you refuse?! Do I?! Do these weapons behind me look fake to you? Keep this shit up, buddy: my crew needs the target practice!”

Panting heavily, Tempest took a few steps back from the guard by the door who, shocked by her sudden outburst, stood upon his hind legs and drew a rifle from his back. With his talons caressing the trigger, he opened his wings for balance as he sighted the Admiral along the barrel.

The little square erupted in clicks, whirrings, slams, and cocking as the entire squadron behind her loaded their weapons simultaneously, the front rank kneeling as practiced to allow their companions behind them a good shot. A solid wall of khaki soldiers two bodies deep surrounded the griffon guard and their Admiral in the space of two seconds. Their crescent shaped wall was the only thing the guard could make out besides the Admiral’s sneering face, and his face went white...

...though not from their sudden attention, but instead when her own weapon, held tightly in her magic’s grasp, tickled the guard’s two most prized possessions.

“Now now, little birdie,” she crooned, her pistol nudging the griffon’s tenders as she advanced slowly, calling his bluff. “I came halfway across this arm of the system to find your employer. I am not leaving here until I have what I need from him, and not you nor any of your little feathered friends is going to get in between me and my contact...

“...So please,” she whispered directly at the griffon, her pistol centered squarely on the griffon’s testicles as she allowed him a chance to run for his life.

“Put the gun down.”

Realizing he was royally screwed, the griffon released his grip on his beam rifle, Tempest’s gun still getting comfy betwixt his nethers even as he clicked the weapon off. It was only when the weapon was safely back in the holster on his back that Tempest did the same, sliding her weapon back from wherever she had conjured it from. She gave a poisonous smile before taking a few steps forward, grinning maliciously as she gave the griffon guard one final order.

“Now, if you would be so kind: unlock the damn door.”

Obeying her command as he would his employer, the griffon pressed his talons against a small screen by the door. The little plate scanned his claws briefly before it beeped, clicking in assent as it opened slowly inwards, its hinges creaking. A nod from Tempest was all he needed to start his escape, taking off and flying straight home as soon as he made it through the watchful khaki barricade.

“Well that was odd…” whispered a single soldier in the lines. He looked at his compatriots in confusion at their Admiral’s behavior, but before he could do anything further the prickly side of his favorite officer did as she usually did: kicked the door squarely in the middle with her hind legs, blowing it clear down the hallway like a flying metal block.

“…and now she’s back” he stated evenly, grinning to his fellow soldiers as they brought their guns to the ready. Tempest and her backup advanced through the square and the hallway she’d kicked the door into to meet with their contact, the rest of the soldiers standing guard outside.

When she came to the door inside, she needed no invitation. The griffon bodyguards knew exactly who had entered their employer’s domain so unannounced and angry: The flying door had become her calling card of sorts. She strutted into the room to find her contact sitting behind a desk, smoking his usual cigar, light billows of smoke floating out from the two holes in the side of his beak as he watched, his eyes flickering between amusement and terror as he realized slowly what was to come.

Leaning her front hooves on the desk, she glared at her mark.

“Good morning, Major.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note

Sorry it's been a while, but the next chapter is being edited as I write this. Thanks again to my awesome pre-reader kamil and my editor Coco for their help on the project, they've been indispensable!

Chapter Five: Bonds

Space has a nasty habit of creating the worst possible thing out of anypony.

Nine sets of eyes will look at a sprawling and destroyed wreck, and each of them will see different things. Some might see salvage and scraps: worthless part by part, but the larger mass a tidy fortune. Others might smell the scent of treasure lying dormant in the capsule, waiting for the right pony to come along and recover it towards whatever end. Some might see salvation, some the horrors of their past, and some might not even see it all, so lost are they in the surrounding blackness that nothing, not even the promise of a better life, can shake them from their daydreams.

Or their nightmares.

Bastion’s crew was one such amalgamation. The individual members of his ramshackle crew, including the ones who was reluctant to call ‘crew’ but bound with them nonetheless, all had their individual aims and goals, aspirations and motives...histories they have made together or have sequestered apart from the whole. Their strengths were emboldened and their weaknesses mitigated by the actions of the others, and only together were they truly powerful.

This was something Shadow knew, something he told himself every time he needed to rally them against a common enemy or fight for their take on a deal-gone-bad. His crew was his ticket to a better life, and he was theirs. As long as everypony pulled their weight, everything would be fine. It had always been this way, and Shadow knew it always would be.

However, there was one more pressing matter which was to be held at the forefront of any action as long as they called this ship their home or him their Captain. Regardless of their backgrounds, despite their reservations, and superseding all other responsibilities to kin and kind was the one thing that, even in the exclusion or dissolution of all others, was to be their shackle and their salvation:

He was to be obeyed.

In allowing these two unicorn fugitives aboard his vessel, he had succeeded in condemning his entire crew and ensuring that, whatever came to pass, their lives would be forever haunted by the Doctor’s actions. Salve had thrust Bastion onto a path which he did not care to tread, and had the audacity to take his crew down with him.

Foolish boy. You can never trust anyone, not with anything.

These thoughts about his impending doom still plagued him as he awoke, his jaw sore from where he had been resting it in the table. Groaning as the light streamed in as he opened his eyes, he shook his head to cast off the familiar throbbing from a night spent drinking. He lifted his head to find his candle hadn’t been knocked over to burn a hole in their table with its little remaining ember and, most thankfully, hadn’t set fire to any drink the two might have spilled.

Two.

There were two of us...

He looked to his side only to gaze on an empty chair. Its occupant had vanished as if the drink had conjured her up from nothing and, with its passing, took her with it. He felt his side, and recoiled slightly when the skin beneath was ice-cold. She had left several hours ago, if not more.

He looked at the table and found a few stray purple hairs, the only evidence of her existence, gracing the table right by where his hoof used to be. A few hairs fell onto the floor, but he was too busy cleaning the table and wiping spirits from the finish to notice.With a nearby rag, he scrubbed what alcohol had spilled and took special care not to topple the candle, rubbing his table until it shone like new. When he was finished, he swept the glasses and empty bottle to his chest with one hoof and made his way towards the kitchen, smiling as he walked as best he could on three legs.

She was here. It wasn’t a dream…

Placing his glasses in the sink and the empty bottle in the trash, he plodded to the table to push in their chairs. He looked again at the mahogany surface, making sure it was as clean as he could make it before trotting to the doorframe and clicking on the lights. Even though the nearest star's light shone through the windows above to signal the start of a new day, his internal clock was off.

He needed rest. He needed a lot of rest.

As the lights flickered to life, the edges of the silver ingot on the table caught his eye.The light played over the surface almost as if inviting his touch, and before he could force himself otherwise he found himself walking back towards his table, drawn by some invisible thread of curiosity. Rubbing his hoof over the top of the silver ingot, he watched as its upper facet remained dull and devoid of any luster as his hoof lingered. It was a curious thing, and it scared him to think that within the confines of this mysterious ingot lay something so horrifying that the Alliance was willing to slaughter his crew to reclaim it.

What reasoning could there have been for something so abstract, an object so vapid and devoid of intention, that was the focus of so much malicious intent? What lay within which would provoke the most powerful force in the system to engage them for its possession? It was meaningless to Shadow, and yet it meant the world to someone hell-bent on his destruction.

There was no choice but to find out...but they had little money, no understanding of their cargo, and a job to uphold. Regardless of what was to be done, there were accords which needed to be honored. Everything would come about in due time and, soon, all would be revealed...

...Hopefully.

With a shudder, he made his way from the dining room towards his own quarters, stumbling and swaying a little on his healing leg as down the hall he went.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Rise and shine, honey…” came a fragile whisper over the whirring of the ventilation, the edges of Chamomile’s voice seemingly lined with honey.

“…I don’t wanna…”

“C’mon Rippy...it’s time to get moving…”

“…No…just a few more minutes...”

“…Riptide?”

That was a tone Riptide had never heard from her before, and it shocked her out of her sleep. Riptide opened her eyes to find herself laying inside the curve of the yellow mare’s spine, their stomachs on the floor as she played little spoon to Chamomile. The mechanic’s white hair fell disheveled around her face, and as the light from the overhead lamps got brighter her hair shimmered like a heavenly aura. With a few hoof-brushes she had gotten it somewhat tamed, but a few stray hairs betrayed both her remaining dirtiness and her lack of sleep.

“…Do I have to get up?” Riptide begged, her eyes pleading for a few more minutes of sleep...a few more minutes without the scratching of the demon at the door.

“I’m sorry Sweetie, but the Captain needs us all in the kitchen…” was the mechanic’s response, her usually calm and deep eyes lined with a twinge of hesitation. “I’m feeling good enough to walk, which means I need to go. I don’t want to leave you down here alone...

~~~

...Will you come with me, Riptide?”

He offered his hoof, white lab coat trailing on the ground as she regarded it with no small amount of disinclination, his yellow eyes placid...seditious...

“I don’t think I want to anymore…” she whispered, shaking her head and mane as his hoof gave a little flicker towards her.

“It’s virtually painless, Miss Breakwater. Nothing to fear…”

“But what happened to my classmates? They came back to class all banged up and bruised, and Vector and Sigil never came back at all, and…”

“Nothing to fear, Riptide. A little pinch and it will all be over. Nothing to fear...”

His hoof shook a little. He was persistent. She was timid.

She took it without further questioning.

She grunted with a dull pain as the straps on her legs tightened…

~~~

“…so will you, Rippy?”

Chamomile, her hoof extended as an offering before her, regarded Riptide in confusion: where a fragile, shy, sleepy, but happy mare had been present with her in the room not ten seconds before, the one who stared back at her now, eyes wide with fear and misunderstanding, couldn’t have been the same mare. The hybrid had gone from caressing her stomach to recoiling in terror from her hoof in an instant! This little mare cowering in fear before her now was only a little mental shove away from a full emotional meltdown, and it forced Chamomile to do as she had learned to do with her brothers: make things simple.

“Riptide…do you want to come with me to the meeting in the kitchen?”

Chamomile knelt down and kept eye contact as best she could as Riptide retreated against the wall, scrambling to hide her face from the advancing mare as if expecting an attack.

“Rippy…please…” Chamomile choked out, her hooves reaching out to hold the mare again, thinking her touch might soothe the little unicorn like it had last night. The only thing it made Riptide do was sink further into the wall, holding her head in pain and worry as she avoided Chamomile’s touch. It was as if some sadist was attempting to brand her: a external mark of shame and exclusion to match the internal bastardization which held her body intact.

“Rippy, please...I’m not going to hurt you...I would never hurt you...”

Riptide could only crawl further against the wall, watching that yellow hoof with terror in her eyes, shaking her head as tears slipped down her face.

There was nothing Chamomile could do. She was at an utter loss.

“…Okay, dear…”

Brushing away a tear of frustration as she got to her hooves, Chamomile looked sideways at the little mare as she made her way to the door. She watched her as Riptide continued staring straight forward, not even acknowledging the mechanic’s presence. It took every ounce of will she had just to take the first step towards the kitchen, and with every passing moment her entire body screamed in protest.

Riptide was alone.She was shaking uncontrollably. She was afraid...no, terrified! Chamomile should be there to protect her, shield her, hold her when the nightmares came! But now, Riptide was more afraid of her than she was of those demons that had crawled in and set up camp. Everything in her nature told her to just take a few steps to her side and hold that trembling dragon-pony, and she almost found herself moving to do it...

But despite every reason she would require some assistance, this particular little mare was the last soul in the ‘Verse to whom pity should be given. She was above pity, for pity implied a weakness which the little unicorn, both in structure and in will, did not seem to have. She was the strongest thing Chamomile had ever seen. Even as Riptide's eyes stung with tears, her pupils, dragon and equine alike, flickered with rage. Even as she pawed the ground, slipping on the tiles as she struggled to blend into the wall itself in an effort to hide herself from the monsters, her nostrils flared with an angry fire.

Chamomile had never thought she would see so much in a mare so little.

“Just…just stay here and get some sleep…okay?” Chamomile whispered, even though her target was too lost in shaking her head and biting her lip to notice. Giving one last smile of comfort, Chamomile closed the door behind her as Riptide gave no sign of acknowledgement, no effort to even look the mechanic in the eyes as she went away.

How could I have thought I would be able to come so far with her, Chamomile thought, and barely even know her name? I can’t save her world in a day…

Hurrying to make up for lost time, she left the door in her wake as she walked as best she could to the kitchen above. Watching the hybrid cry through a nearby window, Chamomile shook her mane and reaffirmed herself to her task. Gazing upwards towards her destination, she had only taken a few steps on the metal stairs leading to the kitchen before she heard a little chuckle from inside the medical bay.

She froze.

That chuckle didn't belong to Riptide.

The little hybrid's mouth moved, but the sound she released was artificial...impossible. The mare’s voice slipped away as an imperceptibly viscious and quiet giggling grew louder and louder. Riptide's eyes scanned the room in terror, looking to find some surce of that infernal laughter only to find her own throat moving to create that demonic sound. Her demon could have been right beside her, playing with her mane, slicing open her cheeks with its claws, chuckling all the while.

She’s leaving you, Riptide. How does that make you feel? Hmm?

“…Why won’t you go away?” she stuttered before her voice slipped into an unnatural hiss.

Now now, Riptide...that’s no way to treat your guests...

“Guests are invited!” she barked, stamping her hoof on the tiles below. “I never wanted you here!”
But didn’t you invite that scientist in? You just took his hoof and let him defile you, didn’t you? Are you really so naive, Riptide? Did you honestly think he wanted to help you? Or was the prospect of someone touching you...stroking you...tasting you...just too good to pass on? He could have done it, Riptide: you were passed out on the table...and he was all alone...

“Stop!” she screamed at the ceiling, wincing as the imagination of her demon played out before her eyes, the images flashing on the blank canvas of the ceiling. She sat alone, shaking...crying...

...Not noticing when a flash of yellow reversed itself and made its way back towards the door.

“Please, just stop!" She screamed as she held her head away from the ceiling. "Why do you do this to me?! I don’t deserve this! I never invited you inside my head!”

Well, you did take his hoof, didn’t you? Looks like an open door to me...and I do what I want because I can. Your mind is my playground...I could destroy you if I wanted...

“…Please, don’t hurt me…”

Oh no my dear, I would never dream of hurting you! You are my vessel! Besides, I need you to be alive when we eat them...

“DON’T YOU TOUCH THEM YOU…you…” the little mare screamed at the wall, the tears pouring down her face mixing with the blood trickling from her bleeding lips where her teeth had ripped them open.

What?The little voice whispered through the mare’s clenched teeth which ground with a steel-crushing force. ...A monster? Is that what I am?

“…Yes…”

Oh, darling, you of all ponies should know: it’s you…you’re the monster…

“YOU’RE THE MONSTER! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” she bellowed at the floor, her hooves slipping on the smooth floor as she fought for a little room to breathe, an inch of friendly ground...

But none came.

You ruined your brother, you know…he could be living his dream right now if it hadn’t been for you...

“…Stop…”

You ruined him, and you will be the death of him.

“…Please…please, just stop...” she whispered, rocking herself as she shook her head in refusal of her demon’s lies, audibly reaffirming herself to those truths she knew to exist.

He will never love a freak like you.

“…He loves me…he loves me…he’s my brother, he has to love me…”

Oh no no no...he doesn’t have to love you. In fact, he despises you. You’re nothing but a burden to him...someone he has to waste his time on...someone who gets in the way…

“…He loves me…he loves me…he loves me…”

Wake up, you little bitch! He will never love you. The mechanic will never love you either.

“…He loves me…he loves me...she loves me too...everything is fine...”

You brought this on yourself, you know. If you hadn’t been weak, you wouldn’t be an abomination...but because you’re stupid, you took his hoof and let him destroy you...and now look what you’ve become?

“I’m just fine,” she whispered, rocking herself as she imagined Chamomile’s smiling face. She could almost feel her there, holding her close, her warmth staving off the frigidity of her demon’s presence. Even if those hooves she felt cradling her were her own, Chamomile was still there...still holding on...

Aww...how touching...you’ve taken a shine to the mechanic, have you? How appropriate: she is as worthless as you are stupid. It must have been destiny...‘birds of a feather’ and all that...

“She’s not worthless!” Riptide screamed at the floor, her eyes aflare as she lashed out at her apparition. “She’s nice to me, unlike you! She cares! SHE WON’T LEAVE ME!”

My my my...you truly are a foolish little girl. Do you not think she won’t abandon you just as soon as she realizes what you are? How dangerous you are? How emotionless and empty you are? No, Riptide...she will find out the truth of things when you try and kill her. You are going to kill her, you know...somewhere down the road, Chamomile Calm will die. Your brother will die. Everyone you know will die. Just like Daddy, and just like Mommy. You will watch them die one by one under your hoof, and when all is said and done...then, and only then, will I make you swallow your tongue...

“He loves me…he loves me…Mommy’s not dead…she’s fine...just fine…everything is just fine…breathe in, Rippy…breathe in, and breathe out…”

Swallowing your tongue is a little too much effort, don’t you think? How about I just make you smash your horn right into your brain? I could do it right after I’m done ripping the yellow one’s face off and making a hat out of it…that sounds like more fun…

“…Please…not them…not Chamomile…” she stammered, her heartbeats forcing her breath to shudder as her chest began to clench in terror.

You really adore that little yellow slut, don’t you? You know, with you out of the picture she might finally get some ‘alone time’ with your brother. Celestia knows she wants it…

“…Don’t hurt her…please…I will do anything…”

Did you feel how her heart raced when he walked in? Did you feel her clenching when he touched her...stroked her shoulder...looked her deep in those eyes of hers? I know I did. Boy, did she tingle...it felt good, didn’t it? You felt it too, didn’t you? You slept by her all night Riptide, and I am right here inside your head. You have a filthy imagination, by the way. I always thought your brother wouldn’t last more than a few minutes, but evidently you didn’t…

“…Take me instead of her…please…”

He’s thought about it you know...he dreams of the moment when he can finally get you out of the picture and sample her body for himself...all alone. She’s always been so nice...she won’t be able to refuse him for long, not that she would. She’s been begging to get slammed every since he stepped on board. I wonder where they’ll go at it first...in the engine room perhaps? I bet the heat from that stupid engine would soften her up real good...cover up her screams and begs for more...

“STOP TALKING ABOUT CHAMOMILE LIKE THAT!” the little hybrid screamed, slamming her hoof on the ground even as visions of the mechanic’s yellow body arcing in ecstacy flashed through her mind, compliments of the demon now howling with laughter.

As you wish, you little freak! You’ve always been a freak! Your teacher’s never liked you, Riptide...your classmates never played with you, did they? They just ignored you because that’s all you deserve: to be forgotten! It must be hard being a freak: a freak with a brother who hates her, a freak who has no friends. Your father didn’t even love you enough to stick around; he thought death was preferable to knowing you…holding you…loving you. He didn’t want to ever know what an abomination his seed had created, so he killed himself. Your brother lied to you, Riptide. Your father didn’t die in the factory: he sliced open his neck with a sardine can lid. Ironic, isn’t it?

Riptide could do little more than stare at the floor. It wasn’t true! It couldn’t be true! Salve had always told her he’d been injured...that he died peacefully...

...That he loved her, even if he’d never had the chance to hold her.

Her demon lied! It was all just lies! Why wouldnt he just stop?!

How can I make him stop? she wondered for a moment before alighting on her answer in a flash of understanding. Hugging Chamomile's ethereal arms around her chest as she cradled herself on the wall, she closed her eyes.

“…Kill me…” she begged, whispering to her chest as she tried in vain to shut out the sounds of her demon cackling in mirth. “Please, just kill me...just stop...”

Do you really wish for death, you little bitch? Do you honestly think death will spare you from your torment? Do you think I am anywhere near finished with you? Oh no…no no no Riptide…we’re just getting started! You’re alone in space and no one is here to hold you, to save you, to make you feel at home because you have no home anymore. You decided to leave everyone behind and abandon them. You killed your father, you killed your mother, you will kill your brother and that little whore of a mechanic...and then you will be alone in space with no one to save you. The only thing you will have to enjoy is my lovely voice rocking you to sleep every night. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT, YOU LITTLE FREAK?! YOU LITTLE DRAGON-PONY ABOMINATION?! YOU WILL KILL THEM ALL BECAUSE YOU’RE A FREAK AND NO ONE LOVES YOU! THEY CAN’T STAND TO BE AROUND YOU! EVERYONE IS BETTER OFF WITHOUT YOU! YOUR BROTHER COULD BE PLOWING THAT YELLOW SLUT TO WITHIN AN INCH OF HER LIFE IF YOU WOULD JUST DIE ALREADY! YOU CAN SAVE THEM ALL IF YOU JUST DIE! SWALLOW YOUR TONGUE AND BE DONE WITH IT! SWALLOW YOUR FUCKING TONGUE! DO IT! DO IT NOW!

“PLEASE JUST LET ME DIEEEE!” she wailed, her mouth almost touching the ground as she bent over and screamed her heart out. She emptied every last ounce of air in her possession into her rattling throat, and as she did her screams slammed into every surface in the little medical bay.

Her mane flipped around her face as a little surge of wind fluttered her bangs. Her hooves slid as she was pulled forward from the wall, still screaming all the while. She was screaming even when her voice couldn’t penetrate the yellow fur which kept it contained against a beating heart, the organ pumping away even when hers was breaking. She kept screaming as the rocking of her captor increased. She kept screaming through everything Chamomile could do, but she could do nothing but wait patiently as her little charge screamed, and screamed, and screamed some more. Chamomile sat still, stroking Riptide's hair and allowing her to scream, her own tears mixing with Riptide’s mane as she held her close.

She never made it to her meeting. Some things were more important.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We should call it, Captain. She won’t be conscious enough to even think of coming” the mercenary chipped in, trying to find some way to get his Captain to quit destroying the few quiet moments in the morning when the coffee was fresh, which was coincidentally the only time the schnapps would have the best flavor. He’d be damned if it went to waste. Fortunately, the Captain obliged, closing the door of the kitchen as he walked to his usual position at the table.

“You’re right, she’s probably still asleep with…Riptide, right?”

He glanced back quizzically at the Doctor at the edge of the table who nodded his head in affirmation before drinking down more of his tea, his magic holding the cup carefully as the ship adjusted to their local planet’s gravitational pull. Bastion looked around, surveyed the members of his crew which were present, and took his usual seat.

“Besides, those two need a break, and we don’t need them for today’s itinerary, especially not Riptide: she’s been through enough.”

The Captain’s extent of an olive branch to the little mare in their medical bay put a small smile on Violet’s face as she wrapped a deep emerald-green knitted shawl tightly around her shoulders, staving off the cold of the morning shadows. Though the planet they orbited (from where they were) was shrouded in the darkness of twilight, Wind Dancer had adjusted the internal ships clocks to coincide with the time of their specific destination which happened to currently be around 4 a.m. Their meeting, plus the amount of time it would take to get there and landed safely and securely, would allow their contact, the crew, and the ship to all be calibrated at the lovely morning time of 10 a.m.

