Once again, Garrus found himself looking into a mirror at himself. He sighed, wondering when his appearance had come to be so important. When he had been young, it had not really mattered. He had possessed one blue uniform. Even when it had gotten half-destroyed- -along with half of his face- -he had still kept wearing it. Now he had a closet full of clothing, including the suit he was currently wearing.

“Don’t you look nice,” said Falare, approaching him from the side.

“I don’t know,” said Garrus. “I just…well, I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Is it too late to back out?”

“Yes,” said Falare. “You promised the ambassador that you would take her to dinner. You have to keep your word. You’re Garrus Vakarian, after all.”

“I know,” sighed Garrus. He looked into the mirror and saw that although Falare was smiling, she seemed sad. Garrus turned around. “Falare, is something wrong?”

“It’s just…no. It’s foolish.”

“Foolish? You do realize that I’m Garrus Vakarian, right? I’ve done ten lifetimes of foolish things, and never regreted a single one. Well, except that one time. You know, that one time I tried ryncol. With the zetan…”

Falare giggled. “I know, I know. There isn’t a bigger fool in the galaxy than you!”

“Hey!”

“It’s just that…well…you never take me to dinner.”

Garrus was somewhat taken aback. “What do you mean? We get food all the time.”

“Yes, at state dinners or when you order that horrible takeout. No, I mean a real dinner. Not as Councilors. Just the two of us…together.”

“You’re the one who’s afraid of starting a scandal.”

“I know…” Falare’s expression fell.

Garrus sighed. He put his hand on her shoulder. The clothing she wore was thick, but he could still feel the shape of her narrow asari figure beneath. “You’re right. I’ll tell you what. During the next Council recess, I know this place on Omega.”

“Omega?” said Falare, surprised. “You seriously want to take me to Omega?”

“Well, yes. You need it. Cooped up a monastery all your life, and then thrust into politics? Trust me, I know a lot of people there. Some of them are even good people. We can take a week, and have some adventure.”

Falare paused, considering. “I always wondered what Morinth saw in that place…” she smiled. “But it sounds delightful. As long as I’m with you, the location does not matter so much.” Falare’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh! I know exactly what you need!” She crossed the common room to an alcove on the side where a small garden was growing beneath bright ultraviolet lights. She considered the contents for a moment, and then picked a metallic silver flower.

“A swamp orchid?” said Garrus, confused. He was familiar with Palavan fauna as much as any turian would be. Swamp orchids were uncommon but nothing special to turians; Falare, apparently, rather fancied them. Hers had actually won several awards at the biannual Citadel botany fair, although to Garrus they just looked like every other kind of flower.

“Give this to the ambassador,” said Falare, handing the bloom to Garrus.

“Why?” asked Garrus, still taking the flower.

“Because you nearly got her strangled to death, perhaps, and desperately need to apologize? Trust me, women love flowers. Even pony women, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, Falare.” Garrus reached forward and kissed her on the cheek- -or did so as best as he could with turian mouthparts. Falare’s cheeks flushed with purple. He then checked the chronometer on his omnitool and started toward the door. “I’ll be back at around nine, ten maybe.”

“I’ll be waiting,” said Falare. “And don’t forget to order her desert!”

“I won’t!” said Garrus, stepping out through the door and waving. He passed out of sight, and the door closed behind him. Falare rubbed her cheek, and sighed. She wondered how she could feel so good and so bad at the same time.

Across the Citadel, a white unicorn was standing in front of a similar mirror finishing the preparations on her clothing and makeup. Objects swirled around her, ranging from various jewelry and accessories that she rapidly shifted over her neck and ears to compare them to various makeup applicators. Through this storm of magic and motion, a tall breeder Pegasus moved deftly, carrying a secondary mirror in her mouth to give Rarity the extra views she required.

“Oh,” whined Rarity, switching rapidly between a golden necklace with a large red gem and a silver one with several stunning sapphires. “O17F, I just can’t decide! What do you think?”

“I could not deign to give you fashion advice, Lady Rarity,” said O17F. “I personally prefer the gold, but only because red gems match my eyes.”

“Hmm,” groaned Rarity. Through the mirror, she saw the hanar Si’y floating toward her.

“This one has finished the security sweep,” he said. “And, at the risk of sounding redundant, it asks if the honorable ambassador Rarity would not reconsider this one’s presence at the dinner? It is able to be quite discrete, and feel uncomfortable leaving you. It already feels woefully ashamed that the ambassador was harmed under its watch.”

“Oh, don’t worry yourself,” said Rarity. “Garrus will be there, and I am totally confident in his ability to protect me.”

“It is best not to doubt the ambassador, alien,” said O17F. “Remember who is paying you.”

“Oh, now, don’t mind O17,” said Rarity, moving several earrings into position and applying her eyeliner. “She is just protective, and doesn’t like you addressing me directly. I, of course, admire your confidence. And attitude.”

“This one is honored by your compliment, and the very, very generous pay you are supplying this one.”

Rarity turned around. “What do you think, Si’y? How do I look?”

“She looks impeccable,” said O17F, trying to lead Si’y’s answer.

“In all honesty?” said Si’y, pausing.

“Oh, of course,” said Rarity. “A dishonest opinion can be simply disastrous.” She rolled her eyes. “Like last fall’s first run.” She shivered.

