The headache ignited again, and Oriana rubbed her forehead. She did not normally develop headaches easily; after all, her genome had been designed to be as perfect as possible to allow her both to resist normal illness and the effects of prolonged use of her biotics.

Ultimately, though, she did as she had been trained and suppressed the pain. She was lucky to have gotten out without much worse. The mission had been a colossal failure, but as far as she could tell, it was not the fault of any particular member of the cell. Even Bob had performed her job well, or as well as a nearly rogue semi-human mutant could. There was no way they could have predicted that they would be attacked.

As unexpected as the assault had been, it was no excuse for the cost it had extracted from them. Oriana peered through a large transparent window at what functioned as the ship’s medical bay. Inside, Eight and Six were attending Four and Seven. Eight, like Oriana, had received Cerberus field medic training. Six, however, had on her own volition sought out a much more substantial education, to the point where she had repeatedly been scouted by the Cerberus research decision for her talents. The fact that she was assisting Eight was a bad sign.

Through the glass, Oriana could see Seven and Eight. Seven appeared conscious. Her mask had been removed, and her eyes were open. Oriana realized that it was the first time she had seen the pony without her mask. She was not sure what she had been expecting, but Seven actually looked nearly identical to her sisters. Her mouth was slightly wider and her teeth longer, and her eyes faced different directions, but otherwise she looked normal. Though her visage itself was not frightening, the fact that she did not make an attempt to obscure it was. Before Eight gave her back her mask, Seven just stared at the ceiling, knowing full well that Oriana could see her.

Across the room sat a second bed. There, Four lay completely motionless. Her pony body looked so tiny against the machinery that was now linked to it. Numerous tubes lead into her arms and legs, feeding her a constant IV drip of various drugs and a transfusion of blood donated by her clone sisters. Her body was almost completely covered in wires and sensors, all linking her to the complex assortment of machinery that measured her tenuous vital signs. Unlike Seven, she was not conscious. Her eyes were closed and her hair brushed aside to prevent it from interfering with the transparent mask that covered her mouth and nose. Four was normally more gray than purple, but Oriana had never seen her this ashen.

Six finished up her readings, and, noticing Oriana, approached the door. It hissed as it opened and Six emerged into the hallway. She looked up at Oriana, and from the look on her face, Oriana knew the situation was grave.

“How bad is it?” asked Oriana.

Six looked through the window at Eight, who was still helping Seven. “Seven was exposed to what I can only imagine was a feedback weapon of some sort. Most likely, it will have a permanent negative consequence on her biotics. Her spine has also been severed between T9 and T10. The lower half of her body is completely paralyzed.”

Oriana did not know what to say. “I’m sorry,” was all she could manage.

Six shook her head. “She will recover. Of all of us, she is the one who uses her biotics the least. And repairing the spine is possible. It will simply require strategic administration of medigel onto the damaged nerves.”

“That operation is both incredibly difficult and incredibly painful.”

“I can perform the surgery, and Seven can withstand the pain.”

Oriana nodded. She did not know if Six was expressing wishful thinking, or if a spinal reconnection was something she actually wanted to attempt on her own sister. From the look on Six’s face, though, it appeared that the latter was most likely the case.

“And Four?” she asked. “What the hell happened to her? She wasn’t even on the station!”

“The enemy boarded us. Four attempted to defend Marc Antony using her biotics.”

“Biotics? I’ve only ever seen Four use her biotics for interface projection. I didn’t even know she could use them in combat.”

“She can’t. Or at least, she shouldn’t.” Six sighed. “She isn’t like us, the second batch. What Cerberus did to her…her insides are ruined. Scar tissue, barely functional organs- -she’s sick. She always has been. Why do you think she spends so much time with Marc Antony? He takes care of her. Helps her with her medicine, keeps her safe. He was supposed to keep her safe…”

“You blame him for this.”

Six paused for a long moment. “No. I understand the situation. But I should have been there. WE should have been there. Four is our Big Sister. She helped raise us…and now…”

“She will make it, Six. She’ll be okay.”