The Captain glanced at the clock on the wall and consulted his mental scheduling.They were five minutes behind, but a little skirting around the details should be enough to get them on time.

“Alright everypony: grab something to eat, then get settled and listen up…Windy, could you bring the coffee to the table? It will be a little more convenient.”

He gave his crew a few seconds to compose themselves as he organized his thoughts and tried his best to make sure that everyone had a job that was suited to his needs and each pony's individual strengths. Golden Sun and Wind Dancer carried stacks of pastries, protein bars, and various coffees and juices as the rest of the crew gathered what they could. With magic and hooves alike, the crew took what food they wanted as everyone found their places around the table, Violet and Salve using their respective magics to pour beverages to the crew. Little porcelain tea cups, wooden mugs, and pitchers of orange juice and golden-brown apple cider floated through the air held by nothing but the shimmers of white and green light as the two unicorns worked.

“Now, back to business…” The Captain said deftly, placing his front hooves on the table as his crew (and the one medically-inclined passenger) took their seats and began to eat and drink. They held their attention on the Captain all the while as he spoke.

“Dextra and I have made contact with an old friend of ours. His name is Trenta Argento, and he is responsible for a somewhat large underground trading operation which is headquartered in his hometown on this planet. His planet, to be exact: his company is pretty much the sole merchant enterprise, and he has spent a decade and millions of bits to get himself where he is now. Battlebeak left us with a package to deliver and word that our contact has a job for us, and we are going to need the money if we want to keep flying, so you will be on your BEST behavior…”

His gaze circled the room, landing on each of them in turn before falling on the one pony who, even if no one else was even listening, was the one pony who needed to hear it. As he expected, the mercenary wasn’t listening but was instead measuring out a perfect shot of peppermint schnapps and pouring it slowly into his coffee. A little cough from the Captain and the presence of every eye made the mercenary jump with shock, nudging his glass and causing a little of his precious morning fluid to spill on the table.

Just as Bastion predicted, the mercenary didn’t believe in napkins: using his long and frighteningly strong tongue, he licked up the schnapps without a word or a glance to any of them. A thump! on the table from the Captain’s hoof was enough to make Wildfire stop, his tongue still fully pressed to the table as he looked up sheepishly, a little smile tempting the corners of his mouth.

If the Captain’s look couldn’t curdle milk, Wildfire didn’t know what. Sucking his tongue back into his mouth he sat at the table without a word, gazing longingly at his spilled schnapps as a very giddy pegasus pilot held his stomach clenched, holding his lips shut with his hoof as he struggled against his inner child, knowing fierce retribution would befall him should he surrender to his own laughter. Luckily for all of them, he controlled himself enough to allow the Captain to shake his head at them both before continuing his message to those who would listen.

“…your VERY best behavior. He is an old friend of Dextra and I and one of Battlebeak’s toughest merchant rivals, so we will naturally be meeting with him to ensure everything goes smooth. Wildfire: you and Cammy will be responsible for getting us any spare parts that we need from the city nearby. She can point them out, but you need to be around to protect her and make sure she’s okay. I don’t care if you have to carry her, just get it done.”

Wildfire nodded bashfully at the Captain’s words. Then, with a small amount of hesitation, he raised his cup of coffee to his mouth with his hooves using a technique which made Violet ogle in surprise, almost dropping her own cup in shock at his impeccably delicate and refined etiquette as Bastion continued.

“Wind Dancer, Golden Sun: I would like you both to restock on fuel and supplies, but be on alert. If you see any hint of an Alliance presence, hightail it back here and get the ship prepped. I don’t want any unfriendly noses poking around the hold. Understand?”

Wind Dancer nodded his assent, but the priest looked on, utterly bewildered. He raised his hoof, a highly unnecessary move given the crew’s more Socratic approach to meetings, before being recognized by the Captain, standing up slowly as he spoke.

“Captain, excuse me for asking this…I have nothing against your crew and the…work…you’re about to do, but I have already paid my fare and I don’t believe you or your crew require the services of a priest. I must ask: why do you assume that I will partake in your schemes? I mean this with all due respect of course…”

He sat down to stunned silence. This was the first time anyone had seen a passenger talk back to the Captain, and though they expected Bastion to be as shocked as they were, the Captain was completely serene as he gave his rebuttal.

“Golden, you mistake my request for a command. I know you are a passenger, and I know that your debt is paid. I am one who honors those debts...but you know, as well as I, that the circumstances have changed.”

Golden Sun hung his head slightly in shame as the Captain continued without his usual hint of malice, his words sincere and untainted with rage.

“You spoke with the zealot, you saw what was chasing us…you understand, probably more than I do, the type of trouble we are in. I need your help. I am asking you to do this because we need everyone to pitch in if we are all to get through this. If you will not help, I will understand…but I will also ask you to find another ship to continue your travels.”

The silence which followed was only broken by the Captain’s kind, but firm ultimatum as he nodded at the priest, bidding him to listen:

“You can either be a member of my crew and live on this ship until this is all over, or you will leave when we make port. I leave the decision to you.”

This was a first: an ultimatum from the Captain which did not end in bloodshed or violence from either party. Violet noticed Bastion’s eyes were soft but unyielding as he looked at the priest on the other side of the table, a priest who chewed his lip as he considered his options. Her thoughts from the previous night came back to her in a rush, and everything she had believed to be a lie in the morning as the alcohol faded finally reasserted itself.

She had been right...he had changed...

Was this stubborn but gentle Captain before her the same stallion she had taken verbal abuse from so willingly? Hugged so violently? Played and drank and flirted with so carelessly and coolly? It couldn’t be…it wasn’t…and yet here they all were, staring in amazement as the gruff, commanding, and stubborn Captain they had rallied to became someone so understanding and forgiving, even in the face of contention or in the prospect of the dissolution of his crew. He had been so strict in the past...so heartless and mean. But now, even with the Alliance on his tail...he was unafraid, gentle...kind.

What had happened in the years she had been gone to make him so different, still a little cold and unrelenting but now gentle and loving? What force in the ‘Verse had corrupted him and now, upon the dawn of a new peril, decided to retreat and leave shreds of itself behind for the stallion she had hated and loved for so long to come poking through?

Had she been the enemy? Had every word she had said in malice lingered in the stallion’s brain, shaping his actions, forcing his will towards an end which would inevitably bring them back face to face, yelling and drinking, fighting and apologizing, crying in both merriment and abyssmal sadness, maybe at odds but ultimately...together?

She watched them both apprehensively before the priest’s head rose. Golden Sun wore a grin of acceptance, and at once the Captain bowed his head in thanks. He had the priest’s support, and with the priest’s submission to his deal came a shared smile from their crew. They looked at each other in victory, sharing in a general feeling of intense camaraderie, happy that they were all bound together, come hell or high water, with the Captain at the helm.

They smiled in glee, but their celebration paled in comparison to the beaming magenta mare and her radiant smile as she sat at the Captain’s side.

She smiled silently into her coffee, a little grin on the outside hiding her jubilations as she lost composure, ushering in little daydreams and soft candlelit fantasies, remembering days long dead and hours long wasted with a younger Captain...

...Her younger Captain.

And now, with a bow of respect, her old Shadow had returned. He had pulled himself from the precipice of his angry self-loathings and reaffirmed that he was just the same, strong, honest, hard-working, and proud stallion she had known all those years ago.

Sipping her coffee was all she could do to hold herself at bay.

“I will do what I can, though I don’t have much experience with combat or firearms. If anyone needs a good moral thrashing, however,” Golden Sun said confidently, stamping his hoof a little on the floor as he raised his head fully, “…I’m at your disposal.”

“…Thank you Golden…” Bastion said quietly before turning his gaze to the crew again. “...And thank you, everypony: I know we’ve been given the short end of the stick with our fortunes lately, but we just have to push through a little more. Just a little more, and we will be in calm water again…”

“What about Chamomile?” came a heavy grunt from Wildfire across the table. He spun the point of his knife on the table and gave it little flicks with his hoofpoint to keep it spinning as he glowered at the Captain and Salve in turn. “Are we just going to forget that the ‘good’ doctor here almost killed us with his little stunt? He led that crazy religious bat-pony nutjob here, got Cammy shot, and then almost killed her when he acted like a little bitch and refused to help! WHY THE HELL IS HE STILL HERE?!”

He shook with rage and exertion, pointing to the doctor with an accusatory hoof as he stared at the Captain in disbelief. Whatever sense of shared glee and victory the crew had shared had flown right out the window at Wildfire’s words, and everyone knew he had spoken the truth. Everyone, even Salve, had pondered the question as they slept, and now it was all coming to a boil.

Why was Salve still here? Hadn’t his breach of both personal oath and communal rules of conduct afforded him a one-way ticket out the airlock?

Bastion rose again, making his comment firmly towards Wildfire, though his tone betrayed its actual target. Both Wildfire and Salve listened intently as the Captain made his proclamation:

“I will deal with him.”

Wildfire grinned with contempt and a twinge of sick pleasure at the doctor as Salve lowered his head towards the table.

Salve had done everything he could for Chamomile, and that was all that mattered: not his initial refusal, not his blackmail, not his problems which had made themselves manifest in the eyes of a raging demon assassin. Nothing mattered to him but his patients below...patients he had damaged through his negligence, but patients he had brought back to fight another day.

They both lived. They were healthy enough to no longer require his aid, and their bodies were strong enough to heal those wounds he’d help make on their own...

And just like that, he no longer had purpose. The Captain no longer needed his service, as Chamomile was well. Salve had eliminated his last bargaining chip the second he drew the needle from her arm.

And with that, he knew one thing was destined to happen. That day, that week, or even within the next few moments, there was one thing which the Doctor took a few deep breaths and prepared himself for as he sat in his chair and hid his face from the world.

Dr. Salve Breakwater was going to die.

As Bastion dismissed the crew, allowing them to take their coffee with them as they went, he restrained the doctor with a calm yet very firm hoof on Salve’s shoulder as the rest of the crew walked out into the walkways and avenues of the surrounding ship. Some of them were destined to catch a little more sleep in their dorms. Some of them went to wash up and confront the day ahead. One of them went to clean and polish his many guns, eager to make a good first impression to any other mercenary or lusty mare he might encounter.

When all had left, Bastion made his way to the open doors of the kitchen, closing them tightly one by one. He took a little time to pour himself another cup of coffee, mixing in sugar and cream until it met his specifications. He didn’t douse the lights: Salve knew Bastion wanted to watch his prey before he finally sentenced him to his fate.

He was that kind of madpony.

Salve closed his eyes as the Captain sat across the table from him, rolling his cup in his front hooves and tapping the floor with his hind leg as he thought in silence for a moment. Salve looked back towards the Captain, looking for any sign of his emotions which might hold some key as to his punishment.

The Captain held the cup between his two hooves as he raised his coffee to his lips, downing the entire thing in a single gulp before slamming the cup back on the table with an audible thunk!

“You have betrayed this crew,” Bastion began, pouring himself another cup as he thought about his beratement and the ultimate fate of the doctor before him. “You have allowed multiple members of this crew to come to harm, one of them being me by your own hooves, and you have not only refused to honor your own personal oaths of medical action but the rules which you agreed to when signing on with this ship. Do you deny anything which I have said?”

Salve shook his head silently, stray hairs alighting on his face as he did. The Captain took another sip as he thought about his next words.

“You have also brought aboard this ship an unauthorized and illegally transported pony that has been taken from an Alliance facility without their express permission. I do not care if she is your sister: you broke into an Alliance-run hospital to get her out and in doing so have broken the Alliance’s laws. Transportation of any living being through post is expressly forbidden, and the transportation of their stolen cargo through my ship is enough to sentence me and my crew to death.”

Salve nodded, as silent as the grave he imagined he’d be thrown into as the Captain took another sip of his coffee, grinning slightly.

“I thought that you breaking her out was the best part, to be honest…” the Captain said surreptitiously into his coffee cup. "That takes some balls..."

Salve picked up his head a little. Maybe it won’t be so bad…

He had raised his hopes prematurely.

“What you’ve done,” the Captain continued, “has been inexcusable. I should have killed you immediately when you broke your contract and brought your sister on this ship. Do you want to know why I didn’t?”

Salve paused for a moment and then shook his head, but he didn’t truly have any desire to know. He knew that whatever end became of him would be a just punishment for his actions. He only hoped that nothing would befall his sister. It was a hope which kept him there, sitting quietly in his chair as he awaited his doom.

The Captain watched him for a few moments as Salve silently shivered, the doctor chewing his lips just like the priest had. Bastion watched him tremble slightly, the cold of the kitchen air exacerbated by his imminent punishment, and he allowed himself another sip of his coffee to hide his face temporarily as he thought.

He doesn’t need to know that Violet is responsible for saving his life. He will never need to know...

“…I haven’t killed you yet because someone told me I should offer you a second chance, and I trust this pony more than I trust you. I trust them with my life...a life which you almost took with your negligence. You will have time to ponder that, seeing as I will allow you to stay on this ship…”

Salve raised his head in shock, but Bastion raised his hoof to stop any words of thanks which might come. There were caveats, and Salve realized this all too quickly as the Captain continued.

“I will allow you to stay on ship as its Doctor...on two conditions. One: you will obey any order I give you, no matter what it is. If you do not obey, you will suffer the consequences. Do you understand?”

Salve nodded his head quickly, his enthusiasm dying away as the Captain began his second condition.

“Two: if any of my crew comes to harm based on your actions, or any of them die as a result of your negligence, you will be killed. Do you understand these conditions?”

Salve knew this condition well. This was the capstone, the one which held everything else in order. Just like a patient whose life depended on the singular success of one organ, even in the failure of everything else, his life depended on the fulfillment of this one condition.

But there was one little thing which still nagged him about the Captain's statement...

"Why don't you just shoot me, Captain?" Salve queried. "You've threatened to kill me in the past...why don't you just shoot me and be done with it? You can find other doctors who don’t have the same baggage I do..."

"You don't know me," Bastion began, sipping his coffee nonchalantly as he watched the table, moving to Salve's face only when he had thought everything over. "...So I will say this just once: if I ever decide to kill you, you will be awake...you will be facing me...and you will be armed. No exceptions."

Despite his reservations, Salve now knew the conditions on which his life now teetered, along with what to expect should he deviate from them. His own life would be the price he would pay to make sure that his sister wouldn’t die based on his actions, and Bastion's conditions would extend that same medical emphasis to the crew. The conditions given to him would be simple enough to uphold, and his punishment for disobedience was in some respects fair...though weighted in Bastion's favor. They were conditions he could live with, if only for his sister.

They were conditions he accepted as he raised his hoof and offered it to the Captain. Bastion touched the hoof with his own, his coffee still piping up steam as he rose.

“Go on, Doctor. One of my crew needs your help. If you fail her, you fail me. Get moving.”

His laconic command was all Salve needed to pull himself out of his reverie and get himself moving out of the kitchen and down the hallway towards the medical bay, his hooves clicking against the floor a little more quickly than usual. It could have been fear of the Captain which quickened his pace. It might have been surprise at the conditions he would need to think about constantly as his life and the life of his sister hung in the balance. But the foremost emotion which propelled him to his task was a selfish but relaxing rush of calm. He was safe, at least for a little while.

And if he was safe on the ship, then so was Riptide.

The Captain sat himself back down at the table, not even turning his head as the opposite door opened on the far side of the room. He didn’t watch as a purple mare made her way towards him, hooves clicking on the carpet despite her efforts to keep herself silent.

“You’re wearing those shoes again, Violet…” Bastion grunted, eying the bottom of his cup as he drained the dregs from his mug.

She smiled demurely as she tiptoed just behind his shoulder. Damn those ears of his…

“…Thank you Shadow…” she whispered behind his head as she stood but a few feet off, green shawl still wrapped tightly around her neck. “Thank you for listening to me last night.”

“I didn’t do it for you, Violet,” he growled, his head still reeling from the aftereffects of the whiskey which still lingered in his body. “We need a medic, he knows his trade, and Chamomile is stable. I would be a fool to throw him away so unnecessarily.”

“Still," she whispered, "you listened…that was honestly more than I thought you would be capable of, especially when the idea came from me.”

She grinned a little, trying to introduce some light-heartedness, just a little sliver of levity as a wedge between their respective silences, hoping that a little light might break through the cracks.

“It was a sound suggestion…” he offered. His back had never turned, his coffee on his lips as he drank, this time alone, at the table.

She knew his pride was stretched thin as it was, so she left him alone. She wouldn’t get anywhere prodding him when he had already taken such huge steps towards re-establishing his credibility with both her and his crew. As quiet as she came, she walked out from the room and closed the door behind her, cursing her shoes for being so damn loud despite her best efforts to pad them. He had been right: these shoes had no place on the ship.

He had been right about a lot of things.

As Violet Satine walked down the hallway to get herself prepared for both the day and her contract on the planet below, she hoped she might be proven right about the changes she’d seen in Shadow. She dreamed that he might just be hiding from the ‘Verse behind some tortured visage, that was still there...but there was something she needed to prepare for.

Those dreams would have to wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Is everyone prepared, Dextra?” Bastion grunted, his leg still awkwardly stiff as cast collided with skin on his hind leg. There was no chance of running with his leg damaged the way it was: if something were to happen, they would all be humped. There was still some question on this point, as well as what to expect from their old acquaintance, and thus the Captain and Dextra were taking every necessary precaution to smooth things over with their contact before they were due to arrive.

They conversed with their old friend over the radio in the hopes that their confidence might assuage any hesitation about their activities with Battlebeak. The two soldiers hovered around the relay, their contact on the other end hanging on their every word. They knew they had to be swift if they were to keep to their schedule. The Captain’s bum leg made made keeping that schedule even worse, and it certainly did nothing for his temper.

“Everyone is prepared, Captain” Dextra whispered to her side and the stallion who lingered there. Turning to address the radio, she raised her voice and made a point to enunciate her words so that nothing would be missed.

“We should be there in about an hour, Trenta, and we will more than ready to deliver the goods when we arrive. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes and then we will be out of your mane and off your world.”

“Excellent!” came a melodious voice from the other end, the speakers’ tinny rattle detracting from his timbre as he laid down some rules. “I will require that my security team confiscates your firearms when you arrive...and don’t worry about getting out of my hair so soon, my dear! I would like to show you some of the work we do, just so you understand what I have at stake if this job goes south. After that, I will have to ask you to leave. It’s not that I don’t want you on my planet, but I have shipments coming in and not a lot of room at my docks. I hope you understand…”

“Of course,Trenta...you know how we operate” Bastion said calmly, his hoof applying a little more pressure than necessary on the relay button as his Lieutenant watched on, listening for any clues which might betray even a modicum of fear or hesitation coming from the other end. As expected for a merchant of his caliber, his deals were honest and his words concise.

“Indeed I do, Captain. I will see you when you arrive. Over and out.”

The connection clicked off as Bastion flipped a switch, killing the ship’s power to the radio as Dextra looked on, relieved.

“Short, simple, and to the point…well, everything besides the little tour at least. I don’t think things are going to be so bad!” Dextra grinned to her Captain, a little less on-edge than when this whole thing had been proposed by Battlebeak a few weeks ago.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Dextra. We haven’t seen him since right after the war. We haven’t run any jobs for or with him since then, and now, all of the sudden, his rival sends him a package and he suddenly has work for the two ponies he hasn't seen in a decade?”

Bastion shook his head, staring at the radio as if suddenly expecting it to come back to life.

“Something just feels…off…”

“You would feel that way Captain,” she began, making her way towards the door to make a final check of all of her things, “mainly because that’s how any ship’s Captain looking for work while being chased by a corrupt government and a religious extremist would feel. We have an opportunity to make some money, Sir. Doesn’t that cheer you up a little?”

“It does, Dex. You know it does…” he stammered, his leg itching under his brace as he tried to move it.

“Well then, no time to waste!” Dex piped up as she gave a flick of her mane and stepped carefully over the threshold leading to the hallway beyond, a little happier than Bastion had known her to be in the past...a little too excited to undertake a job which was shrouded in so much mystery.

She had always been too trusting, but he had always been too reserved and protective of her to let her come to any harm. Maybe that was it: he was just too protective of her, his crew, maybe himself. It might have been his reticence which had put them at odds with many of the more lucrative merchants and their more clandestine but productive career opportunities, but whatever kept them flying in safety had always been the top priority. What was the point in flying if you were to die the next day? What kind of Captain would he be if he risked the lives of his crew to make himself more money?

“Don’t take too long, Dex. I want to see you in the shuttle in five minutes” he called out after her, her pace quickening as she trotted to her quarters.

“Aye-aye!” she called back, her voice echoing off the walls of the spiral stairs leading down to her room like a voice in the darkness calling out from the inside of some great tunnel.

He watched her as she went. She didn't progress down the hall filled with the same trepidation he led his life by since the war had ended: that was a stage in her life which she had accepted, struggled against, and forgot about...nothing more.

She was not plagued at night by visions of dying stallions and mares, griffons cloven in two by heavy machinegun fire, spiraling downwards as their wings caught the air, flipping them around almost comically before their bones crunched on the ground below.

She had not been fully affected by Battlebeak’s punishment, though she had seen the aftermath and she knew of the heavy toll it had on Bastion's wellbeing. The full weight of his sentence had been meted out by visions such as those, the screams of his soldiers echoing in his mind with every decision he made. Every memory he conjured up caused him to regress to a time when he was still young and foolish...a firebrand...not aware of how his decisions would impact anyone other than himself and maybe, after a little time and a few brushes with death, Dextra.

It was these few moments when all was underway and almost ready that he would close his eyes and remember everything. Every gruesome detail came back into light as he replayed those battles in his head, and as his eyes closed tighter the visions became more and more lifelike. They would be forevermore the reminder of what would happen should he fail his crew.

Shadow knew now what Battlebeak had finally figured out all those years ago, when that griffon had taught himself how to fight and how to disregard his own pain after every campaign. With every new scar and every fallen soldier, Battlebeak’s resolve for the cause only grew...and he had earned a reputation for his ‘heroism’ even though many died under his command. Even when superior officers would pin medals to his uniform and laud him with kind words about his character, his bravery, and his combat prowess, Battlebeak knew the true fate of a soldier:

To be haunted by the past...regardless of the future.

Battlebeak had distracted himself from the outcome of the war by creating a large underground trading enterprise which held monopolies on everything from little china dolls with heads that wobbled to the most destructive of firearms listed just below warship cannons in the ranks of pure devastating power. He had lived in sin and squalor not by choice, but through necessity. He used what money he could to feed himself and pay his bodyguards, and invested the rest in the Black Market and whatever willing strumpet he could lure away into his den. Escapes from reality were rarely afforded to the losers of war, but when they came, they were to be taken advantage of.

Dextra had found this out the hard way.