“To this one, your attire is hideous,” said Si’y. Rarity’s jaw dropped. “None of the polarities match appropriately.”

“Polarities?” Rarity paused. “Wait…do you mean to say you can see polarized light?”

“All hanar can,” said Si’y. “It is critical for our bioluminescence-based communication system.”

“That’s amazing, truly. I’d never even considered that.” Rarity’s eyes widened. “Can turians see polarized light as well?”

“No. Just hanar, and some vorcha.”

“Oh. Then I’m sure it will be fine. But it will be bothering me all night now…”

“This one apologizes.”

“Oh, you don’t need to,” sighed Rarity. “However, if diplomatic relations go well, I will consider hiring a group of your people for future consultations.”

“Even though you are unable to see the polarization yourself?”

“Oh, darling, one does not simply ignore perfection when it is within her grasp!” Rarity struck a dramatic pose, and then looked up at the necklaces suspended in her magic. “Oh! Yes, the silver one will work nicely, won’t it?”

“This, this one agrees upon.”

There was a tone from the next room of the Council-supplied temporary residence. Rarity squealed. “Oh! He’s here! He’s here! O17F, my makeup, my dress!”

“Cleared and confirmed,” said the breeder. She gave a small salute. “You are ready for public appearance.”

“Oh, thank you!” said Rarity. She twisted her head, pushing her perfectly coiffed mane into position. She then trotted toward the front room, her horseshoes clicking on the expensive tile below.

Si’y followed her back through the spacious room where another all-white, red-eyed winged pony was approaching the door. Sweetie Belle sat reclined on a chair, bouncing a fuzzy green ball against the wall with her magic and looking tremendously bored.

“Now,” said Rarity, “make sure that you get Sweetie Belle into bed before eight, and don’t let her have any sweets. And if anypony even thinks about touching her, I expect you to deal with the problem completely.”

“The bodies will never be found,” confirmed Si’y.

“Excellent.” Rarity pranced past Si’y, just as the breeder servant was opening the door.

The metal slid aside, and Rarity paused, her breath catching in her throat. Her heart beat slightly faster, and she wondered if he could somehow hear it. For all she knew, that was something the aliens could do.

“Ambassador,” said Garrus, smiling. He knelt down to Rarity’s height and extended his hand. In it was a single flower. Rarity gasped. She had never seen a blossom quite so stunning in her life. It was entirely silver, with a complex network of capillaries and tiny spines amongst its whorls of petals. The main petals were accented down their centers with the most subtle shade of blue, and it seemed to sparkle in the light.

“This…this is for me?” she asked.

“Of course.”

Rarity picked up the flower in her magic. “Is this a carving?” she asked.

“A carving? No. It’s an actual flower. An orchid, actually. They grow on my homeworld, Palaven.”

“It matches so perfectly,” said Rarity, feeding the rigid stem of the flower through one of the edges of her hair. She had no idea how Garrus had picked out a flower that matched her outfit, eyecolor, and mane color so perfectly, but the effort payed off. Rarity felt her heart beat even faster, and felt her face growing warm.

Garrus stood up. “Shall we go, then?”

“Y…yes, of course,” stuttered Rarity. She cringed, hoping Garrus had not noticed. Perhaps he had, but he still smiled anyway.

From inside the room, Sweetie Belle and Si’y watched the door close. The breeder servant who had opened it walked away, and when she was out of sight Sweetie Belle pointed her hoof at her open mouth, pretending to gag.

“This one knows,” said Si’y. “It never understood the appeal of turians. Vakarian, though…perhaps.”

Sweetie Belle leaned back in her chair. “So,” she said. “You’re supposed to foalsit me, right?”

“This one is a hanar. We do not sit.” Si’y turned toward Sweetie Belle. “This one is, however, bored of being trapped here. Would the sibling-unicorn Sweetie Belle like to visit the Citadel?”

“Another tour? I think I’ll pass.”

“Not a tour of Council-approved ambassadorial locations. To visit the actual Citadel. Shopping, food, asari. That sort of thing. This one is so bored.”

Sweetie Belle sat up. “But Rarity said- -”

“This one will not tell if you do not. Besides, this one will be there. You will not be unsafe.”

Sweetie Belle smiled mischievously. “You’re talking about sneaking out.”

“This one does not sneak. It will simply float out the door.”

“So you’re not nearly as competent as my sister things you are, are you?”

“Of course not. But the performance was quite worthy, if this one proclaims so concerning itself. It wonders if it might even land a part in the next Blasto film. One can only hope.”

Sweetie Belle laughed and stood up. “Finally, something to do! And I thought I was going to have to bother Scootaloo again…or even call up Applebloom. And you’re comping my sister, right?”

“The expenditure will be laundered to reduce blame. But yes.”

“Buck yeah. Let’s do this.”

Garrus led Rarity into the restaurant to a table that he had selected in advance. The traffic of the restaurant was relatively minimal; due to the nature of its elite audience, the proprietors were always careful to keep it as exclusive as possible. As a Councilor, however, Garrus was always welcome. Reservations had not been difficult to get.

The various patrons around him watched with calculated disinterests as he led a small horse through the room and pulled out her chair for her.

“Oh, why thank you,” giggled Rarity, Taking her seat. The chair had originally be intended for what had unfortunately come to be known in the vernacular as a “humanoid”, and Garrus was not entirely sure if it would be appropriate for a pony. His instinct paid off, though, and by sitting on her haunches Rarity was able to approach eye level over the table with some amount of comfort.