“I wish I could be so sure,” said Six, darkly. “She’s in critical condition, and stable for now- -but she could go either way. Ironic, isn’t it: what you or I could do without a thought sent her into hemorrhagic shock…” Six trailed off, and Oriana thought she saw the pony wipe a tear from her face. “Seven, Four, my sisters…and poor Scootaloo, my friend, lost…”

“Not to mention mother,” said Nine, emerging from behind them.

Six looked up at her sister, simultaneously happy to see her and looking even more exhausted than before. “You didn’t manage to get her out?”

“Get her out?” said Oriana. “Of where?”

“She’s lodged herself somewhere beneath the deck plating. I cannot extricate her.” Nine looked at Six. “She’s lost an arm, Six.”

“Damn,” said Six. “That explains why she’s hiding. She doesn’t want us to see her like that.”

“No,” said Nine, shaking her head. “That’s not the reason at all. It’s not that she can’t bear us to look at her, but that she can’t bear to look at us.”

“I don’t understand,” said Oriana.

“It is her nature, as our mother.” Nine reared onto her hind legs and put her hooves against the glass of the window. Her eyes drifted from Seven to Four. “How could she?”

“She might be injured worse than just the arm, too,” said Oriana.

“What? How?” demanded Six.

“She attempted to interface with the relic.”

Six’s eyes widened. “And she survived? No wonder she’s hiding. That device was not meant to be handled by mortals. Even Bjorn barely comprehends its nature- -she likely burnt out half her nervous system! Not to mention long term effects- -why?” Six looked directly into Oriana’s eyes. “Why would she do that?”

“You know why,” said Nine, solemnly.

Six seemed to take that as an adequate answer, and nodded. She began to walk away before suddenly turning back to Oriana. “I nearly forgot. You were struck with a biotic impact. I want to examine you for injury.”

“No,” said Oriana. “Don’t waste time on me. Take care of Seven and Four.”

“But the injury- -”

“There is no injury. Whatever they hit me with, either my armor absorbed it or they never completed the action. I’m fine.”

Six seemed to reluctantly take her word for it, and she stared into the room for a long moment before walking off with Nine silently following at her side. Oriana herself watched for a minute or two longer, and then turned away herself.

While she walked through the ship, Oriana reconsidered the roles of the people that she had worked with for years but never really become close to. She had always assumed that Bob was a manipulative and heartless harpy, and that Marc Antony was some kind of pervert. Now she saw that the synth was actually devoting a significant amount of his time to a pony woman who he clearly cared deeply about. Oriana’s opinion of Bob had changed slightly as well, but she did not want to articulate or even identify how she now felt. She was smarter than that, and had been told explicitly during training to never let Bob get into her head.

As she was walking and considering these various thoughts, Oriana suddenly looked up to see a figure cross quickly into a perpendicular hallway.

She slowed and stopped walking. “Bob?” she said.

There was no answer, even though Oriana knew that there was no one else it could have been apart from Bob or Marc Antony. The figure had definitely been human; it was neither Bjorn nor a pony. Somehow, though, Oriana felt herself growing cold. Something about the figure had not looked quite right.

She approached the parallel hallway slowly. From what she had seen, the figure was not Marc Antony. She had been female- -but certain impossible features of her kept surfacing into Oriana’s mind. Her hair was black, but straight, not at all curly and greasy like Bob’s. Likewise, whereas Bob almost always wore Cerberus armor or at most a Cerberus T-shirt, the woman Oriana had thought she had seen had obviously fully dressed in a skin tight black and white uniform.

As Oriana drew closer, she thought she could hear footsteps. They were not the heavy thud of combat boots or the clicking of hooves; nor where they the quiet padding of Bob’s bare feet. They like the click of high-heeled shoes- -and the sound was growing closer, not more distant.

Oriana jumped around the corner, charging her fists with biotic energy. She had not known what to expect- -but all that faced her was an empty dead-end hallway.