His vision began to cloud over with white as that old memory tickled his conscious mind, but he shook those visions away. Now was not the time to fall. Now was the time to reaffirm himself.

I need this job. They need this job. Who am I to deny them happiness?

He opened his eyes and sighed: the needs of his crew would always surpass his own, and they would be safe just as long as he was vigilant.

With a whirl of his trailing coat and a check of his firearm, he was prepared. There was nothing more he needed than his Lieutenant and his crew, especially now when the way was cloudiest. His hesitation would be needed for another time, but for now, when things were still peaceful, he relaxed a little.

She’s right…nothing will go wrong…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Memories were a hard thing to come by so far out in The Black. The trade and exchange of memories had long been banned by the Alliance after a certain cadre of scientists had abused the knowledge of relaying brainwaves into auditory and visual projections. It was originally hailed as a psychological breakthrough: clinicians, both under military or private employ, could use memories as a way to analyze long-forgotten visual and auditory experiences from their patients, and the military could extract memories from captured soldiers to look for any knowledge of secret plans or troop movements, even if the soldier in question was unaware of what they knew. Any little thing could swing the locus of power during their time of war, and the trade of battle plans locked away in the minds of the average grunt was a hot commodity.

Like any new technology, the method of capturing memories started with massive machines which required equally massive amounts of energy, both magical and otherwise, to power. As time went on, the machines required became smaller, more streamlined, requiring less energy until nothing but a large enough battery pack and enough magic could get them running. And just like any new and promising technology: the more they refined the technique...the more interested the military became.

The scandal which followed was monumental and provided a huge spark for the cause of the Rebels, for what good was a government who participated in spying, torture, and the refusal of civil rights? What loving and supposed peaceful government would condone such an action? Brownbard recruiting skyrocketed, and the Alliance spent millions covering up their memory misuse. The ponies responsible for torturing innocent soldiers were shamed forevermore, and the sale and distribution of the memory-capturing devices was halted and all but completely eradicated.

But this would never halt the use of the machines, and even Celestia and Luna themselves could never have stopped the Black Market influx of memory extracting equipment. Any smart captain, merchant, or government official bought into the memory craze when the going was good, and if there was one thing which could be said about Alliance tech, it was that it would last for a very long time. The trade of memories of government officials or merchants was a practice which had turned the tides in business and in war in the past, and was still going strong throughout every corner of the system.

It was these same disks, hundreds of them all categorized with little cards with names, dates, and summaries of the enclosed information which graced their free shuttle as it rocketed towards the massive complex just now peeking out over the horizon. Had the crew known they would have refused outright, but regardless of their discontent Bastion would have ignored them. There was a pecking order established, and the crew’s place was often replaced by those few military compatriots of theirs who poked up around the system. Regardless of the trouble, they were dealt with first.

As the years passed, their numbers grew thinner. Death came in myriad forms: murder, conflict, suicide, illness...all of them wrapped in silence to take those soldiers away from their self-supposed failures. They had endured the most terrible war in recent memory, and had gone back from the battlefield to be oppressed yet again as the Alliance reared its ugly head and laughed at their wasted lives.

They would come first, for the blood of a soldier is tainted with an immortal honor and brand of loyalty which no crewmember save Shadow and Dextra would ever understand.

If you can’t run, you crawl…

Battlebeak’s final request to them had been strange and more than a little illegal , but they would do it for him because they had to. It was not a need driven by a sense of responsibility to follow their former superior’s orders, but one fueled by a twisted love they had for their old, dying, disgusting, but incredible superior officer:

...A griffon who, much to Bastion’s chagrin and pride, was their mentor and surrogate father.

As their shuttle’s autopilot did what it did best, they rested their hooves. Dextra leaned back in her plush chair at the helm, looking for any signs of trouble while the Captain rested. It was times like these that he did what he could to alleviate his already heavy mind. It was times like these that he was happy, his troubles silenced by the soft drone of sleep.

Dextra was watching over him, and they still had a little while before they arrived. He wouldn’t be needed…

~~~

The steam from his mug whorled its way upwards as lazily as it could, whipping itself around in the cool night air as Bastion stared through it, gazing over the city below them. The snores of his fellow squad mates were barely audible over the muffled din of continued gunfire, and every few minutes a rattling BOOM! would shake the air, threatening to tip his coffee as the wooden structure beneath him shook. He couldn’t care less if some Alliance prick had thrown a grenade directly on his squad mates lying but fifty yards away, he would be damned before someone spilled his coffee. He cradled it between his hooves as the rumbling died down, sighing when it was all over.

Another cup saved.

He watched the falling snow as it silently fluttered down on the barricades, mounting on the wall like a frigid, puffy cloud as his watch progressed. The only other sound was the crackling of shrinking metal and creaking timbers as the cold permeated its way into everything it could find, wrapping everything in frost. The city which glittered in the valley below was encased in the soft glow of fire, tanks and bodies from the day’s battle resisting the frigid cold as they slowly burned. They had done well that day, for their body count was lower than their enemy’s and a few Alliance tanks had been eliminated. Major Battlebeak himself had taken the first watch in celebration, allowing his soldiers a few more hours rest than usual along with a healthy dose of coffee and whiskey which Bastion, being on watch, got to savor alone and free from competition.

Turning to check on the tent city thrown together behind him, he was not at all surprised to find it completely devoid of activity. His comrades slept through the cold and fatigue of a well-earned night’s rest with no sound but the rustling of tents flaps. The wind picked up, casting shadows like moving hooves across the spaces between the canvas tents. He sipped his coffee as he smiled and watched the snow fall, but as the cup drained he reached the dregs of the pot. Somepony had done a shitty job filtering...

“Needs more sugar” he whispered to himself, casting a glare of whipped-up steam to flood over his regulation goggles. He waited to let the steam die down as he continued his watch over the camp, and was about to turn his back on the tents to re-examine the city some miles away when a sound caught his attention.

It sounded like the twang of a bow string, and was accompanied by a moving object which stumbled slightly in the camp, catching itself before it hit the ground. Bastion watched as the object grew in size, its dark shadow elongating as it came between the growing snow and the moon. Its number increased, growing from one to two and then slowly to three as the shadows...stallions judging by their size and structure...made their way between the tents and stopped as a group before one of them, door flaps rustling slightly in the frigid wind.

He knew whose tent that was...and it wasn't theirs...

~~~

A gentle nudge from his zebra comrade shook him awake; he had not been asleep for long, but the shock of reflected light gleaming from a nearby tower...and the contents of his dream...drew him back to reality in an instant. That dream...that nightmare...it was a night he had thought he had forgotten, but at the same time it was one he could never truly forget;

It was the night he had met Dextra.

That selfsame zebra sat by his side, adjusting her duster to better accommodate her carbine even though she would never think of using or brazenly displaying her prize weapon as an affront to their old friend. As far as the both of them knew, there was no reason for alarm...only mild suspicion and constant vigilance. Bastion had slept prepared, as he always did, and was able to get up and ready with only mild irritation in his legs.

He would never have told him to his face, but Salve was an excellent medic: Bastion’s leg had patched up nicely, and the cast was, at this point, superfluous. While he would never dare run on it, he had taken worse and lived. At least the pain reminded him he was capable of feeling something.

Bastion and Dextra shared a nod, a pre-job mental acknowledgement of preparedness which had always been their trademark. No team still flying could ever be as connected as the two aging soldiers, and they knew it. It was half the reason they were still in business. The other half was their impeccable aim and sheer combat prowess, though they would never brag about it.

Not openly, at least.

With a glance to the door now firmly locked to the adjacent airlock of their contact’s compound, Dextra followed in the steps of her Captain as they made their way towards their contact and the job which awaited with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know, we might make better time if you weren’t so damn cautious…” Wildfire grunted at his diminutive mechanic companion as she made her way through the market square. While their Captain and Dextra had launched their free shuttle towards the administrative portion of the sprawling city, the crew had landed in the docks which, much like Hoovesdown, were accented by the presence of a bustling marketplace. The square teemed with ponies and other races along with a plethora of wares and goods, much of them illegal or knockoffs.

This was a fact which Chamomile knew all too well: it was places like these which could, and often did, kill both engines and the crews which maintained them. Wind Dancer and Golden Sun had made off with the wagon again, and Wildfire sighed in exasperation as the mechanic perused not only for engine components, but any sign of Alliance presence.

Their task, which should only have taken an hour at most, was trailing on longer than the temperamental stallion would have liked. His nerves had taken more than a few shocks taking care of Chamomile, and he had lost track of the number of times she had jumped at a loud noise or lurked around a corner in fear. She slowed her walk as she thoroughly inspected every nook and cranny of the marketplace, slowly making her way through the square with Wildfire at her heel.

“If I don’t do this right, Wildfire, we could all die. I think a few minutes comparing and dealing with all this junk is a little bit better than getting sucked through a pinhole into space when the hull breaks apart, don’t you?”

"Geez, cranky much?!" He scoffed, trading a few of his bits for an apple at a nearby vendor. "I mean, I understand why you're hesitant, but this...this is just downright ridiculous! We've been at this for a hell of a lot longer than you said!"

"Things change, Wildfire..."

"I know they do, but not by an hour! An hour you wasted by being so freaked out! Do you seriously need to be this skittish? Isn't that my sole purpose for being here: to take care of you?"

"Take care of me!?" she chortled, swiping a few color-coded fuses into her awaiting saddlebags after sliding a few bits to the grinning salespony. "I don't need to be coddled like a baby, no matter what the Captain says...I'm just worried is all."

"What's there to be worried about?" Wildfire snapped as he looked around the square. "There's no Alliance here or any creepy-ass assassins trying to murder you! The only thing I find murderous about this trip is how agonizingly long you're taking to find some simple parts!"

"I am doing the best I can...cut me some slack, alright?!"

“Fine, ‘Camshaft’! Do your deal, but make it snappy!” he grunted back, reeling a little from her abrasiveness.

Who shoved a cactus up her ass?

“Aren’t you supposed to be protecting me instead of being a rude, insensitive jackass?” she shot back, a modicum of very-uncharacteristic rage building up behind her eyes.

“Jackass?! What the hell did I do to piss you off?” he growled, stepping towards her a little as she recoiled. “You’ve been acting like a scared little filly the whole time we’ve been down here, Cammy! We both know there isn’t anything to hurt us down here, so what’s with the little act?”

“Act?” she barked, reeling a little from his insults but nonetheless affirmed to her argument. “Do you think me being cautious is an act? Do you honestly think I want the attention? I’m getting enough of it with these stupid wrappings on my chest! I look like I’m half-mummified!”

She placed her hoof on her chest as she spoke, her bandages darkening slightly as they depressed to soak up some untouched blood. She had elected to undertake her Captain’s assignment despite her injury and against the advice of Salve. She had told herself that the ship was her responsibility, that their lives were placed squarely in her hooves’ ability to keep the ship in repair with only the best parts. It was one of the only reasons that kept her moving.

The other most definable motive she had to continue despite their advice was that she had failed: in letting herself come to harm to defend Salve, she had left the ship without a skilled mechanic. It was her job to tend to the ship's health just like Salve looked after hers, but in her absence she had left them all without the ability to make repairs. She had told herself that would never happen, but it had...and in her mind, she had broken her one promise to the ship.

She refused to break it again.

The bullet which had been extracted from her chest left a dull aching pain as she inhaled. Shrugging off the pain and the stallion's words, she allowed herself a few deep breaths to cast away the pain still lingering in her breast.

It’s not a bullet…it's a reminder…it’s your purpose…

“Look, Wildfire: I’m trying to make sure you and I have no reason to be attacked, and I have to do that while looking for the parts I need. There is too much here that is cheap and fake, and I'm having a hard enough time sorting that out without you yelling at me! I’m a little stressed right now, so please don’t tell me to hurry up!”

“But we don’t have a reason to be shot!” he yelled back, catching her off-guard as the last vestiges of his patience melted away. “We’ve been attacked, we killed that freak, and no one is following us! The only thing we have to fear is not getting back to the ship on time, and you’re acting like there is a whole Alliance battalion with an itchy trigger just waiting to rip apart a certain yellow mechanic on some piece-of-shit ship!”

“Don’t you DARE insult that ship!” she screamed as one of her hoofs slammed into his chest, causing him to balk slightly as his muscled chest absorbed the blow. It didn’t do much, but it made him reel nonetheless.

“That ship is what keeps us flying, keeps us safe, and it keeps YOUR ungrateful ass paid! She's all you've got, and she's our home! I NEVER want to hear you badmouthing her again: she's more dependable than you ever were!”

“THAT ship!?" he retaliated, turning a few heads as his free hoof gestured away from the pair and towards the helm of their vessel which glinted in the midday sun. "That ship has been nothing but a disappointment, and I can't understand why you and the Captain love it so much! It's slow, just like you are now! I’m only telling you to hurry up so we can get out of here and back on the ship where there isn't all these ponies around!"

"What, does being social make you nervous?" she scoffed, rounding on him as her saddlebags clicked. "Can't stand being around others, huh? What a weak thing to be afraid of..."

"Don't you call me weak!" he shouted, causing a few more ponies to watch the pair as they took turns advancing on one another. "I take bullets for you, Chamomile! I put myself in harms way so Bastion can get his money, so Windy can play with his little toys...so you can play all doe-eyed for the Doctor!"

The slap which followed echoed around the square and bounced around the metal shipping container near where they stood. Wildfire's cheek grew redder, but his head had never moved even as Chamomile's hoof arced through the air between them and slammed his cheek with far more power she'd ever used before. His thin lips curled as he stared the mechanic down, never relenting even as her tiny frame hugged the ground.

"...Now listen here," he began, his growl held back with a great and clearly audible effort. "That will be the only time...the ONLY time...that you ever hit me. I am here to keep you safe, Cammy...and if I need you to move your ass, then you'd better fucking do it! The longer we stay out here, the longer somepony might recognize us and the sooner we might get shot! THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT RIGHT NOW, RIGHT?! TO NOT GET SHOT AGAIN? DID IT NOT HURT ENOUGH THE FIRST TIME?!”

He lost himself in his rage as his voice tore through the square, but as his voice died down it took him a few moments, and a few of her tears, to realize what he had done.

Damnit Wildfire…you’re a moron...

He stepped back a little, giving her space as she stood her ground, still staring at him as a few silent tears slid down her cheeks, caressing the underside of her chin as she held her breathing steady. Wildfire, unused to dealing with emotions, especially her emotions, dug the dirt with his hoof, completely at a loss. The wound hadn’t even fully healed and he was already tearing another hole in the little mechanic.

“…I’m sorry, Cammy…I didn’t want to be mean, but…” he whispered, the words more tumbling than flowing out from his mouth as she stood silently in front of him, nearby ponies looking on briefly in confusion as the massive mercenary apologized to the brave, steadfast little mare who had commanded his bearing with a glance.

“…It’s just…you don’t know what it’s really like to…”

“To what...be shot?!” she snapped, breaking her silence as she advanced on the stallion, earning her a few surprised looks from passers-by. “Please, tell me what it’s like, Wildfire! What’s it like to be shot point-blank in the chest? Enlighten me with every single gruesome fucking detail of what it feels like to have a bullet rip your chest apart and destroy your internal organs! Did you have to urinate through a hole in your leg because a red-hot shard of metal burrowed its way into your liver, because I did! And it hurt! A lot!”

At this point she had backed him up against a wall, beads of sweat trickling from his brow as the little mare stood her ground, her eyes wide open in rage.

“Whoa, listen, Cammy, I didn’t put that bullet there! I’m just saying that you’re kind of over…”

“I’m...what?! I’m overreacting!? Don’t you DARE tell me that I’m overreacting!!! I’m not overreacting! I almost died, not that you would care, you selfish PRICK!”

"Chamomile, listen to yourself...this isn't you!" he stammered, hiding his face from the onlooking ponies as he frantically backed away from the tempestuous mare before him. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?! I didn't mean it...let's just go back to the ship and talk this over, okay?"

"We ARE talking this over," she bellowed, "right here...right now! You've been nothing but selfish ever since you came on this ship, and I'm sick of it! All you do is piss and moan about how little money you have, but you know what? None of us care! No one cares, Wildfire! The Captain doesn't care, Dextra doesn't care...I sure as shit don't care! The only one who cares is YOU!"

“Simmer down, Cammy…” he whispered at the little mare, her eyes glazed over in rage, the bandage wrapped around her middle turning red as her anger caused her strong little heart to keep pumping. Her legs shifted in agitation, threatening equicide.

“STOP…CALLING…ME…CAMMY!” she screamed, punctuating her words by beating her little hooves against the mountainous stallion’s chest, her eyes closed tightly as they squeezed out a few more tears. "YOU DON'T GET TO CALL ME THAT! ONLY MY FRIENDS CAN CALL ME THAT, AND YOU ARE NOT...MY...FRIEND!!!"

Slamming her hoof into his chest with each of her final words, she closed her eyes and pummeled his bandoliers as she continued her verbal thrashing.

"FRIENDS HELP ONE ANOTHER! FRIENDS SUPPORT EACH OTHER! YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYONE BUT YOURSELF! YOU DIDN'T CARE WHEN I GOT SHOT! YOU DIDN'T CARE THAT I ALMOST DIED! YOU PROBABLY WENT THROUGH THAT...THAT...THING'S POCKETS WHILE THAT DOCTOR YOU HATE SO MUCH SAVED ME! YOU DIDN'T LIFT A HOOF TO MAKE SURE I WAS OKAY, BUT EVERYONE ELSE DID BECAUSE THEY'RE NOT SELFISH ASSHOLES LIKE YOU!!!"

Every eye in the little square was turned to her as her sudden outburst ripped through the hustle and bustle of the marketplace like a knife through warm butter. She slumped to her hindquarters, her hooves still firmly embedded in the stallion’s chest as she raked and pummeled his breast. She screamed at him, punctuating each of her accusations with a little pound from her hoof, her face lined with tears as she berated him...

...even as he pulled her into a firm embrace.

She screamed and struggled at first, reaffirming her desire to pummel his non-existent heart right out of his chest...but the more she struggled to break free, the firmer his embrace became.

There was a reason he was called Wildfire: his temper was a legend in his clan, and he was not known for his patience or his inability to give anything less than 110% to anything he wanted. But this hold...this embrace...this was a skill his mother had used on him, and so he knew just what to do.

The trick was to never let go.

Her muscles tensed in time with her heart as she clutched herself to his chest, screaming in pain and terror as she released everything she had into his coat. Every pent-up rage, every fear, every last shred of hatred, anger, or despair which she had saved up over the last few weeks came pouring out as she howled in agony.

...Every memory of an angry assassin and his bullet, every drop of blood she watched stain her coat and drench her hooves as she held her gut, crying as she tried to keep her skin from splitting...

...Every time she had gone under the knife with the warm embrace of the tranquilizers even when she had thought she would never again reawaken, only to find herself out of place in time and with a few more scars on her chest...

...Every nightmare she shared with the little hybrid as they slept, Riptide’s inner tormentors becoming reality as she shriveled in fear against the little mechanic’s chest, Chamomile stroking her hair and cooing soft words of comfort even when the little unicorn in her hooves kicked and screamed in pain as her little monster tore holes in her brain...

...Every word she couldn’t help but overhear outside the medical bay, her ear pressed firmly to the door as the little angry beast inside Riptide’s head fought to wrest control of her consciousness while the little mare struggled in vain...

...Every slithering hiss as the demon played out Chamomile's gruesome death in a thousand different ways for Riptide to watch with lidless eyes, unable to cry and unable to move as the images flashed in her mind...

With every passing moment she ejected more and more of her store of emotions, and her mind and heart, along with her body, slackened as they passed. Wildfire could feel as the blood from her chest began to soak his own as her brave little heart beat on, encouraged to new speed as she buckled in anguish. Her chest convulsed as she struggled for air against her rebelling lungs.

Wildfire gave her a little squeeze and rubbed her spine with a free hoof. It was the least he could do to calm the little mare who had taken on so much so far from home, so alone in the Black, and yet strong enough to shoulder everything that had been thrown at her.

They remained there, the massive stallion unmoving as the yellow mare in his hooves slowly but surely calmed herself down, her chest still shuddering as she sucked down rattling breaths which, very slowly, become more and more controlled. She kept her eyes firmly closed, not in rage and anguish as they had been but in profound exhaustion. She could feel the cold air wick the tears from her cheeks, and she relished the sensation. It was enough to shock her system back to reality and allow herself to open her eyes.

She panted in exhaustion, struggling to match the stallion’s inhalations with her own as he unknowingly mimicked her favorite calming tactics. In just a few shared breaths, she was back on pace with his breathing patterns. They sat there for a few more moments, breathing in time, before his gruff voice punched through the calm.

“Listen…I’m sorry…I didn't know you felt that way. I didn't mean what I said...and I'm just as scared as you are about all this...”

She smiled. The apology was unnecessary, but she enjoyed the fact that she, out of all the crew, was alone in the knowledge that Wildfire was capable of being truly remorseful. It made her a little happy, and that happiness was the engine which allowed her to release herself from his chest, wiping a few stray tears with a free hoof before looking up to match his gaze.

“I know you are…and I’m sorry too…” she whispered, her voice still shaking.

He looked at her in confusion, for she had done nothing wrong as far as he was concerned. His look of bewilderment was evident enough to cause her to place her hoof on his chest. He looked down to find that a large patch of her blood had matted his coat. Her bandages had utterly failed: both his chest and her wrappings were completely soaked with the fluid, the dressing contrasting heavily with her own yellow coat.

"It's no big deal," he whispered, brushing off a few flakes of her blood from his chest. "Nothing a shower won't fix..."

She couldn't help but grin, wiping a tear from her eye as she nodded in understanding.

"I could really use one of those right about now," she whispered, chuckling slightly as Wildfire grinned.

“C’mon…” he said quietly, his voice cracking a little as he worked to stay quiet. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I will get the rest of the parts you need later, but you need more rest.”

Without a word he knelt down on his front hooves, exposing his back as he nodded in its direction. Wiping the last of her tears from her face, she curled up on his back as best she could as he made his way back to the ship. As he made his way back her eyes landed on her flanks, and she couldn't help but admire the image which shone back happily at her. It was even more successful at calming her down than her breathing tactics were.

Her little teacups were still in place on her sides, sending off little whorls of steam as they sat silently on their little plates. Giving the closest one a little stroke, she reeled slightly when some of her blood streaked her sides and matted her cutie mark in red. With a few more brushes she able to clean herself off, but some lingering streaks of red remained.

He’s right, she thought, her head bobbing in time with his movements as she slowly willed herself to sleep, watching her cutie mark slowly fade away as she slipped into her long-deferred rest.