“There we go,” said Garrus, sliding her to the table and taking his own seat.

“They just allow you to seat yourself?” asked Rarity.

“Of course. I’m Garrus, after all.” Garrus smiled. “No. That’s actually pretty normal. Salarians find it insulting, apparently. And, frankly, most of the people who can afford to come here are salarian.”

“It certainly does seem exclusive,” said Rarity, looking around. “Do you come here often?”

“Not really,” said Garrus. “Food isn’t a terribly big part of turian culture. That, and I’m always so busy. I’m sure you can relate to that.”

“Oh, darling, of course! Back in Equestria, I often barely find time to eat. It’s so nice to finally get to slow down for a moment.”

“I guess it is.” Garrus reached for two utensils that were set near the centerpiece of the table. They were small, angled pieces of metal that looked not out of place amongst the forks and knives. When Garrus picked it up, though, it automatically projected a holographic menu.

“Oh my,” said Rarity, somewhat surprised. “That’s the menu, I assume?”

“Yes,” said Garrus. “We’ve taken the liberty to translate yours as close as we can to Equestrian. It’s not perfect, but it certainly gave our xenolinguists some practice.”

“Oh, that’s so thoughtful!” Rarity’s horn glowed, and she picked up her own menu and examined it.

“That’s amazing,” said Garrus.

“What?” said Rarity, suddenly seeming embarrassed.

“Your biotics. That you can just move it like that.”

“Oh, this? You mean my magic? Oh, darling, I can assure you, this is entirely ordinary for a unicorn.”

“It doesn’t make it any less special.”

Rarity bushed. “Oh my. But people here have magic as well, don’t they?”

“Some. Not turians like me, except in extremely rare cases. But the asari. And some volus, humans, a few krogan. And none have dexterity like that.”

“Well, I assure you, this is quite ordinary for a unicorn.”

“Which makes me wonder how the other ponies manage to eat.”

Rarity almost answered, and then paused. “You know…I don’t actually know. Troughs, probably. I’ve seen my dear friend Applejack use one more than once.” She scrolled through her menu, her eyes widening when she realized that clicking on something would expand it to show the exact ingredients, allergy information, and a description by the chef. “There is simply so much here!” she exclaimed. She looked up at Garrus. “I can hardly decide. What are you having?”

Garrus groaned. “Soup, probably?”

“Soup,” said Rarity, as though that were nearly an insult. “With all these choices? I’m partial to the idea of the dl’ahg scampi over seasonal greens. I don’t know what a dl’ahg is, but it sounds divine.”

“It’s like a fish,” said Garrus. “Except hairy. And more bitey. The salarians grow them but I have no idea why.” He looked over his menu at her. “Aren’t ponies obligate vegetarians?”

“Well, technically…” Rarity grinned and whispered, as though she were telling a secret. “Don’t tell Fluttershy, but after my last assignment as an emissary to the Canid system, I’ve gotten quite partial to meat. Especially seafood.”

“Well, the chef’s a hanar. They’re pretty good at that sort of thing. My choices are a bit more limited, though.”

“Oh? Why?”

“The amino acid difference. All life on Palaven is based on dextro amino acids. Everyone else uses levo. Even you. I can’t eat most food without getting really, really sick.”

“That’s terrible! But don’t they have cuisine that you can tolerate?”

“They do…but…”

“But what?”

“Turian food is bland. Really, really bland. And quarian food- -they also have dextro biology- -probably was good two hundred years ago when they could chew, but at this point they just eat liquids. Spicy liquids. And you’ve met Kalejen. I can’t do spicy foods with the ulcer.” Rarity giggled. “Which means that all that’s left is krogan food. Half the stuff on Tuchanka is dextro, apparently. The krogan don’t even care. But krogan food is…well…let’s just say they don’t cook it. They let it decay until it’s ‘ripe’. Not fruit. Meat.”

“Oh dear.”

“Yeah. It was better when we had humans here. They’re levo, but they at least tried to experiment with dextro cuisine. Some of the stuff they made was actually, well, amazing.”

“I’m not familiar with humans,” said Rarity, looking around. “Although I can’t help but feel like I’ve heard the name before…which species are they again?”

“There aren’t any here,” said Garrus. “They were banned from Council space. They look kind of like asari, but usually brown in color with hair like yours.”

“Banned? Why?”

At about this time, a hanar appeared to deposit a bowl of bread on the table before leaving silently. Garrus wished that he had elected to bring his optic HUD; sometimes hanar would swear at patrons in polarized light, and with the device Garrus could sometimes pick it up. It was hilarious.

“Well,” he said. “There were…issues. The humans are…different. To say the least. They used to have a human Councilor, actually.”

“But there isn’t now.”

“No. He tried to betray us during the Reaper War. We barely managed to stop him in time. And the next human Councilor…well, things c hanged after the War. The humans were already on edge. Their homeworld was already unpleasant, but the war ruined it. I hear nobody even lives there anymore. And things changed in the Council. The humans just couldn’t deal with it. Relations fell apart.”

“Well, they don’t sound terribly reasonable. You are probably better off without them.”

“No,” said Garrus. “Not really. And not just because of the food.” He looked Rarity in the eye. “I had a lot of friends who were human. My best friend was, during the War.”