This little teacup needs some time to cool down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The large metal door in front of them whizzed open and the air from their shuttle escaped, blowing their manes as it was replaced with the cool air of the airlock they had docked to. As they walked down the tunnel and into the room beyond, they prepared themselves to be searched. They knew the drill: cargo in front with hooves and weapons visible for the security team to check. They wasted no time following protocol as three officers, their barding stamped with a large yellow SECURITY stamp on either side, examined both the Captain and Dextra before getting a hold of the cargo. Two of them pushed it away and out of sight on a little dolly cart, while another similarly-clad female unicorn holding a gun in her magic pointed her firearm squarely at Bastion’s chest. When she was comfortable with their compliance and knew their cargo was securely within their stores, she lowered her rifle and clicked a button on an arm-mounted computer, bringing it to her mouth as she spoke:

“Sir, the Captain and his escort are here.”

“Thank you, Pinochle. I will be there in a moment…” came a familiar crackling voice.

The pony lowered both her hoof and her rifle, nodding in the direction of the door on the far side of the room. Dextra wasted no time in making her way towards it, the Captain following her slowly as he tested his legs’ capabilities, sizing up the white Security-mare as he passed.

I could take her, he thought to himself as they passed one another by, the Security-mare's amber eyes following him as he walked away.

As they made their way towards the door, their contact arrived. The door opened with a whirr of cold air which tossed his longish mane a bit, rustling the tip of his fiery orange goatee. His faded orange skin had been tighter, his wings more firm and more feathered, yes, but he still bulged with hard-earned muscle in the places which hadn’t suffered from his inactivity. The weight of years coupled with his enterprises was visibly denoted by his old bones, weary muscles, and the scarring which years of bullet holes and shrapnel gashes had exacted during his time in service. Regardless, his demeanor was kind and his face beaming when he saw his two old compatriots, a feeling which Dextra was the first to acknowledge.

“Hey there, Trenta!” she chirped, giving him a tender hug which he, as best he could given his frailty, reciprocated.

“Hey now, Dextra! I’m your employer now, we’ve got to set some boundaries!” he nudged her playfully before giving her a little nod and a warm smile, his eyes glazing over as he waxed nostalgic. “It’s very good to see you…the both of you. How long has it been since we last saw each other? Ten years?”

A curt nod from Bastion was both his answer and his greeting, a nod which was cordially returned by Trenta. The orange pegasus looked at them both again with pride and surprise.

“Bastion…you haven’t changed a bit. Neither have you, my dearest Dextra! It seems like the war succeeded in shaping us up to conquer the galaxy, huh? Me running an enterprise with you keeping those machines of industry greased and running smoothly! It looks like that fuzzball Major of ours succeeded in his mission,” he said gruffly, casting a sideways glance at the floor. “...Even if he is trying to nudge me out…”

Bastion took a few steps forward, momentarily glancing at the room where his package had been whisked away before returning his gaze to the pegasus.

“I hope you’re aware that carrying his little gift has put me into a bad situation, Trenta. Things have become a little tighter, security-wise, on my vessel.”

“Oh?” the orange stallion replied quickly. “Are you unable to fulfill my contract, Captain? Please speak now: I don’t want to find out you’ve snuck out on a job and left me hanging, I would be a little disappointed…”

Bastion knew damn well what ‘disappointed’ meant to the grizzled merchant, but he knew he was still in the right. Shaking his head, he assuaged his employer’s worries.

“No, Trenta. We will be prepared, come what may. You can always count on us.”

“Excellent!” the pegasus exclaimed, his hooves tapping the ground in excitement. “I’m glad you’re willing to take on my shipment: there are not many who would undergo something like this. But you two...you two have always been trustworthy! If things go smoothly, I have no doubt you can count on more work from my friends and I!”

“Sounds like a good deal.”

That was all the response the orange stallion required from his old friend, and he looked at both his old comrades with a nostalgic glaze before coming back to the subject at hoof.

“Well, I promised you an explanation about my work...I think it’s time I give you one!”

He limped quickly to the door, the shuddering of his legs barely noticeable as his joints warmed up. How he had ever been in the military given his physical state Bastion never knew, but it seemed that clouds had replaced the uneven earth for those select few pegasus snipers, and during their time with the Brownbards Trenta’s life had been a little easier than theirs. But now the weight of years and newfound mercantile hardships had rammed him full force. Bastion was surprised he was still standing, but as the pegasus increased his pace to a near trot, Bastion smiled as he fell into step behind him.

One, two, three, four…

Trenta placed his hoof gently on a hoofpad by the door, his legs shaking a little as they adjusted to more weight. The doors slid open and little vents above blew their manes and tails free of pesky dust with a warm vapor. When the mist receded and they had all taken a few steps forward, Bastion and Dextra’s jaws dropped as they entered the largest warehouse either soldier had ever seen.

A vast cavernous room of solid steel girders and concrete loomed out around them, so far reaching in sheer size and height that Bastion sat stunned, wondering how something so gargantuan hadn’t been seen from space. Tracks laid out in massive curling assembly lines, moving so slowly that even Trenta could beat their paces, trundled slowly through the expanse below them. Workers and technicians ran to and fro assembling and tending to massive robotic arms which swung sheets of metal around with some haste, and as the trio of retired soldiers got closer, the popping of welding torches and the shrill whine of riveters punched through the echoing din.

As they passed along their catwalk, suspended by such tiny gossamer threads compared to the massive cables which held ships and cargo alike above them, Bastion could make out towers of shipping containers and crates bearing foreign insignias and alphabets. The little colt still present somewhere in that soldier’s heart bounced around with excitement, though he made a concerted effort to not translate that to actual movement.

They had made their way about halfway to their destination, a concrete rectangular office building nestled high in the corner of the massive warehouse, when Argento stopped. Dextra and Bastion followed suit, puzzling a little before noticing that the walkway before them, which had previously been parallel to the concrete floors so very far below, was slowly rising. Gears and pulleys, as slowly as they could, pulled the walkway out from its resting position and slid the entire thing upwards. As they stared in amazement a massive forklift, almost as tall as the towers of crates it tended to, lumbered across the gap bearing what appeared to be tons of wheels, wrapped in plastic and held tightly to the forklift by straps and cables. The wheels themselves, encased in waxes of hundreds of different colors and designs, stuck out from the rest of the monumental steel structure like a sore hoof.

“Is that…?” Dextra began, awestruck not only by the size of the machine, but by its confusing cargo.

“I do believe that is…” was Bastion’s reply, his mouth still hanging open in shock by what he was seeing.

“Well, I would have to cover up my real dealings somehow.” Trenta grinned at his massive machine. “Besides, my family name still needs to be upheld...”

“Family name? Your family makes…cheese?” Dextra stared at the machine in awe even as it passed clear of the walkway, which began to lower itself quickly to accommodate Trenta and his guests.

“Well, yes! When my father was dying he stuck me with the business, which was right about the time I decided to join up with Major Battlebeak. I seem to remember us fighting and I forget who instigated it, but regardless…” he grinned, sweeping his hoof over himself, “Here I am! I took my Dad's little dairy venture and turned it into a massive enterprise! I’ve been employing my family and any other indentured slave or shamefully unemployed laborer and craftsman I can ever since I took over.”

As the walkway returned to its original position they continued at a faster pace, Bastion and Dextra’s hooves carefully matching time with their old friend even as they made a very conscious effort to not get stuck in the catwalk’s seemingly gaping holes.

“You see,” Argento continued, talking over his shoulder slightly as they made their way to their ever-nearer destination, “I’ve never really taken a shine to the whole ‘cheese’ thing, not nearly as much as my father. When he died and I got back home after the war, I found out that my younger brothers hadn’t done anything with the veritable cash-cow my father had given them. They had wasted all of our previous investors’ money on stupid trades with foreign markets, and they had almost run the whole thing dry. As much as I hated him, I respected my father enough to make sure his little business could provide for our family.”

“And now look at it!” he said with a wide smile, resting a free hoof on the catwalk’s bannister and casting his other in a grand sweeping movement. “From a single two-story office building to the largest cheese supplier in the system in ten years flat! And not just cheese, no no! Shuttles, cargo freighters, clothing, textiles, household crockery...you name it, we make it! I’ve provided a stable living and full health coverage for thousands of families, and I’m still chugging along.”

“And how does cheese fit in with our job?" Bastion puzzled as he surveyed his old friend. "From the message and Battlebeak's offer it sounded like you were transporting something a little more…I don’t know…illegal?”

Bastion looked both on his old friend and his friends’ creation in awe, but that nagging feeling that something was missing, his best and worst friend at times, was still gnawing at his conscious.

“Ahh…yes…the crime...” The pegasus said curtly, raising his hoof and gesturing to a set of staircases which led to his corner office. “It’s about time I filled you in. Enough ego-tripping: I have hired you for a task and I expected to see it done, but I have to give it to you first...silly me…”

He gestured with his hoof up the staircase and bowed to Dextra. “After you, my dear.”

She took his offer and bounded up the steps as Bastion followed. Trenta looked over the balcony and yelled some orders down to a foreman in a white hat who clipped his hoof to his hat in salute before relaying the command. When he was finished Trenta fluttered his way up the staircase to hold the door open for Bastion and Dextra.

They sat themselves down on padded chairs and looked out the grand window which circled the office like a watchtower. Trenta closed and locked the door behind him before trotting to his desk, pouring them some coffee still piping hot on a little stand near his desk. Dextra took hers quickly, nudging herself comfortably in her chair before sipping it carefully between her hooves. Bastion took his as well, but waited until the pony who had offered it to him took a sip from his own cup before proceeding.

Old habits die hard…

They exchanged small talk for a while, conversing and catching up until their coffee released enough heat to drink safely. His desk was neat and ordered, though still a little cluttered. Bastion was surprised there weren’t more file folders or storage cabinets, things which he had always associated with merchants and business ponies almost like a brand, something which was required for entrance into the mercantile class. Evidently different ponies did business differently.

Dextra looked out again over Argento’s grand warehouse before alighting on a photograph, framed in silver, cracking a little with age and wear but still pristine enough to make out three pegasus ponies. A much younger Trenta beamed down at two smaller, younger pegasus mares, his wings spread out like a feathered shield as he encapsulated them both. The larger of the two, a dainty pink pegasus, held a small bundle in her hooves. From the little hole the swaddling clothes left open, Dextra could make out the miniature face and bold black eyes of a little pegasus baby girl, her hair a long and flowing orange like her father, yet her body was a dazzling powdery pink like her mother.

This was his child. He had a family.

Trenta Argento, infamous sniper of the Sons of Celestia, had a family.

“How are they?” Dextra asked, still in shock that he was a father, so very unlike how she had remembered him to be. Although strong and vibrant in his youth, his antics never screamed parenting material. Just one more change the war enacted: it made the strong ones stronger and gave the weak an opportunity to prove their worth. His face beamed with pride as he looked on the photograph.

“That was taken some years ago. My little girl can fly now, though Poultice is still helping her along…”

“Poultice?...wasn’t there a Poultice who worked at our field hospital? She was a medic, right?”

Argento sat a little straighter as he nodded his affirmation. “Yes, she was...and she still is, actually! She takes care of our daughter and runs our on-site clinic. Industrial injuries aren’t too different from war ones, but instead of bullets it's steel bolts and rebar she’s plucking out of ponies.”

“How did you two meet?” Dextra smiled, getting comfortable in her chair as her Captain nearby rolled his eyes and ripped open a sugar packet in his teeth.

“Well…” Trenta began, leaning a little in his chair as he thought of how best to proceed. He tapped his hoof to his chin, playing with the end of his beard a bit before hitting his chair’s arm with his hoof, creating a nice click! of inspiration.

“You remember how I was, right? Always yelling at the Alliance from behind clouds, provoking them to shoot me?”

Argento smiled at the passive Captain, but his grin was not returned as Bastion watched the intricate swirls of cream intermixing with his coffee, having just prepared himself a cup of the brew to his liking. Trenta passed his gaze back to Dextra, who leaned forward in her chair in rapt attention, emitting a little cough to clear his throat before continuing.

“Well, I was avoiding another sniper who had finally had enough of my antics. We traded off some shots, but he had the rubble and I had the clouds, so neither of us were getting anywhere. I did, however, run out of ammo before he did...and boy did he know it! He started taking potshots at me and I swept through a doorframe below to get some cover, but I clipped my wing on the frame as I came in. I sprained it pretty bad, but I was well enough that I could trot back to our doctor. As chance would have it, the doctor was out but his assistant was present. She sat me down on the bed and got my wing all fixed up and splinted.”

“She was tightening my bandages and I guess I was talking so much and going on and on about what I was doing to warrant a sprained wing that she tightened her splint a little too hard. I can't tell who how much it hurt, but you know me: can’t show a lick of pain! So I’m sitting here, holding back these tears as she took her sweet time getting me all cleaned up!"

"I’m about ready to burst, this wing was just murder…and then, she goes up and untightens the damn thing! Turns out she knew just how to shut me up! Told me too, just winked at me and said ‘well, I think I found your off switch'...she’s still a bit cheeky like that…”

“So how does you getting your wing bashed up translate into ‘to have and to hold?’” Bastion grunted over his coffee as he watched Dextra tap her hooves in delight, the little zebra filly in her heart trying her hardest to contain herself from the romanticism Argento's story would inevitably create.

“Well,” he continued, “my wing got all healed and I got back to work, but I couldn’t forget about her. Soon, I started showing up every week for some injury or another: another sprain, a headache...one time I gave myself one hell of a splinter, just so she'd have to pull it out!

"Weekly turned into a few days every week, which eventually turned to everyday. She always knew I was just faking the whole thing, but I think she enjoyed the breaks we would take together. I would bring her lunch sometimes, and some nights she'd swipe some of the officers' wine from their mess hall. We'd share the bottle under the moon and talk about our histories..."

"And let me tell you.." he winked coyly at the zebra teetering in her chair. "...I didn't need the wine to make her the prettiest damn thing I'd ever seen!"

Dextra's little squee! was hidden by her hooves as Bastion slurped his coffee noisily, causing Trenta to get back on track with his story, grinning as Dextra's eyes widened with his words.

"When the war ended and we spent our last moonlit night together, she made a comment...some off-handed little thought. She said that she didn’t know what she could do for work: no Alliance hospital would take her, and she wouldn’t want to work for the Alliance anyway. She was always a Brownbard at heart, even though she never got the uniform.”

“We were talking about it, and she was getting more and more distressed. She didn’t know what to do...but I knew it was my turn to take care of her like she had me. I looked her dead in the eyes, knelt down, and proposed to her on the spot...right there under the full moon, without a ring or anything to my name! She said yes,of course, and right after I got this place back on track we decided to try and have a foal. We took that photo a year later...right after Brie was born.”

At this point, Dextra was leaning so far forward in her chair she was on the precipice of falling out of it completely. A little part of Bastion’s sadistic side wanted that to happen, but the other half was still surprised that Trenta Argento, Scourge of the Skies, had a daughter.

He had barely been able to take care of himself during the war, but it seemed that Poultice saw to that... made him a better stallion, a dedicated father. That was her doing, and with her support he had created an empire. She was his guiding star the moment she hit his 'off' switch, and Bastion smiled a little inside as he remembered what it felt like to have that kind of support...to feel that strength...

“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh!” Dextra squealed, her hoof clicking together in happiness. “That is adorable! Where are they?! I have to meet this wife of yours! I bet I would like her! Poultice, right? And your filly! Oh my gosh you have a filly!...”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” their grizzled friend laughed,pushing her back into her seat lest she collapse on top of his still-frail form. “Let’s not get too excited Dex! They are taking a little vacation, at a hot springs on the other side of the planet...they should be back in a few days.”

She shook herself into a more relaxed state, the icy-cold eyes of her Captain like a bucket of ice water aiding in her pacification. She always got this way when talking about children. Bastion hadn’t a clue why.

“Now…the caper…” he began, pulling himself up in his chair as he looked at them both. “I make a lot of cheese here, just like my father did, but the war taught me one thing: get to the going while the going is good. I've learned to be more persistent and deliberate, and I've learned to make my intentions known immediately. It worked for Poultice, and it worked for creating this business, so I thought hey…”

He grinned at them both mischievously, rolling his hooves over one another in anticipation.

“…Why not weapons?”

Dextra sprayed coffee all over the office, covering her mouth as best she could regardless of the dripping hot liquid which coursed down her chin.

“You're an arms dealer?” she exclaimed, her mouth on fire as Argento wiped his face a little with a free hoof where her spray had landed, proceeding with a little more caution lest he provoke her exclamatory misting yet again.

“Well, yes! Weapons are just like any other tool after all. Farming requires a good rifle and a pitchfork to feed in equal measure, so I service a clientele who require the finest in precision firearms...to ‘keep their families safe’, of course…”

“That’s a little low, Trenta…” was Bastion’s input, surprised that the normally docile yet eternally restless and reckless pegasus was capable of delving into the world of warfare as an extra-military career.

“I know, Bastion," Argento sighed, shrugging his shoulders as he did, "but morality changes with income. I learned that a long time ago, right around when my brothers squandered my family's name to live large for a while. They wasted everything, and I had no choice but to extend my reach into any and every market I could find. I regret having to resort to arms as a trade, but whatever keeps me and my family safe is something I am willing to pursue.”

His logic needed work, but his reasoning, or at least the soldier’s reasoning Bastion understood, made sense. His daughter needed protection just as much as the poor pony who would receive his weapons. The families of his clientele, as Trenta understood now, were as precious as his own. He was willing to get his hooves dirty if it meant his wife and their child could keep theirs clean.

It was a sacrifice. Bastion and Dextra understood sacrifices.

And thus, knowing the full severity of the transformation of their old friend, they listened in rapt attention as he filled them into his plan.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A great shaking shudder, a surge of warmth, a prolonged sigh, and the warm tingle to her extremities were the only evidence she needed to know that he was finally spent. As he relaxed, his full weight slowly pressed down on her as his head burrowed itself in the space by her neck. Both ponies breathed deep, sucking in great racking sighs, their chests heaving in unison before he finally slumped over on his side, exhausted.

As she rolled into his waiting chest, she tickled his mane with a free hoof as beads of sweat cascaded silently down her forehead and on her breast. Controlling her breathing, she took a few moments and analyzed her temporary suitor just inches away. He was only slightly larger than herself, younger than she by a fair margin and yet already so accomplished...at least, that’s what his profile had stated. But those were always embellished, for the truth is never something somepony believes is adequate when competing against others. In the end, she had chosen him...but it was not so much the contents of his wallet or the evidence in his portfolio which swayed her decision.

It was a combination of circumstance, honesty, and a certain compatibility of spirit.

He was silent, his breaths slow and deep as he rested at her side. Typical...they always fell asleep afterwards, but there was nothing especially wrong with that: they had both earned some rest...he most of all. She had grown to enjoy the silence, as it always gave her a little more time to relax and collect her thoughts before making her painful partings with her love-struck clients...and they always were painful. She had trained for these moments of silence and the activity which preceded them, to know how to relax a tense body and alleviate a troubled mind, and to know when and where to place oneself to maximize both comfort and pleasure.

Her profession, the one she had trained for her whole life, was an art form akin to dancing...something in which she also excelled. It required the complete submission of both partners to each other and a certain knowledge of, but not adherence to, the decorum of their shared movements. This flexibility made some dances so personal, so fluid, and so unbearably intimate that both ponies would find themselves lost in each other, their steps wrapping and flowing around the minor hiccups like notes from some slow and somber chamber piece.

Experience, flexibility, and some willingness to experiment...that was it.

The stallion at her side had lacked all three, but that’s what losing your virginity is all about: knowing where you stand, where to improve, and the basic steps. He had been honest in his admission of his inexperience and, ultimately, that had been why she was drawn to him. Honesty was something a majority of her prospective clients ignored, and they would never understand how much sway it would have until she slipped from their hooves forever.

Knowing her work was done and her calling fulfilled, she rested her head against his warm chest, her nose firmly nuzzled in the space below his neck, curling delicately in his hooves as they both fell into a well-earned sleep.

~~~~~

The sunlight cracking through the curtains was enough of an alarm for them both, and the hourglass nearby which slowly counted out their remaining time was close to its expiration. Shielding her eyes from the light, she slid silently out of her bed, tiptoed across her room as silently as she could, and drew the curtains closer together to hide them from Celestia’s sun for at least for a little longer.

As she turned, she found him sitting upright on the edge of the bed, slipping his wings into the holes which had been cut out of his tailored vest. He was having some trouble, so with a smile and a little concentration she gingerly guided his wings with her magic so that none of his feathers would get tangled with the fabric. Smiling sheepishly as she took control of his body yet again, he watched her manipulate his wings with ease, analyzing her technique as she controlled each feather and muscle in his appendage towards a more comfortable destination. Within seconds his wings were clear. He gave them a little stretch, expanding them to their full width before drawing them tightly to his sides.

“Thank you…” was all he could muster, his cheeks red as he avoided her gaze.

He was still so naive...so nervous, despite his age. The years spent waiting for love had rendered him unable to be courageous, especially when he believed himself incapable of intimacy...but that had been remedied. She sat down beside him, stroking his wings with an almost maternal tenderness as she preened them, aligning them back into shape.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, love..."

"Me!? I'm not! I'm just..." he stammered, looking at the mare before him in panic. As he turned away to hide his face, she did little more than guide it back to hers, smiling as he submitted to her touch.

"I know it was your first time," she whispered, giving his shoulder a little kiss and a smile, "...and I do hope it wasn’t as frightening as other ponies made it out to be. I know some expect fireworks when they first make love, but those come later. It will take a little time to feel completely comfortable with it, but I know you can do it.”

“Oh no no no," he blabbed, turning to the mare resting beside him in surprise. "It wasn’t scary at all…and I appreciate the vote of confidence, I just…sort of expected to feel…y’know, different…after…”

She stroked his mane a little more, working her magic on his nerves, his collar slowly becoming less tense as she massaged his neck with her hoof point. She hit a sweet spot, and the stallion buckled as the pain in his neck subsided, his body turning on the side of the bed as he leaned into her tender massage.

I have a few more minutes to spare, she thought as she positioned herself behind him, wrapping her hind legs around his back, kneading her forehooves into his neck and shoulders. The combination of her warmth, her proximity, and the intense pleasurable burn of her massage forced him past the brink towards utter capitulation as he gave in completely to her kneading hooves and her warm embrace.

Works like a charm…

“That’s what everypony thinks," she continued, rolling her hoof point on the base of his neck, "but while our experiences might shape our worlds, they will only be as important as you let them be. It's only in your own heart where the importance of things lies, and hopefully, now, you can understand what this moment means to you..."

"But regardless of how you remember this moment…” she crooned, sliding her head over his shoulder and along his neck, “I hope it wasn’t entirely forgettable for you.”

They rested there together again, her hooves clenching his back to her chest as they enjoyed the others' proximity, the lingering passion which, given the passing of a few minutes, would be severed, never to reform...

...Though only she knew it would be that way.

That was the one thing she had always hated about her profession: letting go. The brief moments when she was in touch with another pony’s soul, experiences, passion, body, ambitions...those were the moments when she felt the most alive. Those were the moments when she truly felt a part of something, a cog in some great metaphysical machinery which kept the entire network of souls intact and running smoothly.

When she was a filly she strived to change the world, to make a difference. It was only until she had to survive on her own did she realize that when one helps another: their life, and therefore every life they themselves impact, is changed.

She had found her purpose beneath folds of silk...with the aid of scented oils, firm unyielding drive, the lingering softness of incense, and a few choice words of intimacy.

A warm pulsing light from the hourglass was their signal: their time had expired, and her contract had been fulfilled. With nary a word she released him from her grasp, encapsulating herself in her silk sheets as he donned what parts of his uniform he felt necessary. Adjusting his hat, he walked towards the door before stopping, his eyes gazing at the door as if it was separating him from a world which hated him, a world devoid of life or meaning. She’d seen this look before, and she readied herself for her usual response as he spoke at the patch of rug at the door.

“Is there…" he stammered, watching her heartbeat pulse in the veins along her slender neck. "...Is there any chance that you might, well…it’s just I enjoyed every second I spent with you, and I don’t…I don’t want you to go, so…what if…what if you stayed with me?! I have a room you could have, bigger than this shuttle even, and you could…”

She raised her hoof, looking calmly into his eyes as she cut him off gingerly without a word of alarm, no mention of fault or blame, no indication of annoyance at his proposal. This happened most every time, but she knew how to remedy the tension.

“The time we spent together was exceptional, even for me, but I cannot stay with you. Your time with me, is only that: Time. And time must go on. I would only ask that you remember what you’ve learned from our time together because it will be a guide for making your life the best it can be in the future. Find some mare you love. Make for her the world that I could never honestly accept. Trust in her, and after a while you will forget about me and move on with your life, a life which you and your partner will create together. It will be better this way and, most importantly, it will be all your own.”

He held his gaze on the floor. It was common: males so often found that being refused turned the eyes of their intended loves into deep dark pools where nothing but their own shortcomings and failings awaited the attention of their gaze. It was better to forget them, for they would forget you when the pain passed and their lives returned to their normal courses.

“If you’re ever around here again…” he stammered, his gaze only slightly shifting from the floor to some imaginary point somewhere near the diamond necklace she wore so delicately.

“I will be, someday…” she whispered, drawing herself upright, still wrapped in silk.

They shared another pause, sunlight beaming around the stallion as he bowed to the courtesan, uttering his final words to the purple mare still coiled in her sheets before leaving her doorframe and her life forever.

“Goodbye, Miss Satine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had only ever seen the inside of the medical bay. Her previous foray into the larger and more foreboding environment of the cargo hold was brief and very confusing, and her main locus of attention had been on her brother mere inches from her face. But now, without anyone to tell her otherwise, she snuck out of the medical bay and explored as best she could given her timidity. Her monsters lived in the medical bay, that much was for sure, and her little eyes darted to and fro around the hold looking for any stray claws or horns which might betray their presence.

Stupid girl, she thought. My demons don’t have horns. They don’t have anything. They don’t exist.

Oh…they whispered in the silence...

But we do…

Holding her head, she winced as the hiss grew louder before dying away entirely. As the silence grew, she looked around and realized everyone had gone. The only sound she could hear was the purr of the engine’s life support as it supplied the internal atmosphere with only mildly tainted air, rustling the little specks of dust on the metal floor. She felt them beneath her hooves and she smiled as she rolled them around, feeling their grit on the metal below.

Rust and dust: two substances which require an iron will and a dedication to a fruitless struggle to combat, and always to no avail.

She traced the outward sweep of the walls, admiring the latticework which paneled the interior, both useable as a storage area and decorative enough to cover up just how boring it could be. This ship had a good design, a feeling of security...it reminded her of home.

Her home...

...This isn’t my home…

Looking around, she realized just how small she truly was. She was but a little mare, trapped in a small body, alone in a tin can which would send her hurtling through space in but a few hours.There was no one nearby, and the only sounds she could hear were the light breeze of the ventilation as it fluttered her mane and the scratching of the dust below. Her brother wasn’t nearby, or he would have made himself known. She was alone in the hold for the first time, without the presence of her demons…

Oh…but you’re never alone, my sweet…

She had learned to ignore the voice by reminding herself of her brother, of Chamomile...any little thing which would distract her from her demon. The mechanic would be so disappointed if she knew what little thoughts Riptide had allowed herself to conjure up. She couldn’t let her be disappointed. Nothing was worth that. She was the only nice pony Riptide had ever met, the only one apart from her brother and Mom who made things not so fuzzy...not so confusing or full or scary.

Where is Mommy?

Where is Salve?

The clanking of metal shocked her out of her trance as her draconic eye swiveled along with her neck as she looked for the source of the sound. She found it almost immediately: his bright green hair was impossible to miss, as was the aroma of the sandwiches he carried in his magic’s grasp as he made his way carefully down the stairs nearby, touching down on the floor of the hold as her devil sneered at his approach.

Speak of the devil…

“…and he shall appear” she finished quietly, sitting herself on the floor hard as Salve made his way closer.

“Rippy…who are you talking to?” he asked quietly, placing the sandwiches on the ground between them as he sat down in front of his sister, only a foot away.

“It’s irrelevant…” she whispered to her food, her tongue drenched in saliva as she pondered how best to eviscerate her meal.

"No, Riptide: everything is important," he stated worriedly, his voice lined with fear. He was never able to fully hide it, and she had always been able to sense it. "I want you to be safe, but if you're hearing things...you need to tell me, okay?"

She gave a little nod, but never moved her face upwards. She heard him sigh. She knew that sigh. It was his ‘I-give-up, Rippy-wins-this-one’ sigh. He nudged her plate closer as he gave a little smile.

“You must be hungry, Rippy. Eat up: we have a lot to talk about, and I have no doubt you have a lot of…”

He tried to speak, but the horrible sound of her tearing her sandwich to pieces, slurping audibly as she struggled to keep her rapidly filling mouth from overflowing, forced him to quiet himself.

“… Questions…” he whispered to himself as he smiled.

Yep, that’s my sister.

With her unspoken permission he took up his own sandwich, his eating much more controlled and by far less audible than her own. She was licking her lips, struggling to find every last piece of food she could as she looked at her brother who had just finished his first sandwich half.

This was her time to pounce.

Her wide, pleading, doe-like eyes were the only thing separating her from more food, and given the success rate of her previous trials she was convinced that her hypothesis would remain constant despite the years since its last repetition. He sighed audibly, looking away and covering his ears as he slid his plate closer to the hungry, hungry hybrid. He pulled back his hoof in surprise when her razor-sharp teeth nearly gouging holes in his foreleg, and couldn’t help but smile a little wider as she tore into his other half.

…Definitely my sister…

He allowed her to finish cleaning herself of stray bread and vegetable particles before he stacked the plates with his magic and swept them to the side. She swallowed what was left, gazing around the cargo hold as she did so.

“…Salve…where is everyone?" she whispered to the air around her, never making eye contact with her brother so closeby. "There was you and Cammy and a zebra, plus a pegasus, three earth pony stallions, and a unicorn mare. One plus one plus one…plus five…equals eight, and me makes nine...but now there is only you and me, which makes two…”

She looked around in confusion, looking for some evidence that the ponies which had been ever so present on her reawakening hadn’t been some images her demon had conjured up, some trick to whittle away her defenses, to force her into submission to its insidious nothings. Her brother guided her face back to his with a hoof, sliding it up until it caressed her cheek.

“It’s okay Rippy, they are off doing important things…things which will allow us to keep flying, and we want to keep flying. Flying means we will be safe...you want to be safe, right?”

Her eyes alone could have frozen the engine’s Hyperboom solid.

“…I’m not a baby anymore…” she growled with a caustic rage, courtesy of the little bits of dragon which swam in her bloodstream and controlled her vision.

He smiled a little, marking all the changes since he’d seen his little sister despite her terrible transformation.

“You were a baby, the last time I saw you…”

“No, you just thought I was a baby…I wasn’t a baby then, and I’m not one now, so STOP TREATING ME LIKE I’M A FREAK!”

She slammed her hooves into the floor, the dragon bones which held them together absorbing and releasing the energy in a fluid motion which dented the floor, almost unnoticeably but enough that she felt an indent where once it had been perfectly smooth. Removing her hooves from the surface, she saw nothing but her face reflected off the metal, contorting like a funhouse mirror as the light bent around the divot she had made. She had done that.

Oh no…

Oh no no no no no…

Her breathing quickened and her hoofs scratched the floor as she struggled to remove herself from her environment. Anywhere but here! Anywhere where there was no evidence that she was unnatural! Anywhere but here!

I am a normal pony! I am a normal pony!

She only barely noticed when Salve took her into his chest like he always had in the past when she couldn’t control herself. It was a feeling she missed, even when she had been small enough to fit perfectly against his belly. That time had passed...but oh how she wanted it to return, to come again as it had when Chamomile held her ever so gently in their shared sleep! She had smelled only vaguely of grease, but mostly of an open field where nothing lay in wait to harm the little hybrid.

“You’re not a freak,” he whispered quietly, accompanying his affirmation with a little squeeze. “You are my beautiful sister...you always have been, and nothing is going to change that.”

He’s going to leave you Riptide...he will abandon you for the yellow one...

She gave his chest a little nuzzle as she burrowed herself into his embrace. The words of her demon didn’t matter: he was intangible, he only existed in her mind. Salve, on the other hand existed in her dreams, in her thoughts and prayers...in her world...

He was her world.

He smelled like the sea. He always had. She could feel herself give into that long-lost friend, that reminder of home. She could smell him through the hand-me-downs she snuck out of his wardrobe right before she went to her special school, the blankets and old shirts of his that she treasured despite their condition, despite the stains and rips and holes. She could smell the roiling waves and the kelp forests, the barnacles, the drying saltwater on the jetty down the hill behind their house. She could, even now, smell the fish stink which lingered in her mother’s hair when she came home from work.

They weren’t together anymore.Why weren't they together? Hadn't she promised she'd always be there for her?

“…Where’s Mommy?...” Riptide whispered into her brother's chest ever-so-quietly.

His grip tightened, and she noticed that the fleshy shield which separated her from the cruel world outside was becoming more firm, yet less stable. It shook a little.

Shields didn’t shake...They don’t waver…

Salve never wavered…

“…Salve…where is Mommy?”

This was the moment he had been waiting for, but yet could never have prepared himself to face. He wished he could delay, stave it off just a litle bit longer.

But there was no refusing his sister. She needed to know. She deserved to know.

He took his sister’s face in his hooves, their foreheads locked together. He wore a pained smile, tears threatening to cast themselves over the little ledge his clenched eyes had formed as he did his best to keep her little orbs, her two deep and entrancing eyes, firmly locked with his own. His mouth opened as the first tear fell, and his voice was barely a whisper as he stroked her cheek.

“Mommy’s gone, Rippy…”

The world stood still for a moment, and the sound of the engine died as if the air itself had been stolen away. Silence reigned throughout the ship, though they didn’t really notice. Their eyes were still locked together.

She didn’t move. She didn’t say a word. She only stared into him...through the holes his eyes rested in.

Salve only noticed something was wrong when the crate behind her head moved, slowly at first but, after a moment, more rapidly. First one, and then another..until even the dust which rested on the ground between them obscured his vision.

He looked around, breaking his eye contact with his sister, staring around the hold in amazement.

Everything was floating.

Every crate, every mote of dust and speck of dirt, every rope’s end or free cable rested on an invisible cushion of air, drifting lazily over the heads. The packages and boxes bounced on whatever surface they collided with as if the entire ship, the whole world, had broken free from gravity’s clutches and took flight. Crates and boxes larger than the both of them and easily heavier than Wildfire and the Captain combined suspended themselves as if on invisible threads, floating through the air with wild abandon. The air above them was littered with every loose thing within a thirty-foot radius, everything held perfectly hovering in the air as the silence continued:

A silence which emanated from the little purple mare still staring at the wall...staring into the space where her brother's eyes had been but moments prior.

Where they had been…

He’s gone…

Mommy’s gone…

And with her little thought, every single object floating in the cargo hold exploded without a sound.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He opened his eyes, only to find that he could not see. The only thing which separated him from the outside world was a red sheet of fabric held tightly wrapped around his eyes, a sheet which was speckled with brown and swirling patterns of grey.

A sheet which smelled absolutely horrid.

Attempting to lift his hoof, he found that he was unable to do so. He knew this feeling all too well, and he knew the humming of those air conditioning units better than he knew anything else on this ship.

“Please, Chamomile…for the love of Celestia…” he struggled through the gauze and the inability to remove his horrible headwear. “Take your bandana off my eyes!”

A clattering of a pan and the tinkle of fallen calipers heralded her presence in the medical bay, and as gently as she could she pulled the free end of the knot with her teeth, freeing his eyes from their paisley prison.

“Sorry Salve, we just needed to shield your eyes for a while, and then I sort of…forgot to take it off…”

“No, Chamomile,” he added, only slightly disgruntled as he looked over her and her new bandages, bandages he hadn’t remembered changing from the last time he saw them. “I think you forgot to wash it…again…”

“Hey hey, no sassing the Doctor…”

He raised his eyes from her new wrappings to find her wearing nothing but his long white lab coat, a roll of gauze and a pan full of bloody wood at her side as she hovered above him and a large shard of wood in his chest, her teeth clenching the end of the wooden spike.

“Alright, now this might hurt a little bit, so I will pull it out on the count of three. One…two…”

She yanked her teeth back wuickly, ripping out a sliver of wood as the Doctor yelled in protest.

“THREE! YOU SAID THREE! THAT WASN’T A THREE!”

“Oh simmer down,” she chided playfully, releasing her mouth’s grip as she added another bloody piece of wood to her collection. “You would have cried like a baby anyway…”

He looked at his chest where she had exacted such searing pain only to find it wrapped mostly in bandages which had absorbed some blood in places, making him look like one giant red and white polka-dotted ghost pony. He cringed slightly as her hoof descended on his chest, wrapped in gauze to staunch the blood. She applied some direct pressure, depressing his punctured chest a little as he grunted, adjusting to the pain.

“Well well,” she added coyly, “…how the tables have turned…”

Her smile gave him some comfort from the pain she had exacerbated, and he found he was able to move his hooves a little more now that the sudden influx of pain had reawakened his numb limbs. He gestured his free hoof towards his coat as he turned his head, matching her easy smile.

“So, ‘Dr. Calm’…where did you get your medical degree and that fancy coat?”

His sarcasm evident, she reciprocated in kind with ease. Having snarky younger brothers would do that to anypony.

“PSSH! This old thing?” she looked down in mock amazement, her eyes glimmering with mischief. “I’ve had this thing for years! The School of Hard Knocks has a discount on degrees and coats, so they just keep pumping them out! I think mine’s prettier than the other ones though…”

As she returned her gaze, her heart gave a little flutter...

She didn’t expect to see him smile quite so wide. She never thought his eyes could glimmer quite like they did now as he watched her smile. She would never have dreamed their positions would have changed in so short a time, in so random and terrifying and foreign a circumstance as this. Her mouth opened a little as she stared, unabashed, right back at him.

“…So I think I might just keep it…just a little while longer…if that’s okay…”

“Hey,” he chirped, his smile tightening before going slack, his gaze returning to the ceiling as silently as it had come.

“Knock yourself out.”

She hadn’t moved a muscle, her hoof still lingering on his chest despite the clotting blood which turned from crimson to reddish-brown under her hooves. She didn’t dare do anything save speak, lest she ruin the wounds progress as it sealed itself up tight only millimeters below.

“Salve…what happened to you? Wildfire and I came back to find the whole place…” she struggled briefly, trying to find the right words to describe what horrible wreckage she had seen. Finding nothing to adequately sum up her experience, she sighed a little.

“Well, let’s just say the Captain won’t be too happy. We did the best we could, but the cargo hold is still quite a mess…”

His eyes churned, his brain almost visible mirrored in his facial expression as he processed what she had said.

“Cargo hold…CARGO HOLD! WHERE IS RIPTIDE?!” he yelled in alarm, raising his back to combat her hoof even as she pressed him back to his chair.

“Salve! It’s okay! Everything is just fine! We got her back to her room, she wasn’t hurt at all. She didn’t say anything…I don’t think she even knew we were there…”

She could feel his heart beating below her hoof, and she could feel it slow down only after a few moments of silence. Watching his eyes, she whispered only as loudly as she dared.

“…What happened to you two?”

Salve could do nothing but stare at the ceiling. The lights which glimmered in his vision shook slightly as he stared longer and longer, his eyes trapping what moisture they had produced, filming his eyes over.

“She knows, Chamomile…she knows…”

It took the mechanic a moment to decrypt what he had said, but the widening of her eyes evidence enough of her understanding. He awaited her shaking head, her strict chidings for his behavior...anything...

But despite what he expected, despite what he had believed she would say, she did nothing but keep her hoof firmly planted on his chest.

“…And now she can move on…” Chamomile whispered, allowing herself one little tear and a comforting smile.

The two sat in silence. Salve shook as he tried his best to not give in to the rattling tears which he had reawakened, Chamomile holding her hoof to his chest all the while. At first, she did so to keep the blood from flowing, but soon, and ever so slowly, her hoof became a support. Just the little comfort knowing that she was there grieving as he did was enough to keep himself contained.

Riptide knew her mother had died, and with that knowledge Salve had done what he had tried for so many years to prevent:

He had finally cast her off.

She would never grace his sister’s dreams as a safe haven, a place to find some solace in the emptiness of space. She would no longer be the goal to which Riptide could aspire to, her guiding star regardless of the road she would find herself on.

Salve was her protector...but even though he would always be near, he shook with great rasping sobs silently in the surgical chair not at his mother’s death, or the sense of guilt he felt at his sister’s epiphany.

His chest heaved and his face and eyes trembled because he had finally admitted the existence of the two immutable facts which haunted him more than his own hoof pushing his mother off into the cold salt spray could ever replicate:

Riptide would never go home...

...and they were utterly alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note

My heartfelt thanks, as always, to my wonderful pre-reader kamil and his invaluable aide both on this chapter and with the coming storyline. I couldn't have done it without him!

Prologue

Before Ponykind assembled the brightest minds of its race to save their species, the land was ruled over by two sisters who shared the duties of creating the heavens and piloting their closest star to establish the seasons and allow the plants and animals they fostered to survive the untamed weather patterns and seasonal shifts which arose from the unbridled rule of Chaos itself. Upon taming their new land, they ruled their kind in a diarchy in which the eldest, Celestia, raised and lowered the sun to support the agricultural endeavours of her people and facilitate the general happiness of her race, for which she received the undying and eternal admiration of her subjects. Her younger sister, Luna, envious of the adorations directed towards her sister, rebelled by refusing to lower the moon, ushering in an Eternal Night which, if not for the efforts of the Elements of Harmony, would have lasted for the rest of their reign. She was exiled to the moon for a thousand years until, finally, her stars aided in her escape and she was thrust back into a world which had left her behind, both in adoration and her other great love: knowledge.

This schism between the two sisters, lasting even after Luna’s return to power, divided the bureaucracy into two clandestine governmental factions, both hiding in the shadows implementing their wills upon the populace both with and without The Princesses’ awareness. Those who embraced the Eternal Night promised by Luna strived to study and adore her heavenly designs, pursuing knowledge both ancient and newfangled with a rabid, and only sometimes violent, hunger. Those who followed Celestia during her reign in her sister’s absence prided themselves on their adherence to her rule and excelled at implementing her decrees with startling efficiency in a form of government for which deviation from the Royal Decree was punishable by death. Despite interventions by both sisters to stall these two powers, they were unable to control them completely and could only watch as resentment grew into all-out war.

In a move unprecedented by any race in their world, the Sisters, sole monarchs of Equestria since the dawn of recorded history, abdicated the throne and helped establish a bicameral legislative body which would incorporate the governmental prowess of Celestia’s followers, The New Equestrian Republic, with the scientific drive of those following Luna, The Heavenly Empire. They placed the six bearers of the Elements of Harmony into the lead positions of power, hoping that the meeting of the two collective minds would help establish a worldwide emphasis on education, the sharing of technology for mutual benefit, a dedication to mechanized industry and advanced forms of engineering, and a sense of unity which would, in turn, prevent any future wars between any faction. They allowed the world that they created to take its first steps on its own and hoped for the best.

The two factions, following the leads of their respective leaders and the orders of the Element Bearers, joined together in absolute Harmony, every decree and decision being ratified by the Six with a steadfast dedication to the Princesses’ wishes. They propelled Ponykind to the position as foremost power in the world, amalgamating all other races of their planet into the collective identity, gaining the ancient magic of Dragonsfyre and the aeronautical technologies of the Griffons.

They reigned and built their world from the ground up in peace, industry replacing agriculture as the main engine of economics and social life. They mined the mountains away and plunged into the earth for minerals and gems to keep themselves alive and chugging away. But the more they mined and the more they raised their buildings to meet the heavens their Goddesses had created, the less they found themselves able to keep up with their ever-increasing demand. It only took a spark to ignite the powder upon which this new superpower, The Alliance, was built: a spark which was locked in a word which had never been uttered by Ponykind since the beginning of recorded history.

Famine.

The Earth-that-was could no longer sustain their numbers, they were so many. Over the next hundreds of years, long after the Element Bearers themselves passed away to leave their families behind to continue their legacies, Ponykind reached out to the surrounding solar system and found salvation in the planets, each terraformed and populated to support life. As time passed, they proceeded onward past the borders of their own solar system and began settling in other parts of their galaxy, exploring new worlds and systems as they expanded ever further into the reaches of The Black.

But the farther they spread from the Central Planets, the more unruly the imposed planetary governments became and the more the people resisted the Alliance’s meddling. The people found themselves out of work, underpaid, underfed, and overly bothered by the ruling government, many of them forced to fight, steal, and trade in black markets to gather the bare necessities to survive. While Alliance monopolies grew, more people resorted to crime, organized and otherwise, to scratch out a meager life for their families back home or on-world. Unable to indulge in the luxuries of Alliance living, they survived on the clothes and food they made for themselves and shunned Alliance handouts. They grew more and more impatient, and in the end called for drastic action to wrest control back into their own hooves.

They rebelled against the Alliance, instigating a war lacking in length but more than compensating in ferocity and bloodshed. The rebels, outfitted in the rustic leather barding in which they were sent to their new homes, passed down throughout the ages from parent to child or crafted anew from the designs of the old, assembled and took on the much larger and more organized Alliance to fight for their freedom. Guerilla warfare and superior weapons prowess clashed against the sheer might of numbers and technology, and when the dust settled the Alliance found themselves the victors. Riding the wake of their victory, they pursued more draconian and more pervasive control of the Galaxy, leaving the rebels to lick their wounds as they became the hidden and unspoken dissenters, the butt-end of aristocratic jokes and a lesson on the follies of confronting the government. They are and will forever be remembered by their steadfast dedication to their cause and the rustic clothing they wore, evidence of both Alliance’s neglect and their one patch of friendly ground, clothing which earned them the infamous name which is still muttered by children and government officials alike:

The Brownbards.

Chapter Three: Epiphany

“No signs of life, Admiral. We’ve been pinging her once every few minutes and conducting regulation thermal scans. Nothing new to report.”

The tinny voice died away as the signal piped through her personal headset, causing her to wince slightly as she adjusted to the new auditory presence. Placing a hoof to her ear, she relayed her commands.

“Assign a squad to go investigate the wreck, and keep an eye on those radiation scans. We can’t afford more losses and I don’t want to have to explain to the High Command why so many of our strike teams are melting.”

With a “yes, ma’am!” the connection closed, and as the static died away she removed the headset and draped it around her neck with her magic. Gazing out over the deck before her, she surveyed soldiers and technicians alike poring over computer readouts, surveying maps, calculating descent angles, and compiling data for use by herself, her subordinates, and their various strike teams. When they showed no signs of falling behind their daunting schedule, she allowed herself a few moments to relax as she draped her hooves over the railing near her station at the helm, reengaging in her surveillance of the space beyond.

Admiral Winter Tempest stood proud at the foredeck atop an inclined dais jutting out from the ship's main floor. A staircase leading downwards towards the main level of the helm lay behind her as she stood near a podium upon which a screen was placed, traced with lines of scrolling data which summarized her ship’s diagnostics, telemetry, and the conditions of her deployed strike teams. This screen, like most others lining the walls of the A.S.V. Noctilucent’s helm, was calibrated for easy hoof-touch access which allowed Tempest to send commands, move teams, prepare weapons, and defend her ship all with the touch or sweep of a hoof. It made making her orders that much more direct, complex, and important to get correct lest the crew beneath her should discover the etymology of her surname.

The Admiral herself, dressed sharply in her snug regulation dress-blues, played with the tassels of her red silk scarf before turning suddenly from the podium to make her way down the steps and across the walkway laid before her. The splash of red fabric which stuck out from her neck was a personally-assigned article given the condition of her still-healing scars, and she always wore it to hide the evidence of her failures from the crew who believed that she, as her mountain of fallen adversaries would attest, was invulnerable on the battlefield.

Her teams of engineers and technicians below worked more furiously than ever to impress her into casting a blind eye, fearing that their efforts might not be enough as they competed against one another--ultimately to the ship’s benefit--to ensure their own protection. Her outward personification of utter frigidity and malice was a little trick she had picked up all on her own, and she was always impressed at how successful it had made her in the end.

Passing through a broad white door which automatically opened before her with a slight hum and a whisk of air, she brushed a hoof through her radiant icy mane held high and flaring, tapered and trimmed as it trailed down her neckline, releasing a few stray hairs of bright electric blue which floated down upon her dress blues and her stark white skin beneath. Flicking her equally maintained tail as she strolled, Tempest took a few minutes to walk to her destination down the long hallway which acted as the major artery in this particular wing of the ship, eying the many officers and soldiers, technicians and scientists, engineers and other maintenance staff rushing about to complete those various tasks and assignments they had been attempting to avoid. Her presence alone shocked them into action as it always had, and her silent animosity carved her an unobstructed pathway towards her destination.

Lost in thought, she stopped before the doors of a large laboratory and eyed the unicorn chemist on the far wall that had addressed her over the intercom, checking to see if the team around the mare was working as furiously as they sounded over the relay. To her surprise, she had never seen them so busy: paperwork was flying and beakers bubbled and smoked as various mathematicians and scientists scrambled to conduct their tests,mixing unknown fluids and isolating various radioactive isotopes as their duties entailed.

Tempest tread carefully around teams of distracted scientists towards a surprisingly young mare bent awkwardly over in her swivel chair, clad in a stark-white lab coat singed and stained with unknown caustic chemicals in various places. The chemist's hoof was carefully placed by a small red knob attached to a long glass tube, the whole apparatus clinched tightly in a steel clamp and half-full of a viscous clear liquid. Her focus was on a glass plate filled with a solid quarter-inch of rainbow ooze, which crackled and fizzed violently as a single drop of the clear liquid, carefully applied as the mare twisted the knob on the side of the glass tube, reacted upon impact. When the reaction died, the patch of rainbow gel directly below the glass tube appeared completely colorless, with various shades of grey and black mixing and swirling together while the rainbow gel around it remained untouched and un-sapped of color.

“I’m guessing this means you know what the hell that is, am I correct?” Tempest queried, her interest piqued by the reaction taking place before her eyes. While her training did not complement the sciences, her childhood fascination with the subject peeked through whenever she had the opportunity to come to this section of the ship.

“Close,” the chemist before her muttered, her eyes moving from the glass tube’s knob to a small clipboard on her right, levitating a pencil and scribbling down notes and calculations as her hooves tapped furiously on a calculator. A few seconds later, she spun her body in her chair and levitated the clipboard to the Admiral, who glanced at it quickly before grabbing it with her hoof.

“Please, I prefer soldier-speak. Would you mind summarizing?” Tempest snapped, her bright red eyes blind to the significance of the swirling lines and mathematical equations before her as she threw the clipboard back on the white table with a loud clank!

“Sure!” the purple unicorn quipped before crossing her legs and removing the goggles firmly planted below her compact horn with a twinkle of baby-blue magic, leaving red rings of skin around the eyes which beamed in excitement at her find. “The base reacted as expected when we titrated it, and given the concentration of the solute and the chromatography analysis we conducted , the polychromatic semi-solid those teams collected from the wreck is definitely the residue of an accelerated Dragonsfyre combustion engine, though an old one.”

While most of her words meant nothing to the Admiral, one fact poked through the mire her words created, one which the chemist summarized in a flash of cognizance.

“This is left over from a powerful engine outburst, Ma’am. It looks like whoever made this mess made it in a hurry. Something definitely happened here that we might need to be worried about.”

The unicorn mare’s blue magic drew her pencil in a furious scribble behind her back, making a few more calculations on the clipboard already overflowing with scientific notation. Spinning rapidly in her swivel chair, she swiped up the clipboard and pressed it firmly out in front of her, taking care to not fully give it to her Admiral lest the temperamental officer decide to attempt to break it again. As her commanding officer perused her work, she afforded another observation.

“We also noted some radioactive decay present from our analysis, meaning the gel started to decay the second it was ejected from wherever it came from. I showed my findings to Diode and Anode over there.” Her hoof pointed out two light blue pegasus twins, clad in similar--though much better maintained--lab coats. “They ran some tests on it, and it looks like this gel has been there for about two weeks, assuming the usual decay-rate of an old Dragonsfyre engine’s radioactive waste.”

“Have you reported your findings to your superior officer?” Tempest queried, pushing the clipboard back towards the mare, her eyes flicking over the mare’s team to see if anyone was eavesdropping over their conversation.

“I just did, Ma’am. I got promoted yesterday, I’m now the Head of the Science team on deck!” the mare piped up happily, grinning with pride.

“That’s great,” Tempest offered back distractedly, making the mare balk in a brief flicker of annoyance and surprise at the Admiral’s brevity as Tempest checked a clock on the wall, watching in concern as the numbers clicked to issue another minute wasted. Donning her headset once more, The Admiral trotted back towards her podium at the ship’s helm, turning her head slightly to the side before giving a curt “thank you, Half-Life” to the mare behind her.

“Pleasure, Ma’am,” the scientist offered back, her legs spinning her back around to her workstation, her blue magic readying another tube for a confirmation titration as her hooves clicked in anticipation on the white metal floor, hoping for a secondary, and maybe tertiary, positive reading to make her hypothesis a fact.

Tempest was halfway to the helm of the ship before another voice crackled over her headset, causing her to stop briefly to listen to the voice on the other end.

“The strike teams have just arrived, Ma’am. They had nothing to report pertaining to the whereabouts of the package...”

“Nothing? Command assured us we would be able to find it here!” Tempest yelled, causing more than a few already-distracted technicians to jump in surprise as she continued hurriedly towards the helm of the ship to recoup their losses.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, but they swept the hold multiple times. I even sent one team to scour the surround wreckage, thinking it might have gotten lodged somewhere outside. They didn’t find anything,” the voice stated cautiously, its tone betraying his dread despite their physical distance.

After a brief moment to firmly massage the space between her eyes, Tempest gave a small, exasperated “thank you” to the stallion on the line as she turned off her headset and slung it back around her neck. Bursting through the doorway separating the overly long hallway from the helm and its grand vista, she trotted up to her stand and removed her headset, throwing it unceremoniously on the pedestal. With a slight pause and a moment to collect her thoughts, she whirled around sharply, causing the tails of her silken scarf to whip around in a rapid swipe of red as she stamped her hoof to announce her orders.

“ATTENTION ON DECK!” Tempest barked as every stallion and mare, regardless of their station or location, snapped quickly to attention. Their papers and clipboards fell to the floor, their pencils releasing suddenly from their owners’ grasps as the various soldiers and technicians in the helm stood at attention, the silence breaking as their discarded work fluttered to the ground to make way for the Admiral’s words. The only other sounds came from the computers and various machines humming and chirping as they kept the ship adrift in The Black.

“Our recovery teams have just informed me that our package is no longer aboard this vessel.”

Tempest nodded to the abandoned wreck before their eyes, still silently spinning from the activity which, not too long ago, had taken place to stir it from its eternal reverie. She looked back to her crew before continuing.

“The Science team has just confirmed that the radioactive rainbow substance found on the outer hull of the wreck shares the same makeup as that found in Dragonfyre engines, which means we are looking for a mid-to-large size vessel of an unknown designation or classification.”

Her assembled crew looked at one another in mixed confusion and surprise, a brief look which the Admiral picked up with practice ease and addressed brusquely.

“I know that doesn’t make sense to some of you new recruits or half-wits, but this basically means we are dealing with a smuggling crew: one who has the need for cheap, rudimentary, but nevertheless extremely effective methods of propulsion.”

Some of the crew gave small haughty looks to their nearby compatriots, foolishly construing the confirmation of their supposed higher intelligence as being a compliment from their frighteningly severe Admiral. The other, more wizened soldiers couldn't disguise their displeasure or concern fast enough, and for the briefest of moments their eyes betrayed their confusion as to why their Admiral was focusing so resolutely on a ship so ancient it still required Dragonsfyre to function. This, too, was picked up by the now seething Tempest.

“Second Mate,” their Admiral shouted, her voice searching for a diminutive green stallion, likewise dressed in the attire of an officer, on the far side of the deck. “Where do you place their heading?”

Her Second Mate, surprised at his commanding officer's singular address, briefly consulted with another stallion and a mare behind him before responding timidly, his voice slightly cracking as he gave his report.

“Ten!...no, umm…fifteen degrees starboard, Ma’am, with a five degree positive pitch! It looks as if they were headed towards the Monoceros Quadrant of the system.”

Allowing herself a momentary victory sneer, Tempest sighed before readying herself for what was to come.

There’s only one soul out that way who would be interested in my prize.

“Dismissed!” Tempest yelled curtly as a few more distracted crewmen and officers jumped at her words, going back to their assigned duties with a renewed fervor. Tapping a few buttons on her own podium-screen brought up a large diagram of her ship, and with a adoring eye Tempest studied its various tines and wings for signs of hull distress before launching into action. Tempest's ship was perfect in every way imaginable, and as she slowly traced the lines and curves with her hoof she allowed herself a moment to revel in its beauty.

The A.S.V. Noctilucent, her pride and joy, was an elongated trident-shaped vessel, curved in the rear like a crescent moon, its central tine longer,wider and more pronounced than its brothers. The other two wings of the ship remained swept back to provide the supports for their respective small vertical-propulsion engines which were used solely for minor course correction and, when the opportunity presented itself, for vertical takeoff and landing during visits to the Allied Maintenance Docks. The helm, placed on the very tip of the central tine, poked ahead from the main bulk of the ship to afford the command deck a 270° unobstructed view of the surrounding space, meters-thick bullet and laser-proof glass the only barrier between themselves and the crushing darkness.

There were few ships in the Alliance's vast armada more powerful, but none were more beautiful.

Pressing a button on her screen, the entire podium withdrew slightly into the floor upon which she stood, the screen reclining backwards until it lay perfectly parallel to the helm’s floor and easily within her reach. With her left hoof, Tempest slid a small digital bar next to the port-side engine forward as far as the screen indicated she was allowed, as her right hoof slid its partner the opposite direction with an equal aggression.

The helm swung around slowly and silently as the entire ship, immediately reacting to her hoof’s movements, fired the port and starboard-side engines according to her specifications. Barely visible from where she stood, the port-side engine fired to life as panels directed a bright blue and silver pulsing light into a nozzle of sparkling, and infinitely deadly, brilliance. The starboard engine, rotating on its axis, fired an equally powerful beam of blue in the opposite direction, turning the entire ship clockwise while still remaining stationary. With a minor tilt from both engines, the ship swung upwards to align its pitch with its target before shutting off completely once it had compensated for its momentum. She grinned with pride and a little hint of madness as she looked at the stars and her target beyond.

Ahh, the marvels of modern science. Let’s see those ruffians do this.

Slamming a button unnecessarily hard on the screen’s surface, she opened a communication feed which connected her to every headset and intercom on the vast ship while simultaneously sliding a red digital bar to a small number “3” as a series of beeps, escalating in pitch and volume, slowly began to grow more and more rapid.

“Prepare to jump!” she yelled, the crew behind her bracing for the rapid shift in speed which customarily followed their Admiral’s bold declaration, their ears protesting at both her loud voice’s sudden auditory assault and the growing din of the beeping console.

The beeps and clicks emanating from her screen, already reaching a fever-pitch, suddenly stopped pulsing as the clamor reached a single high note, a loud and piercing whine which took on its own weight and filled the ears of everyone on deck.

Everypony save Tempest.

With a practiced hoof and an attentive eye, their Admiral waited until the computers controlling the auxiliary engines signaled their normal positions and engine output before she punched another digital button on her podium’s screen.