“Oh,” said Rarity, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.” She tried to change the subject. “You…you were in this War, I take it?”

Garrus nodded. “It’s funny, actually. I used to be a C-Sec officer. Just a beat cop and part-time detective. Then Shepard shows up, and, well…” he smiled and shook his head. “There I’d never seen anything quite like him. I don’t think I ever will again. He was something unique. There’s actually a statue of him in the Presidium Park.”

“He sounds special,” said Rarity. “But…the operant word, I believe, is… ‘was’?”

Garrus sighed. “Yeah. Shepard almost singlehandedly stopped the Reapers. Even when the Council refused to admit the threat. He was there when Saren and Sovreign nearly destroyed the Citadel. He took us through the Omega relay and back. He singlehandedly took down a Reaper and pulled its heart out. The guy literally died once, and CAME BACK. And do you know what happened? The last battle. The very last, on earth. We won. But he didn’t make it out.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Sometimes…” Garrus paused, considering if he should say what he was about to. “Sometimes I think that I should have been there, with him. That we should have gone out together.” He paused again. “You know, I’ve never told anybody that. Not even Falare. I’m sorry if I’m affecting the mood.”

“Don’t be,” said Rarity, her eyes wide. “It’s okay. But…I know it’s rude that I ask…but is that how you got those scars? In the War?”

“These?” Garrus gestured to the region of his face that was overgrown with scars. “Oh, no. That was from when I was a vigilante on Omega. Protecting the innocent from gangs and criminals has a price. Besides, I think it makes me look sexy.”

“Oh my,” said Rarity, softly.

“But what I was really hoping to talk about was you. I’m finding I don’t know a thing about you.”

“There’s not much to say,” said Rarity, feigning modesty. “I certainly haven’t lived a life nearly as interesting as yours.”

“I’d still like to hear it, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

Rarity smiled. “Well, I was born a third-tier unicorn. My father was a former hoofball player, and my mother worked in the manufacture cookies, of all things. I, personally, took an early interest in fashion design.” She laughed softly. “To think…it all started when I opened one boutique in a little town on Equestria Prime. Now I’m a galaxy-renowned designer and owner of the most profitable clothing and armor manufacturer in all of Equestria.”

“How did that happen?”

“Hard work, shrewd business practices, and inspiration. It may not be apparent to you, but ponies do not normally wear clothes. Only on special occasions, largely. Marketing to them is not easy.”

“I see,” said Garrus. “So you came here to expand your market?”

“Perceptive,” said Rarity. “Certainly, a galaxy of beings who wear clothing constantly would indeed be excellent for business. But it’s more than that.”

“What?”

“To put it simply? Equestria is TERRIBLY dull. Fashion there is just so…conservative. Not at all inspired. I’ve started a bit of a revolution in that sense, but I need more. So, when Twilight Sparkle offered me an ambassadorial role, I practically leapt upon it.”

“To experience new cultures,” said Garrus. “And to improve your designs.”

“Exactly! Mingling with high-society has always been a passion of mine, after all, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.” She fluttered her long eyelashes. “And I don’t regret it for a second.”

“Well, if you want to talk about corporate ventures, the Citadel has a number of contacts that can manage the trade logistics once we pound out a treaty.”

“Oh, you! Trying to get a treaty out of me on the first date? Besides, I didn’t come here to talk business. I can tell you didn’t either.”

“You know what? No I didn’t.”

“Now,” said Rarity, leaning forward and moving a bun onto her plate. “Tell me about your work as a vigilante…”

Falare turned a page in her book. She looked up at the clock, and calculated Garrus’s exact path. He was no doubt at the restaurant by now, probably talking about boring diplomatic things. Falare herself had little interest in the nature of trade deals and the subtly of political maneuvering, but it was something she excelled at. Much of that prowess, though, came from the fact that most people were afraid of her. With ponies, she doubted that they knew what she was. With that, she lost much of her higher political ground- -but at the same time, she recognized it as a chance to be treated like a real asari, a treatment she had only ever received from Garrus.

So, once again, she found herself with some quiet downtime. That was until the doorbell rang.

Falare stood quickly, setting her book aside. She was momentarily frightened, wondering who would be calling this late- -but then, as always, she was reminded of the fact that she was an Ardat-Yakshi. Even with the Reaper implants, there was little left in the universe that could stand against her for very long.

She opened the door, and rather than being greeted with the galaxy’s most unfortunate assassin, she found herself looking down into a pair of large red eyes.

“A delivery for Councilors Falare and Vakarian,” said the all-white Pegasus pony, gesturing toward a large box at his side labeled in bizarre pictographs.

“I am Falare. Who are you?”

“My designation is largely inconsequential. I am simply here to deliver this package.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“A gift from Ambassador Rarity. She sends her regrets that she could not deliver them at the opening ceremony, but there were difficulties removing them from cryostasis.”

“Them?”

“Your gifts. You will see. I would hate to ruin the surprise. Do you require assistance moving it?”

“No,” said Falare, still somewhat shocked by the late-night delivery. “Um…yes. This is excellent. Tell the ambassador that we are profoundly grateful for her generosity and for this demonstration of goodwill.”

“I shall,” said the pony, smiling. “She will be pleased to hear it. If there are any problems, please report them to us at once. Now, if you will excuse me, Councilor.”