~~~

From the rainbow-coated wreckage, all that could be seen of the gargantuan vessel was the main engine, contouring to the outermost edge of the crescent body, a vast slit lined in a blue and silver light that rapidly intensified in hue and lustre. When the light looked as if it could intensify no more, the entire cruiser slipped through the boundaries of their own dimensions and entered slip-space, the rear engine’s light collapsing upon itself as the ship, already being dragged away towards its destination, swept up the waves of light behind it as it flickered away like a dying computer screen.

The only remaining evidence of the ship’s existence was a lingering blinding light which flickered like a dying star before going out forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“If we push it like we have been, we should make it to Bayrut by the end of the day,” muttered Wind Dancer to the stallion behind him, his calm brown eyes focusing on the screens before him as he translated what his taxed engine was telling him into a language his Captain behind him could understand. The pegasus could hear his Captain just over his shoulder looking to and fro about the helm, but based on Bastion's disgruntled sigh the pilot knew his report was as good as it was going to get.

“As long as we have enough fuel, Windy. Make her last that long at least. Get her running and let her drift if you need to, just get us there on time. We can’t have our passengers arriving any more late than they already are.”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” Wind Dancer replied smartly, clopping his hoof unnecessarily hard to his forehead in a mock salute. Rolling his eyes, Bastion turned from his pilot and trotted out of the cockpit to leave Windy to himself in the engine room. Once he was alone, Wind Dancer allowed himself a few moments to take in the sight before him, losing himself as he was prone to do in imagining all those places his Captain was ever-so-keen on avoiding.The morning light peeked around the edges of the nearby planet and began its sunrise as they orbited the nearest world, destined for a far-away moon on the far side.

With a brief glance over his shoulder to make sure he was finally alone again, Wind Dancer clicked the little button near his hoof marked ‘autopilot’ and, with a final glance over his screens to ensure his ship had understood his command, swept into his hooves two plastic toys. One of them--a squat, four-legged dragon-esque monster--had its back lined with dull plastic scales and spikes. The other was a standing, two-legged monster of a similar appearance, its cheap white teeth in its wide and apparently dangerous maw dully reflecting the light. Wind Dancer took a quick second to play with its miniature arms, which flapped uselessly below its heavily protruding jaw.

“Now,” Wind Dancer began, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he wrapped his hooves around the two monsters, one in each hoof.

“Where were we?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Bastion found his crew assembled around their kitchen table eating the last of Golden Sun’s provisions, each of them visibly waking up from their respective slumbers. A steaming cinnamon oatmeal with mint and assorted freeze-dried berries mixed in laid before his usual seat on the far side of the table, a glass of rehydrated orange juice and the first cup of a new pot of a foreign dark roast standing at its side.

It was breakfast just the way Bastion liked it, and he spared a quick mental note of gratitude for whichever of his crew-members had saved some for him. As was his custom, he surveyed the condition of his vessel and its various occupants, his gaze resting on each of his crew members in turn.

His rugged mercenary Wildfire, his pink stripe slightly sullied with dirt, stood on his back legs in a zebra-like stance with his hooves planted firmly on the kitchen counter. His teeth clenched a broad, serrated hunting knife as he hacked unceremoniously into a loaf of stale bread, using his neck as a fulcrum as he plunged the knife up and down into the loaf, making slow progress as he cut himself a thick slice of the multi-grained bread.

His mechanic, her face untarnished by engine grime and more clean than usual, was engaged in conversation with the upstanding unicorn stallion, though it appeared she was the main instigator of their conversation. His mouth moved slowly to chew the food which he ever so properly consumed as he remained absolutely silent, his posture perfectly straight even as the mechanic gesticulated wildly and, probably more often than was necessary, placed her hooves on his foreleg, a limb which never moved from the table almost as if it were glued there. She sat with her legs curled beneath her rump, turned completely to her side in her chair to face her silent companion, relaying her version of an apparently uproariously funny mechanical story as he smiled politely in all the right places, his eyes betraying his obvious discomfort. When she had concluded, he nodded towards the little mare politely, wiped his mouth, and left the table. Watching the Captain, he proceeded out of the dining room, around the corner, and out of sight as the crestfallen mechanic’s eyes followed him out.

Bastion's steadfast zebra lieutenant stood beside Wildfire, a towel draped around her neck as she used her teeth to place two wooden spoons in the meals she had prepared for herself and her husband. With an inequine finesse, she used her knotted tail to sweep the bowl upon her waiting back. Then, with a lithe and almost impossible agility given her cargo, she made her way around the struggling mercenary, past the kitchen counter's edge, up the little stairs by the door, and around the corner on her way to the helm to spend the morning, as she usually did, with her loving pegasus partner.

As Bastion continued in his circuit, his gaze rested on the final member of his “crew,” though he would never address her as such in front of the others. She sat just as properly as the unicorn stallion did, her white magic levitating a small china cup as its matching teapot piped up steam nearby. The china was embroidered with small little fuchsia flowers in lazy swirling patterns, and as she raised it to her lips and inclined it to force it to part with the hot liquid within, her eyes darted over to rest on the Captain’s face as his continued to examine her appearance.

She was clad in a simple lacy pink blouse with a complementary long white skirt which graced her flanks at a carefully considered length, its edges embroidered like her cup but with interwoven ribbons of bright lilac and magenta. The edges of the skirt were cropped in a diagonal fashion, its left side only slightly longer than its right. He couldn’t help but notice that the skirt hugged her frame tightly…

A little too tightly…

A little ahem brought his attention back to the mare’s face which, despite her light rouge work, was of a slightly more-red-than-usual tint. Flicking her eyes back towards the book in her lap, she laid down the formalities of the day in true proper fashion befitting her upbringing.

“Good morning, Captain. I trust you slept well,” Violet chirped, her eyes scanning the pages of her little book as her teacup levitated near her face, bobbing slightly up and down.

“I did, thank you,” Bastion stated simply before glancing back to his breakfast, his hooves attempting to wrap around his spoon in an effort to complement her heightened social standing. Failing miserably, he did what he could to eat without seeming the brute, though given his non-magical status this embodied itself into the next best thing: sticking his muzzle straight into the porridge and slurping audibly. With a little eye roll, she allowed herself a slight chuckle before taking another sip of her tea, her eyes never leaving the stallion before her as she finished off her drink, readying the teapot to dispense more of her favorite morning brew.

As he finished his meal, he wrapped his hooves around his glass of juice and downed it in a single gulp. Then, with a cursory wiping of his mouth on a nearby napkin and a small nod in the direction of the purple mare at his side, Bastion left the table without a word. Violet watched him leave over the rim of her refilled teacup, following with her eyes the sway of his long brown barding before reinvesting her interest in poetry.

As Bastion trotted towards the back entrance to the medical bay, searching for something to alleviate his head of his new-found headache, he passed three of the passengers he had picked up from the week prior passing in the small hallway, single-file, as they made their way towards the cargo bay, all coincidentally dressed in a similar midnight blue barding with long trailing cloak. Their cutie marks remained hidden just as they had the night of their arrival. By the similarities in their demeanor as they trotted forward in unison, either not noting or refusing to acknowledge the Captain, Bastion assumed that their flank-side marks, like their owners’ eyes, would be similar if not identical. The concept of three almost-identical ponies owning identical cutie marks filled him with a sense of unease, and as his curiosity grew he turned quickly to engage them in conversation.

But as he turned, the last of their cloaks whisked around the corner and the Captain found himself alone. Owing the bizarre trio’s even more bizarre behavior to his new aching brain, he shook his head to clear his mind of the mire and continued his trot towards the medical bay. By the time he had made his way down the steep flight of stairs and arrived outside the medical bay doors, he had forgotten the encounter entirely.

The new encounter he happened to find was by far more unwarranted.

Noticing that the medical bay door was ajar, Bastion pushed it open silently to find the unknown unicorn stallion with his hooves planted firmly on the main counter as he opened an overhead cabinet with his teeth. With extreme care to ensure he would not be discovered, the stallion lunged forward slightly and grabbed with his teeth a small glass vial, his sea-green magic levitating a bag towards his mouth as he recoiled from the counter, dropping the vial silently with his magic into the waiting container.

“Well, aren’t we full of surprises!” the Captain announced loudly, shaking the unicorn stallion from his clandestine activity as the Captain charged, bowling him over as he smashed violently into the unicorn's shoulder. The unicorn, caught completely by surprise, was launched over the medical chair in the center of the room, his legs flailing wildly as he struggled to right himself.

The Captain, however, was much more agile than his target: pouncing over the chair in a high arc, the Captain landed square on the unicorns back and wrapped his hoof around the stallion’s horn, lifting his prisoner’s skull by the magical appendage, its tip bending slightly from the base as it reacted to the Captain’s intense backward pressure. The scream which reflected the unnatural positioning of the unicorn stallion’s horn was accompanied by relaxing muscles as the stallion, defeated, gave into the livid Captain’s attack. The Captain lowered his head, his breath whispering through gritted teeth as he sneered viciously into the thief’s ears.

“Playing ‘doctor’, are we?” the Captain snarled in victory, his charge writhing on the floor in pain as he struggled in vain to get free.