“Of course.”

The Pegasus pony flapped his wings and took flight, retreating back into the Citadel. Falare watched him go in pure shock. She had assumed the wings were decorative and had not actually expected them to work.

After recovering her composure from having just witnessed a sentient creature fly under his own power, Falare turned to the box. It was some kind of large crate, and it appeared to be on wheels. With some effort, she was able to move it indoors.

Once it was inside, Falare stopped to contemplate it. Rarity had already sent a substantial number of gifts. Most of them were gemstones, jewels, and gold, all of which Falare was sure would eventually find their way into various museums throughout Council space. This crate, however, seemed too large to contain anything similar.

After several minutes of inspecting the surface, Falare finally found what appeared to be a trigger. Without considering the consequences, she pressed it. There was a hard click from within the box, and suddenly clockwork within it sprung to life. The box shifted, and several small bays opened on the sides.

Almost immediately, several small ponies stepped out. They were tiny, and their bodies and underdeveloped wings were as strikingly white as their eyes were red.

The ponies immediately responded to their sudden freedom by marching around the box and standing in formation. They all looked extremely similar, save for one with severe muscular hypertrophy. On close inspection, though, Falare saw that all seven were uniquely different.

One of them, a female and apparently the eldest, took a stance at the side of the formation.

“Hello,” she said. “I am 11863-Station AN74-Subgroup 12-Heritage GEN 33-Batch 9978-Sibling 403. We have been transferred to your possession by the unicorn Rarity.”

“Transferred?”

“Yes,” said the smiling filly. “Assuming you are the asari Falare?”

“I am.”

“Then you are our new owner.”

“Own…owner?”

The filly nodded and turned her head toward her smiling compatriots. “You have been provided with a selection of breeder ponies from several select, divergent gene lines. All of us are intact and within less than a year of breeding age. Our genetics are diverse enough to allow your people to establish a sizable, stable breeder population within ten years.” She reached behind her wings and removed a scroll, giving it to Falare with her teeth. “Information concerning our genetics and heritage. I have also been trained with the necessary techniques to oversee the breeding process or to train one of your people in the required procedures.”

“Of course,” said another filly. “It would be rude for us to issue demands of how a gift is to be used. You can do with us as you please. You can sterilize us for standard work, or slaughter us for meat, if that is something you aliens do.”

“Although we would prefer if you did not do the latter,” suggested a small colt.

“Yeah,” said the hypertrophied one.

“I don’t understand,” said Falare. At least, she did not think she did. She felt sick, as though something heavy had sunk deep into her stomach. On some level, she already knew. “What exactly are you?”

“Oh,” said the main filly. “We assumed you knew. In Equestria, a large portion of semi-technical, clerical, and some manual labor is performed by breeder ponies. We have been selectively bred on farms for generation for maximum docility and obedience, as well as pleasant demeanors for use as servants and laboratory test subjects.”

“You mean slaves. You’re slaves.”

“No. ‘Slaves’ implies that we are ponies. We technically are, I suppose, however legally we are considered a separate kind of entity. Our parents were property, and their parents, and so on. We are property. And you are our owner.” Falare suddenly knelt down and wrapped the filly in a hug. “Oop,” said the filly. “Hugs? Hugs are good too.”

“I’m sorry,” said Falare, who found herself in tears. “I’m so, so sorry.”

The first thing Sweetie Belle realized as she followed Si’y through the Citadel was that the tour the Councilors had planned was overwhelmingly sterile and dull. It was as though they had taken everything fun out of their society and replaced it with boring, clean, shiny things. The exact kind of things that Rarity tended to like, in fact.

Far off that course, though, things got a lot more interesting. Instead of big, open areas with manicured lawns and perfect buildings, there were neon lights and advertisements scrolling across buildings filled with aliens of all kinds. Sweetie Belle was familiar with almost every species in Equestrian space, ranging from ponies to griffons to diamond dogs and everything beyond- -but none of that compared to the aliens of the Citadel.

As she walked, following Si’y, Sweetie Belle saw a small, round creature in an armored suit having a loud and angry argument with a massive and bored-looking quadruped who kept saying in a totally monotone voice “with the most furious rage” to preface every statement. Nearby, she saw a woman covered from head to toe in an environment suit laughing with a green, reptilian man with ink-black eyes. Several children ran by, all of different races. One of them stopped at a shop and quickly bought some ice-cream from a smiling asari before running off after his friends.

“Holy crap,” said Sweetie Belle. “You mean all this was down here this whole time? How many people are on this thing?”

“Several hundred million,” said Si’y.

“Several- -what?! Equestria Prime barely has a population that size! Who even built all this?”

Si’y shrugged. “This one does not know. Enkindlers? This one was not there at the time.”

Sweetie Belle was about to ask if that was a joke when they passed what she could only assume was one of Si’y’s species. It was pink and glowing, floating by placidly. It turned slightly to see Si’y, but did not seem to take kindly to his presence and floated off in a huff.

“What the…is that what you look like under all that armor?”

“Correct, approximately. This one is far sexier. Also, not female.”

“That was a girl hanar? How could you tell?”

“We just can.”

Sweetie Belle looked back. “Was she at least attractive?”

“Hanar do not find each other attractive. Especially this one. This one greatly prefers asari. And one vorcha.”

“Which ones are vorcha again?”

“The Sweetie Belle will know one when she sees it. However, exterminating programs have largely removed them from the Citadel to date.”

Sweetie Belle did not want to consider what kind of a species could be attractive but also require extermination. She almost asked, but was suddenly interrupted by a holographic representation of a type of alien that she had not seen before, projected from a merchant’s stall.

“I’m Commander Shepard,” it said. “And this is my favorite store on the whole Citadel!”

“Oh, wow!” said Sweetie Belle. “Si’y, we should shop here! I don’t know who this ‘Shepard’ is, but if it was his favorite store, it MUST be good!”

Si’y agreed, and several minute later after negotiating vehemently with the nearly spherical shopkeeper, Sweetie Belle walked away with several rings around her horn as well as numerous alien weapons and a tiny model of the Citadel added to her inventory.

“These rings fit so well!” said Sweetie Belle. “But I have no idea why anyone here makes rings if none of you have horns.”

“Are you sure you are old enough to be wearing rings around your horn?”

“Sure. Why not? Why? Do I look young to you?”

“Indeed. Even this one would be hesitant to attempt you. It is not interested in children.”

“I don’t know if that’s supposed to be reassuring or an insult.”

“It was intended as both.”

Sweetie Belle and Si’y turned a corner, and Sweetie Belle suddenly saw a small crystalline colt trying desperately to reach the keypad on a vending machine.

“Come on!” he said, stretching his body as long as it would go and still only being half way to his destination. “I want…soda!”

“Um, do you need help?” asked Sweetie Belle.

Wing had not seen her coming, and jumped so high that he actually passed the panel he had been trying to reach.

“No!” he cried. “Of course not! Not from the likes of you! Go away!”

“Tsundere, much?” ventured Si’y.

“Here. Just move over.” Sweetie Belle levitated the crystal pony out of the way. He was surprisingly light, and his facets glittered surprisingly well.

“Put me down! Unhoof me! I am an elite soldier in the Crystal Armada!”

Sweetie Belle dropped him. She then looked up at the glass over the various bottles of soda. Concentrating, she reached in and levitated on with her magic. It dropped into the collection bay, and she removed it, passing it to Wing. She even snapped off the cap.

“You will want to save that,” said Si’y. “This one has heard that if you save up enough of them, you can purchase krokodil on earth.”

“Do you even need to drink?” asked Sweetie Belle. “Aren’t you made of crystal?”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t like the flavor,” said Wing, snatching the bottle away from Sweetie Belle’s magic. He took a sip, and then, begrudgingly added. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go back to my room…wherever it is.”

“You don’t know?”

Wing frowned. “It’s not my fault that this facility is not designed with any semblance of logic!”

“You are lost.”

“Yes. But only because I want to be.”

Sweetie Belle sighed. “Do you want to come with us?”

“Why would I want to take assistance from a filthy heretic?”

“What the BUCK is your problem?!” snapped Sweetie Belle. “I’m trying to be nice to you, and I don’t appreciate being called ‘filthy’!”

“Well you ARE!”

“Give me that!” Sweetie Belle snatched the soft drink out of Wing’s hooves.

“Hey! Give that back!”

Before he could come and take it, Sweetie Belle chugged the entire contents of the bottle. She then burped loudly and threw away the bottle into a nearby receptacle.

“Holy Dagon,” said Si’y. “This one has never seen anyone do that with turian cola.”

“My sister taught me how to stop my gag reflex from working,” explained Sweetie Belle. “I have no idea why.”

“My soda…” Wing looked profoundly disappointed.

“Well, that’s what you get for being rude. And I’m not getting you another. Come on, Si’y. Let’s go buy ice-cream and more guns.”

“This one does enjoy guns…”

“Wait!” cried Wing. “I’m…sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“Well I’m at least trying to be! It’s just that…well, I’ve never come in contact with an Equestrian.”

“So you automatically assume I’m filthy?”

“No. You are. Sweat and hair and grease…but you’re not that much different. I’m sure that your people’s propaganda sees me in a similar way.”

“Um…not really. I didn’t even believe that crystal ponies were a real thing until I saw you.”

“Wait, what? We have a population of several billion! We’ve been locked in a war defending ourselves from Equestrian aggression for MILLENIA! How could you not know that we’re real?!”

“I’m not exactly a fan of current events. We just assumed it was Cadence. Almost all of your ships are automated.”

“Most are. The pilot program is barely two decades old.”

“So,” said Si’y, “would you say that the pilot program…is a pilot program?”

“Indeed,” said Wing, not understanding the joke.

“Twenty years? Why didn’t you abandon it with the peace treaty?”

“Because there isn’t a peace treaty! It is an armistice! The war is still occurring. Waiting. And when it returns, I must be ready to defend the One True Princess from the conquering heretic hordes!”

“I don’t see why we’re heretics. I mean, we still accept that Cadence is an alicorn. Just an evil one.”

“Evil? No! Princess Cadence is a creature of pure love!”

“Then why did we have the war?”

“Because you Equestrians were continually trying to conquer our galaxy. That’s why.”

“Oh. Well. I wasn’t there. I was, like, five when the war ended. I don’t have a problem with the Crystal Empire. In fact, I think you’re really pretty.”

Wing blushed to the extent that it was possible for living crystal to blush. “Well…for an organic…you’re not...you know…”

“He wants to grab your horn,” whispered Si’y.