“I AM A DOCTOR!”

“LYING LITTLE SHIT! We both know these medical supplies are worth something, but they are mine…MINE!!!” The Captain hollered back, punctuating his response with a miniscule pull on his prey’s horn. The stallion gritted his teeth silently, sucking down a breath through clenched teeth as he bore the pain as best he could.

“You know, back in the old days they would engage in a punishment for liars and thieves called ‘keel-hauling’…sound familiar?” The Captain hissed, the stallion below him utterly silent as he picked up every word. The thief’s silence was too quiet for the Captain, and as Bastion wrapped his hooves more tightly around the stallion’s horn he stretched it back with a sudden jerk as the unicorn howled in pain.

“DOES… THAT…SOUND… FAMILIAR?” Bastion bellowed, punctuating each word with a slight tightening of his grip and a miniscule jerk. The stallion, eyes dripping in tears, screamed back in a piercingly-high yelp of pain.

“YES!”

“Good to hear it! Now, I’m assuming you know where we are right now, right?”

Before he had even finished his sentence, the unicorn stallion below him screamed in torment, managing to form some basic words through the agony.

“SPACE! SPACE! WE’RE IN SPACE!” the stallion cried, more tears streaking his muzzle to mix with the blood issuing slowly from a cut on his forehead, the aftermath of the Captain’s sudden attack.

“Good, you’re learning!” the Captain jeered quietly, loosening his grip . “Now, seeing as I don’t have a keel to haul you on, I think I will have to go with the next best thing: I have an airlock and a heap of garbage to dispose of, and The Black is a mighty big place to dispose of waste.”

Pulling the unicorn’s horn back to his own muzzle, Bastion hissed into the stallion’s ear with renewed venom, his words dripping with a vicious malice.

“Let’s go for a little walk, shall we?”

Removing himself from the stallion’s back after shoving a nearby soiled rag into the stallion’s mouth, Bastion quickly bit into whatever stray pieces of hair he could find and, with a mighty jerk, pulled the writhing parcel out of the medical bay, hair follicles forcefully ripping out from the pony’s mane as he was dragged kicking and screaming towards the airlock. The Captain strutted from the room with his prize held firmly in his teeth, the thief’s hooves pounding the Captain’s thick coat in vain as they proceeded together to the thief’s doom, his muffled muzzle screaming to any kind soul who might be able to hear him. Before the execution could be completed, however, the stallion in Bastion’s clenched teeth, kicking and squirming as much as he could, issued a retaliatory blow to the already physical taxed Captain.

Grabbing a fallen scalpel with his magic, he sliced open Bastion's hind-leg just below the back knee with an unerring and impossible precision.

Bastion fell heavily as he screamed in surprise, unprepared for the vicious and precise onslaught. His cargo crashed alongside him as the Captain howled in pain much like his charge only several seconds before. Taking great care to buck the Captain in the face as he scrambled to his feet, the thief, his hooves frantically fighting for purchase on the metal floor, sprinted to the door-frame separating the medical bay and its small anteroom from the cargo bay.

He didn’t make it very far.

With a great shout and an agile lunge, Bastion pounced once again on the fleeing stallion, causing them both to roll and crash into the cargo hold. Surprised, the thief wheeled around to meet the Captain's hoof, which he'd swung wide on a left hook to send the thief off his feet and several feet away, skidding on the floor as Bastion followed the unicorn’s fall and darted over to finish his attack.

Recovering quickly, the stallion on the ground bucked his leg and smashed accurately into the Captain’s injured leg, causing it to snap loudly as bone severed from itself and sliced through the Captain’s skin. The bone protruded violently from his hind leg, and though the duster hid most of the real damage from view, the garment was unable to conceal the large, jagged, and unnatural bump which jutted out at a violent angle from beneath Bastion’s flesh.

The Captain’s howl of pain was unable, however, to completely hide the clicking of pistol hammers and rifle-cocks which surrounded them.

Looking up from his shattered leg, a shadow of the Captain’s memory came back with full force as he stared down the barrel of a pistol, a little silver tube with a delicate and ornate pattern attached to the top of a lethally-sharpened hoofclaw. The entire apparatus belonged to the large midnight-blue stallion clad in a deep ocean-blue cloak and hood, who stood towering over him.

The overly-large stallion which lowered over him bore no resemblance to anything he had ever seen: though his eyes were massive in comparison to his face, which did nothing but frown upon the Captain, devoid of any emotion save disdain almost as if the looming newcomer was staring at some irritating pest. His impossibly dark coat was unable to hide the lean muscle which tensed and twitched as his hoof remained upright and locked on the Captain, and while most of his body was cloaked and hidden away he bore himself as if this ship was his, as if his intimidation had no true weight or gravity. His massive eyes looked down upon Bastion as if The Captain had no power...

...and for the briefest of moments Shadow agreed.

Over his shoulder stood a team of four ponies clad in identical capes and cowls, the largest of the four placed closest to the Captain as they held their semicircular positions, their weapons trained on the two struggling stallions who'd interrupted their clandestine activities. The stallion nearest him nodded to two of his companions, who refocused their attention on the doctor as he held his weapon on Bastion.

The Captain recognized him immediately: he was the leader of their latest passengers, and the one who had lost some bits from Wildfire’s less than fair hoof-wrestling challenge. Those self-same passengers who had passed him in the hallway were spread out around the cargo hold, guns held at the ready in mouths and magical grips alike. Part of the Captain, the portion not internally howling in pain, wished that Wildfire had taken that treacherous stallion's whole arm off. The other part wanted that honor for himself.

With a cursory glance around his hold, Bastion thought quickly over how best to dispatch of his assailants, but was interrupted by the midnight blue stallion who, with his free hoof, ripped the cloak’s hood from his head to fully reveal his aquamarine eyes, massive and unblinking, a vertical slit slashed where the round pupils should have been. His head was completely hairless, which gave his entire visage an otherworldly aura.

With no small amount of discomfort, Bastion's spine twinged in fear as the stallion before him began to speak, his voice an unnatural and piercing hiss.

“I am glad we have your attention, Captain. Hand it over. Now.”

The navy blue stallion stated his order calmly as the barrel of his hoof-mounted pistol pressing itself into the space between the Captain’s eyes, the attached claws threatening to gouge the Captain's eyes out as he spoke to the wounded Captain at his feet.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to address your betters with RESPECT!” Bastion screamed, his voice punctuating his final words as his yell bounced around the walls of the wide cargo hold, causing more than a few of the leader’s lackeys to look around them in concern lest they be discovered by the crew whose whereabouts were unknown.

The following increase of pressure between his eyes and the cocking of the pistol's little clockwork hammer was the only response Bastion needed.

“I don’t know what it is you’re talking about,” The Captain offered, attempting to placate his advantaged captor.

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Well then, go fuck yourself because that’s the best I’ve got...”

“No, Captain. You have more to offer me,” the midnight-blue stallion sneered as he walked to Bastion's side and, with a flex of his arm, extended a blade from his hoof. Bastion could briefly pick out a silver serrated dagger which glittered with inset moonstones before the stallion, with an air of ambivalent nonchalance, slid the blade cleanly and carefully into the Captain’s injured leg just below the mark where the bone stuck out. With a slight application of pressure, Bastion's assailant slid the knife downwards as he leaned in with his hoof.

The explosion of pain which followed was unlike anything which the Captain had ever experienced, and he could feel that cool metal slicing cleanly through the jagged ends of his shattered bones as the dagger, that shard of frigid steel, dug deeper into his flesh. He was only released from his pain by the familiar scream of a recent foe.

“IT’S ME! ME! I HAVE IT!”

The hairless assassin stopped, his dagger lingering inside Bastion’s leg as he slowly cast his gaze up and down the stallion who had addressed him. Bastion gritted his teeth in agony as he felt the blade carve a little notch in his bones, and could almost feel every nick and chip in the blade as it sawed away.

“Liar…" their blue sadist sneered at the battered green stallion who laid on the floor near the Captain. The thief sat nursing his wounds, looking back in horror at the mad assassin before their assailant moved his gaze back to his victim. Bastion could feel the blade in his leg twitch just slightly, pressing against a nerve which shot a red-hot lance through his body as he twisted to protect his injured limb from further damage.

The clunk of a heavy metal box was the thief’s sole reply as he levitated his package outward, dropping it heavily in between the Captain and his captor. From his position writhing on the floor, the Captain looked through tear-soaked eyes at the object which had earned him a moment’s reprieve from the mad zealot’s attack.

It was a rectangular box, metal on all sides, completely seamless to the point that Bastion was unsure that it was truly a box and not an ingot of the purest silver. Its completely smooth finish ended on every side by a sharp edge which attached it to each adjoining facet, all of them completely flawless. Its base was slightly wider than the top, and when it landed heavily on the deck the resulting crash denoted its obvious density. The box’s main feature, however, was not the sharp edges or its weight. It was a curious four-pointed diamond shaped puncture which stood in the very center of its uppermost face, staring blankly at the ceiling.

It was the box which had, until just recently, been on their kitchen table.

Gazing with wonder at the ingot before him, the blue stallion slipped the knife from Bastion’s leg and slid it quickly back into whatever dark hole the hairless freak had conjured it out of. Then, without a word or a flicker of emotion, he made his way over to the mint-green stallion and raised his target’s head with his hoofclaw.

“Where is she?” the assassin muttered softly, his breath washing over the thief’s nose in a deluge of fetid necrosis.

The mysterious ‘doctor’ said not a word, his gaze directed straight into his challenger’s eyes as a single tear streaked down his face. Silence followed, only disturbed by the singing hum of the extending metal blade, that same silver knife which still dripped with the Captain’s blood and marrow now dangerously close to the thief's throat. The assassin said nothing, tickling the thief's neck with the very tip of the knife as it flicked venomously towards the stallion’s windpipe. A drop of blood traced the edge of the blade and mixed with the Captain’s as the blade slid deeper and deeper, millimeter by millimeter, into the green stallion’s throat, their eyes still locked together.

They lingered there a moment, still staring one another down, before the thief’s gaze flicked over to a metal crate on the far side of the hold which bore a seal, a heavy metal latch, a hoof-print recognition pad, and a stencil marking it with “Extremely Fragile: Magical Handling Only” in bright letters. The thief’s gaze flickered for a single moment.

But it was moment which his tormentor noticed.

“It’s here. Search the entire hold. It’s here somewhere,” the navy stallion barked furiously, his assembled team breaking from their positions as their leader remained in front of the two stallions. Bastion's head remained on the floor as his body slowly began to grow cold, stained slightly from the blood slowly pooling from his leg. The sea-green unicorn stallion’s eyes engaged with his tormentor's almost as if he was hypnotized by their mysterious blue aggressor. Bastion shuddered at the notion that those eyes might be capable of doing just as he’d thought.

“There is a refrigeration coupling on this one, Sir,” came a mare’s voice on the far side of the hold as her hoof traced the metal crate, its loud stencil design the target of her stroking hoof as she checked for dents or gashes which might mar its precious cargo.

“That’s the one. Load it into the airlock,” her leader ordered.

“You’re going to need a code for that” came a response from overhead.

The clicking of rifles and cocking of shotguns signaled the arrival of Bastion’s crew, who had silently surrounded the navy team as they searched the cargo hold. Their sudden presence on the upper balconies and walkways sent the assembled team behind their hairless leader scrambling to pick their targets, though there were too many to account for. Dextra stood at the center above the navy stallion, erect in her zebra-fighting style as her forearm balanced the stock of her carbine, mouth-grip firmly in place, her tongue tickling the trigger as she spoke clearly around the handle.

“Place your weapons on the ground. Now.”

Their sudden presence appeared almost lost on their aggressor. He raised his head towards his new target, smiling as he did so.

“It’s already too late, zebra: my ship is en route to intercept you as we speak. If I die, you all die, and then your ship will be but a hunk of metal floating in space.”

“I FUCKING SAID DROP THEM!” she shrieked wildly, her free hoof drawing back the hammer on her carbine as her crew-mates renewed their grips on their respective weapons, preparing for the inevitable.

The cloak-clad team didn’t react. Their eyes flickered between the frightening zebra mare overlooking their work and the midnight-blue stallion who had given them their orders. After a few moments of confusion, their eyes landed on those of their similarly conflicted colleagues as they furiously mulled over what to do. From what the Captain could see from his vantage point on the floor, they looked about as afraid of Dextra and her specially modified carbine as they were of their leader who, while not directly gazing back, had his ears perked up almost as if he was gathering information about the room via echolocation, his ears swiveling on his head as he scanned the room.

A single mare, weapon in her mouth, glanced over to her leader and her surrounding compatriots. Then, without a word, she knelt on the floor of the hold and dropped her weapon, which clicked quietly as wooden stock collided with steel plate.

The midnight blue stallion closed his eyes…wheeled suddenly…and fired.

A single hole erupted from the mare’s forehead slightly above her left eye, splattering with wall behind her with blood and brain as the navy blue stallion spun, his hoofclaw’s pistol splitting the air as it roared out a ball of flame and metal. His cloak ripped from his neck as he wheeled to reveal his body beneath: he wore nothing besides swirling silver armor, his fore and hind legs clad in wide twisting lines of steel which traced whorls of silver down from his back, which was similarly plated. His hoofclaws formed a cap on his limbs which sliced gashes in the floor as he veered violently. His midnight-blue coat was perfectly flawless, without a single scratch or scar which might denote his mortality.

His flexing arm activated the trigger of his gun thrice more, sending steel bullets into the heads of the remaining three members of his team, snuffing out the lives of another mare and two additional stallions, including the leader of their party closest to Bastion. As he finished his spin, the bodies of his former subordinates slumped to the floor at the exact moment that he drew himself to his hind-legs and leveled his silver firearm squarely at the Captain, its matching hoofgun on his opposite hoof making its way through the air to linger on Dextra.

With his eyes still closed, he did something then which sent ripples of horror down the spines of every living soul present:

He unfurled his wings.

Leathery, black, titanic bat-like wings rolled themselves from his hide, tough skin stretched tightly over finger-like appendages as he extended them to their full and frightening length. Rivulets of blood pulsed visibly in the veins as they ran their precious fluid to the wing’s outermost cells, illuminated solely by the light on the far-side of the hold above the airlock which streamed through the paper-thin wings as the Captain and his crew looked on in wonder and revulsion.

It was only when he was at his most frightening did the bat-pony reopen his snake-like eyes to find the crew gazing upon his majesty, their eyes locked on his frame in awe and fear, their jaws loosening the grips on their weapons as he held his aloft to keep them trained viciously at their intended targets.

“Do not weep for them,” the assassin stated emotionless, his tail flicking in the direction of the four bodies lying crumpled by the airlock, the blood slowly draining from their paling bodies creating crimson rivers on the floor. “They failed to uphold their duties. They have strayed from Her Path, and only death can afford them Her Mercy.”

“Spoken like a true Believer” came a raspy voice from the corner, its owner staring at the zealot with a stern and unflinching gaze. The medallion around his neck clicked against the buttons on his habit as he spoke to the assassin before him.

“Your Goddess has abandoned you, it seems.”

Golden Sun’s hooves clacked on the floor as he made his way towards the mad zealot, clad only in his vestments with his hair pulled tightly behind his head in its familiar rows. Their aggressor’s wings fluttered slightly, surprise poking through his otherwise terrifying visage as he intently watched the priest whose movements towards the midnight stallion betrayed none of the fear of his companions. Noticing the structure of his faith token now bouncing on his breast, the assassin's limbs fell only slightly before returning to their positions.

“The pious have only themselves to fear, sun acolyte. He tries to snuff out the flame of Her Work, and he must be punished,” the bat-pony offered cordially, nodding his head in the direction of the unicorn doctor trembling at his feet. “He has taken that which does not belong to him, and I have come to recover it. Her Light must be shared with the dutiful, not sequestered away for the selfish...”

“Put the guns down before someone gets hurt,” Golden Sun pleaded, his voice quaking slightly in fear as the guns in the demon’s grip did nothing but linger noiselessly at their targets, barbed claws glittered dangerously in the light of the cargo hold.

“Don’t you see, Brother? He seeks to destroy the Goddess we love! He tries to unravel her divinity with his profane experiment! This one has fallen down to the lower path and must be saved from his transgressions!” the zealot screamed, his composure faltering as he struggled in vain to make the fellow believer see the virtue behind his words. Golden Sun made his way silently and carefully past the Captain towards the midnight-blue assassin, his gaze never falling.

“Please…” the priest whispered, his head kept raised as he slowly prostrated himself before the angry disciple. “Have mercy on them. Go from this place in peace and I shall forgive them of their trespasses in your stead.”

With a final slow movement, Golden Sun rested his forehead on the floor before the bat-pony’s feet, his hind quarters raised as his spine arced downward to keep his long bow perfectly straight despite his age. The crew waited above with their guns at the ready, all of them staring upon the sight in awe. They shook themselves from their nightmare as an aging stallion aboard their vessel, unknown to all of them, engaged in a fight for their very living souls with the mad demon, their very lives held in the balance as pacifist struggled against the devout steed of some infernal horror.

Not a word was spoken as the bat-pony surveyed the room, his future victims held silent by the priest lying prostrate before him, the servant of the rival Sister bowing before him in reverence and fear. He was a fellow believer, though he shirked the Majestic Night for the garish light of day. A paragon of true devotion, though the subject of his reverence was but the fallen God who had doomed Ponykind with her failures.

The pony before him was a martyr.

A believer.

A fool.

“There will be no mercy for him, priest. He will die.”

“NO!” Golden Sun screamed, his head bent up towards the mad disciple as the pistol attached to his silver claw moved from the Captain towards the green-haired stallion before him. The pistol cocked as muscles flexed, depressing the trigger slightly to click a round into place.

The next moment was a blur, and Bastion could do nothing but stare in horror as five things happened in the course of a second:

The dropping of a hammer.

The striking of a pin.

A blur of yellow and white.

The bellow of a fire.

The splattering of blood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A pregnant silence.

She dropped like a stone, yellow skin marred by the puncture in her chest as her beating heart pushed lines of blood from the wound, swirling around her as she flew through the air to land heavily on the Captain. Her eyes were wide in agony and surprise as the bullet worked its way further into her stomach.

A cannonade of fire exploded from around the ship as the mad demon, his eyes closed as if lingering in a quiet otherworldly dream, was torn apart by streaks and rails of solid superheated metal, flaying his skin from his bones and punching holes through metal armor and navy flesh, ripping his wings apart to expose the bone beneath. A smile traced his face as his body hit the floor, and as he passed on into the embrace of his Goddess his body struggled once in pain before shuddering, twitching, and finally lying still.

The green unicorn stallion rushed to the fallen yellow mare, cradling her head in his hooves as magic exploded from his horn, tears cascading down his eyes in concentration and pain as his horn, strained from the almost forgotten conflict with The Captain, rippled with the sudden influx of medical magic as he surveyed her internal organs for injury.

Their reveries were broken by the zealot's fall, and as they looked to their fallen mechanic the crew members from every corner of the hold scrambled to Chamomile and Bastion's side, Dextra holstering her carbine with her teeth as her hooves propelled her furiously towards her fallen commander.

Wind Dancer’s wings beat feverishly as he threw himself over the balcony, spinning once before snapping open his wings in a steep dive, leveling out to come to a fast trot beside his wife and the fallen mechanic as he looked around frantically to find some way to staunch the blood which trickled slowly from her belly.

The shaken priest stood silently by the body of the mad assassin, his faith token held to his chest by his trembling hoof as he issued one final prayer for his fallen brother’s soul before turning to attend to the imminent salvation of the mechanic.

A scream punched through the activity in the hold as the grey mercenary leapt from the nearest staircase, hooves locked before him as he came crashing down upon the fallen bat-pony’s skull, crushing the fallen assassin’s head and neck in a fountain of blood which cascaded from his body in great spurts, coating Wildfire’s underside in the still warm fluid.

Violet could only stare and cry her silent sobs of distress as she cradled herself in her hooves, rocking her brain into a reverie which the sight before her eyes denied her, her vision and psyche filling up with every drop of blood which was spilled by the fallen mechanic.

While some did what they could for little Chamomile, the others stared in amazement at the broad stance of their livid Captain, his leg bent awkwardly behind him as he rounded on Chamomile's attendant and hefted the struggling mint-green stallion to his hooves with his free forearm, pinning him to the wall and screaming into his face with an unbridled rage which only Dextra had been witness to:

The screams of a Sergeant watching the death of a single soldier.

The screams of her Sergeant as all of their lives were snuffed out, one by one.

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU LITTLE FUCK?! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Bastion screamed, blood from his mouth flecking the unicorn’s face as he screamed himself hoarse. “YOU MURDERED MY MECHANIC! GIVE ME ONE REASON I SHOULDN’T RIP YOUR HEAD OFF WITH MY BARE HOOVES RIGHT NOW?!”

The ship’s proximity klaxon answered for the pinned stallion.

A red whirling light and a loud blaring siren announced the arrival of the assassin’s promised ship, and the tremors of gunfire combusting nearby rattled the ship’s hull, throwing them all into full vigilance.

“Captain! She’s bearing right down on us!” Wind Dancer shouted, his eyes fixed out a nearby window, gauging the ships distance with his practiced eye before adding: “She’s only a few minutes out!”

“You hear that, fucker?” Bastion sneered, his eyes aflare as he reapplied his hold to the struggling stallion pinned against the wall. “You’re going to be dead in minutes! I can only imagine what they will do to you when they get around to finally tortur-”

“If I die, she dies.”

That was all the stallion muttered in a macabre repetition of the demon-pony’s parting words as he did nothing but stare at Bastion, his face reddening as he hung against the wall.

The Captain’s eyes moved rapidly from the stallion in his grasp, who hung limply on the wall as he struggled for air, to his fallen mechanic. Her head was held cradled in Dextra’s lap as Violet tried in vain to staunch the flow of blood with her now-destroyed shawl, crying in frustration when her efforts yielded no sign of recovery. His mechanic’s back leg clenched tightly in pain as she struggled to stay conscious, her hooves clasped snugly in Dextra’s as the zebra smiled back at her with a look of pure serenity on her face, comforting the slowly exsanguinating mare in her arms as a single line of salty tears rinsed a light mist of blood from her striped muzzle.

The Captain took the whole thing in before returning his gaze to his fugitive. He struggled with his thoughts before growling venomously at the stallion.

“You’re going to fix her. You are going to make her well…and when you are done with your work and she becomes stable...”

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the stallion’s own ears as he whispered his final threat:

“…then, and only then, will I allow them to rip you apart.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Captain,” the stallion retaliated, seemingly unfazed by the murderous Captain whose hooves could end his life with but a slight application of force upon his windpipe. “You’re going to run. They are not going to board this ship.”

The Captain recoiled in horror, releasing his grip on the stallion, taking a few pained steps backwards to create some distance between himself and his challenger. The green stallion fell hard against the wall of the ship, gasping for breath before making his final offer.