Both Sweetie Belle and Wing blushed.

“For the record, I don’t.”

“Why?” said Sweetie Belle. “Is something wrong with my horn?”

“What? No, it’s just that- -it’s a horn and- -”

“I was joking.”

“Oh.”

“I bet I’m the first unicorn you’ve ever seen, aren’t I?” Sweetie Belle twirled, her skirt flowing around her. “What do you think?”

“You’re not the first. The Royal Consort is a unicorn. So is the High Exemplar. You are definitely better looking than either, though. In a relative sense.”

“You think I’m pretty.”

“I think you’re tolerable to look at.”

“He wants to have your pony babies.”

“You shut it!” said Sweetie Belle, swatting at Si’y. He drifted out of her reach easily. “Assuming…you know…you have something to shut.” She turned toward Wing. “Hey, I know you want to go back to your room and all, but how about you come with us?”

“Come? With you?”

“Told you,” said Si’y.

“Yeah,” said Sweetie Belle, ignoring the hanar. “We were going to get ice-cream, and go shopping, and laugh at krogan.”

“And this one was going to write its name on the rears of several asari consorts if the opportunity was to arise,” added Si’y. He then added, “if this one has an extra pen, you can- -”

“Don’t say it!”

“Sure,” said Wing. Sweetie Belle and Si’y looked at him, pausing at the unexpected response. “What?” he said. “You owe me. You took my soda.”

After dinner, Garrus had expected to go home. The meeting with Rarity had been more fun than he expected, even if he once again had to eat quarian soup. Rarity, however, insisted on a different course. She insisted on showing Garrus her starship, and Garrus, having perhaps a few too many drinks with dinner, had no reason to object. He was actually somewhat curious as to how pony ships operated, and whether they had forward batteries.

As it turned out, the inside of the ship was remarkably, amazingly clean. Everything was bright white and shiny, with almost every surface consisting of sculpted, curving architecture and minimalist controls. There were no apparent open panels or controls, apart from the blue holographic panels that sometimes pop up. This vessel, as Rarity repeatedly stated, was actually unique. She had designed it herself.

The crew, likewise, consisted almost entirely of white, red-eyed wing-horses- -which, as Garrus learned, were called “Pegasi”- -save for the captain, a grizzled looking greenish unicorn who smiled and spoke maybe five sentences explaining how the navigation controls operated.

The whole event was, admittedly, somewhat fun. At least until they got to the engine room. There, Rarity proudly showed Garrus a large tube in which was suspended an apparently unconscious unicorn colt. He was floating in some kind of fluid, the substantial implants in his spine and head connected to long tubes that snaked upward and downward into the perfect white architecture of the ship. From what Garrus understood, this was how pony starships moved. They did not use standard mass cores; instead, they utilized powerful biotics as an energy source. Garrus was not sure the specifics of that choice, or if the child in the tube had actually volunteered for this procedure- -but he did not ask. It was not something he wanted to know. Just looking at that tiny, suspended body, though, made him feel ill.

Fortunately, Rarity quickly took him out of the engine room and back through the curving hallways of the ship.

“And as you can see,” said Rarity, gesturing to a passing male breeder. “My selection choice for crew is, if I do say so, quite progressive.”

“How so?”

“Traditionally, having males onboard is considered terrible luck. I, however, have purchased a crew consisting of both of properly sterilized mares and geldings. I find the geldings actually have such darling personalities, and A776 takes such excellent care of our Core.”

“I see,” said Garrus halfheartedly. Hearing her say that was more than a little disturbing. By all accounts, she was not a cruel pony. In fact, she was generous, polite, and even funny at times. And yet, somehow, she had just described using geldings to maintain a biotic trapped in stasis as “progressive”.

Rarity did not seem to notice Garrus’s disdain, despite the fact that she could not seem to take her eyes off of him. “And there is just one more thing I want to show you.”

“Oh? Well, I’d be glad to see it.”

Rarity smiled, and approached a narrow black outline in the wall. Her horn glowed, and a door separated and opened inward. Rarity trotted into the dark room beyond, and Garrus followed.

It took his eyes a moment to adjust, but he quickly realized that this room was starkly different from the sterile corridors of the ship. It had, for one, carpet. There were also paintings hung on the walls, as well as a desk and several chairs- -and a canopy bed.

“Um, ambassador?” said Garrus as the door closed behind him.

“Please,” said Rarity. “Call me Rarity.”

Her horn glowed, and a the buttons on the rear of her dress glowed with blue lights as they were unfastened. Her dress fell to the floor- -neatly folded, of course- -and Garrus found himself staring at a naked pony.

“Rarity, please,” he said. “This isn’t appropriate.”

Rarity looked sad. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“I didn’t say that. It’s just that…”

Rarity smiled, and then stepped onto her bed and struck a pose that was apparently supposed to be sexy. To some extent, it was. Garrus felt a sudden force on his back, and realized that she was pushing him toward her with her biotics. When he was close enough, she stood on the bed and kissed him. Deeply.

“Rarity,” said Garrus, pushing her face away from his but leaving her front hooves on his shoulders. “You of all people should realize the scandal this could cause.”

“Only if one of us tells about it,” she said, smiling. “And I believe I’m entitled to at least one impropriety.” She sat back down on the bed. “I suppose you could say I’ve fallen for you. But more than that, I want our people to grow closer together. Certainly, one with such experience as you simply must realize that this is the fastest way to ensure a certain level of diplomatic closeness.”

“Are you trying to coerce me, Rarity?”

“Heavens, no!” Rarity leaned back, lifting her rear hooves into the air. “Coercing you would be if I threatened to leak this little rendezvous if you refuse. Or ruin the diplomatic process. But that would be, well, uncouth.”

When Garrus had no reaction, Rarity pouted. “Nothing? You realize that although I’m associated with generosity, this is most certainly not a gift I give to many stallions.”

“I’m sure,” said Garrus. He looked back to the door, and then at Rarity. She was definitely not unattractive, even for a small horse. Rarity seemed to pick up on that, and turned over, lying on her stomach. She gently lifted her tail. “Well, if you want to refuse, I suppose that is your choice. But I really was hoping that we could enjoy each other’s company just a little more. For diplomacy’s sake.”

Garrus looked back at the door, and then at Rarity’s slowly wagging tail. Then he sighed and started to take off his own clothing.

“I’m getting too old for this…”

It was nearly midnight, but Falare was still awake. She sat in her chair, as she often did on long sleepless nights. Usually, her insomnia came from the incessant dreams of her sisters and those that took them from her. Tonight, though, she sat reading aloud to a group of small ponies staring up at her with rapt attention.

“…For the longest time, she had always wondered why her wings would extend involuntarily whenever she was aroused,” she read. “. Now, for the first time, she understood because she knew what she wanted- -oh, thank you Liinoa,” she said as one of the fillies delivered her a cup of tea on a saucer.

“You’re welcome, Miss Falare,” she said when Falare took the cup and set it on the end table. She took a sip, and looked back to her place in the exorbitantly large and poorly edited book she was reading.

Before she could start, however, the front door opened. Garrus stumbled in, looking slightly disheveled.

“Well,” said Falare, “it looks like somebody has been taking his time with the ambassador.”

“You…could say that,” said Garrus.

One of the white colts approached him. “Hello, Councilor Vakarian! Can I take your coat?”

Garrus blinked, and then looked to Falare, pointing at the colt. “Um…?”

“A gift, apparently,” said Falare, darkly. “From Rarity. Apparently, she thought giving us a seed stock of slaves was an appropriate diplomatic gift.”

“We’re not a good gift?” said the smallest of the fillies.

“Oh, no, sweetie,” said Falare, scooping up and cradling the tiny pony in her arms. “You’re an excellent gift…it’s just that slavery is considered abhorant in our culture.” She looked up at Garrus. “Did you know about this? That the ponies keep slaves? Not just slaves…that they purpose-breed them?”

“I was vaguely aware of the fact, yes. There are a number of them on Rarity’s starship.”

Falare’s eyes narrowed, and the room fell silent. She set the filly she was holding down and looked at Garrus. “What were you doing on the ambassador’s ship?”

“She just wanted to give me a tour. You know, to look around…things. That’s why I’m late.”

Falare crossed the room and leaned near Garrus. She sniffed several times, and then looked him in the eye. “Turian brandy…and…” Her eyes widened. “You smell like her perfume…Garrus, you didn’t…”

“Falare, I can explain- -”

“You Kirked the pony!”

“So what if I did?” snapped Garrus.

Falare stepped back. “I can’t believe this. I just. I just can’t! How could you, Garrus?”

“So, what, I’m not allowed to have sex now?”

“With a horse?”

“With a pony! And you know what, she was GOOD. Not like you- -oh wait! I wouldn’t KNOW!”

The room once again fell silent, and from the expression on Falare’s face Garrus immediately knew that he had waded into territory much farther past anything that was considered safe.

“So that’s how you feel,” said Falare, softly. Without warning, she pulled off the outer robes she wore. Underneath, she was wearing undergarments, but that was not what she had been intending to show Garrus. Instead, it was the blue lines of the Reaper technology that ran throughout her blue skin and the surgical scars left by the surgery that had placed it there. “Do you see this?”

“Falare…”

“Look at me, Garrus!”

Garrus did, and saw that she was on the verge of tears. “Did you know that this hurts? How much pain I have to put up every second of every day? And guess what? It barely even works. I can still feel the cravings. Do you know what it’s like, having to live with you? To have to deal with all this, this desire?”

“Then why don’t we just fuck and get it over with?”

“Because it would KILL YOU! It’s not a negotiable thing! Nobody escapes it! The first lover I ever had? She DIED. In my arms. Do you have any idea what that’s like? How could you?!”

“Then why did you agree to live with me, then, if it’s such a hell for you?!”

“Because I enjoy your company! Because I thought we had something special! Even if I can’t have sex, I thought we…that you and I could…” She looked away, and then down at the seven pairs of red eyes watching the events unfolding. “You shouldn’t be watching this. Go to my room, please. I’ll make up little beds for you.” She looked over her shoulder. “I don’t trust HIM around you.”

“Falare,” said Garrus. “I didn’t know!”

“Then you’re an idiot. Just…” She took a deep breath. “It’s late. I can’t do this right now. Just go to bed.”

Falare walked off, leading her small herd of juvenile ponies in front of her. Garrus watched her go, and then sat down in her chair. He put his head in his hands.

“Shit…” he said to the empty room.