“Either you run…and she lives…” he stated calmly, coughing as the foreign air invaded his lungs, “…or you stay on course, and she dies. Take your pick.”

The stallion’s gamble finally apparent, silence reigned once again on deck as the Captain, his fury barely checked, contemplated his options. Wildfire shared in his murderous gaze from behind the broken Captain, a nod-from-Bastion away from bathing in the doctor’s blood as he had the bat-pony. The soft groans of his mechanic came through when they could, along with the silent sobs of the unicorn mare at her side as she cried for both herself and Dextra. The zebra did nothing but smile down at her little friend, gazing silently back into the mechanic’s fluttering eyes, singing a soft lullaby that only they could hear.

“Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to lay your sleepy head…”

Another tear slid down her face to rest on the corner of her still smiling mouth.

“Hush now, quiet now, it’s time to go to bed…” Dextra whispered, rocking Chamomile’s head in her hooves as she sang in her broken whisper, hugging the mare to herself in a final warm embrace.

The Captain paused, turned, stared into the eyes of the unicorn doctor, and gave his answer calmly as his eyes gouged holes through the very skull of his foe.

“Windy…” the Captain began, his gaze fixed on the anxious eyes of the doctor before him.“Set a course for Nagadoches. We’re running.”

“Help me get her up!” the doctor barked at Dextra, his eyes averting from the Captain only when he was assured that Bastion’s statement was not a lie. Wildfire and Windy looked on in astonishment at their Captain, the latter of the two breaking from his reverie to fly at breakneck speed out of the hold, dodging metal beams and doorways as he made his way like a lightning bolt to the waiting helm.

The unicorn stallion rushed to Chamomile’s side, struggling as he encapsulated her in his magic to levitate her through the doorway into the adjoining medical bay while Dextra, Violet, and Golden Sun followed close behind. The Captain remained planted in the cargo hold as the medical bay doors clicked shut from the other room, swaying softly on his hooves as the ship’s gravity drives adjusted to their rapidly changing course. He listened as the rumbling of slowly receding gunship blasts grew dimmer and more distant as their ship ate the miles separating them from their newest destination, sliding between the outstretched grasp of their pursuers as they hurtled through The Black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lazy motes of light danced before Chamomile's eyes like butterflies as she opened them after her long nap, her lids struggling to hold their weight apart as she fought against an intense drug-induced lethargy. Coming up victor in her struggle, she stared silently ahead at the surgical lamp glaring into her eyes, her face recoiling away from the blinding light. With a sudden click the light died out, the filaments visibly growing dimmer as the residual heat escaped.

“Is that better, Miss?” came a soft voice from behind her head, the one place she was not able to look. She struggled to shift her head around to view the soft voice addressing her, but found it difficult to move any of her limbs. Panicking, Chamomile wrenched her head in an attempt to remedy her incapacitation before the voice spoke again.

“Miss, please, don’t move! You’ve been given some heavy anesthetics, so you won’t be able to feel anything below your neck for a while. I needed to have you essentially paralyzed for the surgery,” the calm voice spoke again, audibly shifting from behind her to just next to her ear as it continued. “Here is something to numb the pain a little, you should still be able to see and speak. Is that better?”

A wave of warm, tingling sensation moved from her right forearm towards her shoulder and chest, spreading out like sunlight as her strong little heart pumped the drug with a surge of pleasure out towards her hind quarters. The presence of that warm and tingling sensation sent ripples of tension into her flanks as her muscles spasmed involuntarily, electrical signals adjusting to the sudden relaxation of her legs as they twitched on and off spasmodically.

“Ohohoho...mama!” she crooned, the sensation trickling down to her hooves before its intensity gave out, dying out to a mere softness in her hooves and back. “Couldja do that oneeee more time, pleeeease?”

“I’m sorry, Miss: too much and you could become dependent. You will get a dose once every four hours, or until these supplies run out.”

“That’s too bad,” Chamomile mumbled, stretching as best she could given her helplessness, attempting to pop some rogue aching joints in her legs as a warm, limp, and goofy smile stretched numbly across her face.

“Please hold still, Miss” the voice once again stated calmly. “I don’t want you more hurt than you already are.”

With a slight rolling of wheels and a sudden stop by her side, a bright light began shining into her eyes which caused her to reel and jerk in an attempt to position her head away from the offending stimulus. The light followed as she moved, and she could only turn in the opposing direction to avoid it and the lingering discomfort.

“Miss…”

This was a tone she knew. This was the tone of a mother to her child, her mother to her, a command not borne in anger but reflected out of a desire to protect and nurture. A request of sincere care and affection, not anger or malice as she was used to.

Without another word, she opened her eyes as fully as she could, wincing as the light caused her pupils to dilate with a creepy constriction. When it was over, she blinked her eyes a few times and looked out into her new world, her eyes now fully open and un-weighted.

The stallion’s face which stared back was the warmest she had ever seen, bright sky-blue eyes peeking out from behind a pair of crystal thick-framed reading glasses as they recorded every minute details of her eyes contraction for future study. His short evergreen hair complemented his soft mint-colored coat, almost a light turquoise when the light hit it just right, shimmering in waves of reflected light which flashed in an opalescent sheen. It was a face she was familiar with, but it was only now that she realized just how beautiful it could be.

He was clad in a tailored doctor’s jacket, a stethoscope draped around his neck and a plastic-capped syringe clenched delicately in his teeth. The penlight he had just extinguished was held in the lustre of his sea-foam green magic, and as he acknowledged her gaze he flicked the light into a little pocket on his scrubs, placing the syringe alongside it. He gave a happy little smile back as he looked at his patient, a patient who, without even realizing it, was giving the goofiest, widest grin of her life. She wouldn’t realize this until far too late.

“Hello, Miss...” was all he said.

“Hello, Handsome” was all she crooned in reply, the sedatives after-effects still having a little more sway on her actions than she thought. Catching herself, she attempted to cover her mouth in surprise with her hooves which, as she had been reminded multiple times, were paralyzed. The end result was a very loud, very brief eeep! as her head lurched forward, attempting to meet with the hooves which would never come.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” the doctor exclaimed, placing one hoof on her chest and another behind her head as quick as he could, jolted to action by her sudden attempt to hide her loud but slightly adorable slip.

“What did I say about moving your head too much, Miss?” he questioned, the little grin on his face masked by that look of annoyance any doctor with a rebellious patient accompanies with a command.Caught in her lurched-forward position with a warm pressure from his hoof depressing her chest and another furry pad behind her head, she turned her gaze, though not her head, to match the doctor’s.

“That I…umm…shouldn’t do it?” Chamomile mumbled awkwardly, turning her gaze from the hoof positioned oh-so-carefully on her chest to her doctor’s appraising face. After a few moments, he grinned in acknowledgement.

“Precisely.”

Depressing her chest with his hoof, he slowly maneuvered her body back onto the pillow with a practiced ease, pulling his left hoof out at the last second before sliding a blanket to rest snuggled under her chin with the other.

“Now please, Miss, I’m going to need to ask you to rest. You’ve had a hard day and you won’t feel so great for the next little while, but I’m confident now that you’ll be a-okay!”

He shot back a look of confidence which put her at ease, though he shared the same flicker of skepticism and anxiety that her Captain often accompanied with reassuring words. Nodding quietly without breaking eye contact, Chamomile succumbed to his movements as he tucked her blankets in around her, pushing his hooves under her as he walked around the surgical chair, making her as comfortable as he possibly could. It was an act which she, despite her lack of sensation below her chin, gratefully appreciated more for the fact that a handsome stallion like him was personally performing the act more-so than the actual pleasure which comes from a good tucking-in.

As he walked behind her head, she heard the audible pop! of a plastic cap as the doctor reappeared, a syringe gripped in his teeth filled with another light blue liquid. Sitting himself once again in his chair, he took his patient’s leg in his hooves and, switching the syringe from his mouth to his magic’s grasp, began to slide the needle into the IV line he had planted there, a little tube which entered the small puncture just above her forearm’s joint.

Just one more hole I’ve put in you.

He hesitated, thinking through his last thought carefully as the mare looked on in apprehension, silently pondering why her doctor was so blatantly petrified, lost in his own thoughts as if they were weighing the world upon his shoulders. Eying her IV line as it traced from the warm, ventilated air of the medical bay directly into the mare’s yellow flesh still slightly brown from his standard application of iodine, he dropped his syringe on the bed beside her, keeping his eyes downcast as he whispered to his patient.

“I’m sorry Miss…I’m so very, very sorry…” was all he was able to stomach, more addressing the ground than his yellow charge as he kept his eyes riveted to the tile floor beneath his hooves. “This would never have happened if I hadn’t come aboard.”

“Hey…” Chamomile whispered, placing her right hoof on his as her voice tried to raise the stallion’s chin, an act she could never accomplish in her condition. He looked back slowly, drawing his gaze from a silent speck of dust up the mare’s arm and into her waiting eyes. He found nothing but her shimmering gaze and a little glistening tear which lingered on the edge, threatening to fall off the precipice and onto her waiting cheek as a small smile crept out from her drug-induced haze.

“All of us do crazy things for the people we care about. It was just my time to chip in.”

Owing her response to his medication and not her honest sincerity, he couldn't help but give a little chuckle as he slowly depressed the plunger on the syringe, pumping the blue solution into her arm, watching for tell-tale signs of allergic reaction as the solution intermingled with her blood and flowed alongside her cells into the fast-flowing river of her bloodstream. He nodded slightly, relieved when nothing came to light.

As she struggled to keep her consciousness, she rubbed his arm slightly with her own before asking something which had been plaguing her since she’d seen his face on that bright, sunny day in Hoovesdown.

“What’s your name?”

Cradling her hoof in his arms, he smiled back before giving his reply with a little smile.

“Miss Chamomile, you can call me Salve.”

She took a little mental picture of his warm, inviting face on the off chance that he wasn’t there when she awoke, and she grinned a little as she closed her eyes, thinking over how, for all the time he’d been on the ship, she never thought to learn more about him. Her ponderings were cut off by the influx of her new drug, and the combination of the chemicals and her metabolic processes lulled her softly into a warm, dreamless sleep.

Salve lingered for a few moments, still cradling her numb hoof with his own before checking her heart-rate, a tone which beeped quietly every few seconds as the heart he rescued hours before kept on beating, each contraction and relaxation of the organ flooding him with pride and relief as it kept the mare alive and tethered to shore. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily, relaxing now that his job, at least for now, was finished

*****

“Life is a ship, Salve Breakwater” his mother’s voice hummed softly into his hair as she cradled the weeping colt, his hoofs still lingering on the coffin before him. “We weather the storms, we embrace the rain and sun, we collide with our oppressors and float alongside our companions, and when our time has come the tide carries us out from our docks and sets us adrift forever.”

She pulled the colt’s chin up, his tears dampening the jetty beneath his father’s casket, to meet her own damp eyes and her own sad smile.

“But remember, even if we are set adrift…” she began before the colt nodded and replied, staunching his tears as he repeated their family’s credo.

“We are never truly lost” he whispered back to his mother, a warm and sad smile creeping into his face.

She kissed the colt’s head, drawing him back into her embrace as she gave the boat before them a little shove with her free hoof, sending it sliding down their homemade ramp and into the ocean, the backend slapping against slacking tide as her husband slid away from their lives and into Luna’s embrace forevermore.

“That’s my boy...”

*****

Slowly, carefully, Salve raised his head from the chair, brushing sleep from his eyes as he inspected the mare by his side. She had turned slightly in her sleep and her head had moved to fall limply to the side, but just as it had been when he had dozed off: his hoof was still firmly clasped in her own. The foam brace holding her neck in place, like much everything else he had been confined to work with, had broken in some places making it almost useless. Pushing the chair away he slid to his hooves, taking great pains not to disrupt the pretty mare lying in the operating chair before him, sliding his hoof free of her grasp excruciatingly slowly lest she be disturbed.

Taking the belt which tightened the aged neck-brace in his magic, he gave it a little pull to tighten its hold, positioning her head so that her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. Looking her over one last time, he noticed that her eyes were closed ever-so-softly as if she had been pretending to be asleep the whole time he had rested. She was almost beaming, as if she had been conscious as he dozed, sharing in the comfort of his warmth at her numb side.

With a warm smile, he checked her vitals one last time and, knowing she was safe, tiptoed out of the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How is she, Doctor?” Bastion growled in pain as Salve tightened another ancient leg brace over the Captain’s leg, pulling tightly to cinch the brace in place. The Captain, gasping under the sharp new influx of pain, gritted his teeth to mask his face from showing just how agonizing his wounds had been. The leg in question had been reset and sewn up by the Doctor, his magic a truly wondrous model of multitasking as he doped up the Captain, reset the leg, and cleaned and dressed the gash, completely with magic, all in the course of a dozen agonizing minutes.

“She is stable, Captain. I removed the bullet and any shards I could find, but we won’t know if something is wrong until she shows it,” the doctor replied, still gazing at his makeshift handiwork with a modicum of triumph and more than a little unease as his patient struggled to right himself on all four hooves.

“What do you think you’re doing?! I just reset the leg and I will be damned befor-”

He lost any ability to speak as the Captain once again slammed him against the walls of the hold, knocking the wind out of the struggling stallion as the Captain held him aloft.

“No, Doctor,” Bastion sneered, his mouth contorted in a mix of discomfort and fury as he became accustomed to the new-found sting in his hindleg. “I will be the one damned: damned for taking your sorry hide on my ship! For allowing you to have my crew almost shot to death at the hands of some maniacal bat-freak! For stealing from me! For…for…”

He stopped.

The stallion had stolen from him indeed, but the object of his theft was not so much a few paltry medical supplies: it was something far more sinister entirely. He knew exactly what the stallion had made away with from under their noses. He knew why the stallion had been there on his ship, signing up with them immediately after they had met with Battlebeak, right after they were given another job, right after they had found the rectangular box which lay there in the cargo bay, catching the Captain’s attention as if aching to be noticed.

He had taken something from the ship, that much was true...

But more importantly, he had brought something aboard.

Shadow Bastion, as silent as a whisper, turned his head from the struggling stallion pinned against the metal walls of the hold towards the far end of the cargo bay where the bodies of the slain occultists had sprawled out not two hours ago, the scent of their blood still lingering in the cracks where mop and sponge had been unable to reach. The doctor’s crate lay untouched, spattered slightly with cast-off blood as the blue digital screen conveyed vital information about the crate’s cargo. The crate was locked tight, sticker and seal holding its cargo in place, its glinting padlock and hoof-scanner just begging to be manipulated.

He was locking something away.

Or preventing something from getting out.

With a loud grunt, he bit hard into the doctor’s forearm and ripped it along after him, yowls of pain cascading through the cargo hold as crew members from every corner of the ship, recovering from their mental ordeal at Chamomile’s near death experience, stampeded into the cargo hold to find out where the commotion was coming from. They were met with the most unnatural sight of their wounded Captain, trailing blood and sweat along the floor in a long slippery line, hauling the screaming doctor behind him, pulled by nothing but the skin and muscle the Captain was able to bite into as Bastion wrenched the stallion towards his crate.

Slamming the doctor’s hoof onto the hoof-scanner, he pressed it firmly with his own to force Salve’s print onto the digital display. Sensing the new-found limb, the display clicked to life, lights and digital bars scanning the surfaces of his hoof before, with a hiss and a cascade of vapor, the crate’s lid opened.

Bastion released the stallion as Wildfire pounced from the shadows, locking the doctor in a headlock as he held him to the ground, away from the Captain and entirely at the grey mercenary’s mercy. Wind Dancer and his wife landed deftly alongside Wildfire, staring at the Captain with fear and utter bafflement at his actions. Wildfire was the only one grinning as the rest of the crew crowded around the spectacle, vapor caressing their hooves as they listened intently for an explanation from their seemingly-radical Captain. When Bastion gave nothing but a look of utter contempt in the doctor’s direction, Salve cried out, his throat vibrating and rasping as he screamed as loud as he could.

“NO! PLEASE!”

Scrutinizing the doctor’s face for but a moment, Bastion reared on his front legs and kicked the lid of the crate with a mighty buck, sending the lid crashing against the opposite wall and clattering to the floor. The vapor present in the crate erupted in a cloud of mist at the lid’s sudden removal, shrouding the Captain with an icy chill. Struggling to free himself from the mercenary’s hold, Salve writhed in agony as the crate lay open, screaming in protest at the Captain, pleading for his attention as the crew watched in horror at the Captain’s cruelty.

“PLEASE, STOP! YOU’LL KILL HER!”

“Kill her…” the Captain mouthed, struggling to comprehend the completely unrelated topic which the stallion pressed on him.The advancing ship had long since been left behind. What power did he have now, with their oppressors gone and the tides turned in Bastion’s favor? It was just a ploy, some little desperate power grab. Just another lie the stallion threw haphazardly in his direction to stave off the inevitable fate which would assuredly befall him.

Besides, she couldn’t be hurt, Bastion pondered. Cammy’s asleep in the medical bay…

He gave the doctor a little look, a glare of hatred at his audacity and what little knowledge he had concerning his fate. But as he looked upon the mint-green stallion, he could only stare as the doctor’s gaze lingered not on him, but on the crate which steamed behind him. He looked around to find similar expressions on the faces of other members of his crew, Violet’s hooves placed firmly over her mouth as she stared in horror at something just behind him.

It was only when he realized that the doctor wasn’t talking about Chamomile that he turned around to find himself looking upon the contents of the crate, his gaze fixed on some point through the cloudy veil of vapor which hid the contents from view.

The cloud slowly faded to reveal nothing but darkness...

...and the little body from whom the darkness emanated.

The young unicorn mare before him, younger even than Chamomile to the point where the lines between being a filly or a mare suddenly merged together, had hair which gleamed in a solid sheet of silky blue. It was identical to the eye color of the doctor struggling to rush to her side, the one who screamed his heart wrenching wail even though the Captain could not hear it; so lost was he in what he was seeing that he wasn’t even truly sure that he was awake. He could have been so easily caught in a nightmare; blind to the surreal nature of the cargo were it not for what he saw sprouting from the mare’s skin. Her coat was a solid perfect sheet of midnight blue with equal parts black and navy fur struggling to shift the balance between one color and the other, but was patched in places with a substance Bastion would never have expected to see.

Her left side was lined with scales, metallic green with a certain purple iridescence which glinted in the light. They sprouted from her legs in patches of rock-hard armor, though solely contained on the left half of her body: the right side of her body remained unmarred from what the Captain could see. Her tail, coiled through her legs to rest tickling her chin, was lined with hair at the base, but as his eyes traced the bone towards the end Bastion saw nothing but plate and little barbed spines. Her tail was whiplike and tipped with a barb of black plate twisted venomously into a spike. Shaking his gaze from the scales on her flank, which was completely blank, he gazed finally on her eyes. The one closest to him was a deep evergreen, identical in every way to the mad pony acolyte who had been searching for her. Her eye peered venomously back at the Captain, its vertical slit tightening slightly as the muscles forced the eye to focus on their new target.

It was then that the Captain, shaken from his reverie, realized that she was alive, breathing, and staring straight back at him.

With a crash and violent whirl, the walls of the crate buckled as the mare inside thrashed, smashing the walls of the steel vessel repeatedly in an effort to free herself from her confines. As the nearest wall broke, a viscous fluid leaked in great jets from the seams, casting waves of amniotic muck around the crew’s hooves. The crew all stepped back in surprise at the frigid cold of the liquid now cascading around the floor, radiating in a wave from the now completely broken-down container. With a deft clunk the doctor was released from Wildfire’s grip, sliding to his hooves as he made his way carefully towards the naked, writhing, and very confused hybrid.

“Rippy, it’s me! It’s me! Everything is going to okay, I’m here!” Salve pleaded, working his way over to the mare on the floor who sat dripping in the muck as she scrambled to shield herself from the foreign, prying eyes she saw staring back at her. Looking frantically at the Captain, then to Dextra, then over towards Violet as she stood on the staircase in an effort to escape the flood of icy fluid, the little foreign hybrid finally rested her gaze on Salve who cupped her face in his hooves, forcing her to stare into his calm sky-blue eyes.

She stared back silently, her one lizard-like eye widening as the other, its iris a pure ocean blue freckled with white, widened in confusion, surprise, alarm, and then a brief wave of calm as she looked, saw, and finally recognized the stallion cradling her face in his warm hooves.

Gulping down some air, she stared back unblinking before whispering a single word.

“…Sal?”

The stallion nodded furiously, his mane shaking free from his attempts to wrangle it as it became more and more disheveled. He could only smile and nod, stroking the mare’s cheek with his hoof to clear off the lingering fluid.

“Yes, Rippy, it’s me! It’s Salve! I’m here!”

Silence reigned over the hold, and not a word was spoken by anypony. The Captain and Wildfire watched in amazement, their jaws threatening to fall from their muzzles and embed themselves in the floor. Dextra and the rest mimicked them, every eye in the hold save two gazing at the little mare in astonishment. The mysterious mare was the only one breaking the pattern, her own two different eyes staring at the stallion on his knees in front of her. No one else seemed to notice him as he smiled radiantly back into her face.

The crew’s trance was broken by a heart rending scream as the mare clutched the doctor with all four hooves, her eyes crammed tightly shut as she sobbed hysterically in fear, confusion, and pure unadulterated joy, her chest physically buckling as new-found air streamed into her lungs causing her to hiccup as she cried. The stallion in her hooves stroked her hair all the while, his nose and mouth buried in her mane along her neck. His rocking was unable to assuage her screams of confusion and alarm, but with every reaffirmed squeeze and every slow hush and stroke of her mane, Salve succeeded in making her screams hide away back inside the little mare who breathed deep and closed her eyes, affording herself the comfort of his embrace.

When things had begun to settle down and he was able to stretch his sore jaw back into position, the Captain advanced on the doctor and spoke over the mare’s rattling sobs.

“Explain yourself, doctor” he punched through his teeth, eyes wild with wrath at his ruined floor and the naked cargo before him.

“Captain...” Salve began, his face never leaving the mare’s neck as he stroked her mane to calm her down, her breaths becoming less and less labored as he cradled the slippery mare in his hooves.

“...This is Riptide.”

“Is this some kind of a joke?!” Bastion screamed, his crew recoiling in surprise at his sudden outburst.

“No, Captain,” the stallion began calmly, raising his head from its position on the mare’s neck as he pushed her away slightly. His muzzle brushed the mare’s forehead as he planted a little kiss near her hairline, and her head leaned entirely into his as she renewed her silent gasping sobs. He smiled and his eyes closed as he held the little mare close to his chest, resting his cheek on her head as he spoke to the little mare in his arms:

“This is my sister.”

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Author's Note

My heartfelt thanks and gratitude to my exceptionally brilliant prereader, kamil, and my equally awesome editor Coco. Their contributions have been invaluable, and I couldn't be more thankful to have them working with me on this project!