Use the Robotic Virus on Spike 45%

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?” Fluttershy asked. Her voice was gentle and kind, as kind as Twilight ever remembered it. The others would have offered their own condolences, if they were awake to do it. But as it was, only she and her doctor would be witnesses at Spike’s vigil.

But not even that. Fluttershy had her work cut out for her just getting everypony Twilight had brought back from the surface hooked into life support proper. Her own job had been poor at best, and if left to their own devices, they would not have remained alive for much longer.

Twilight levitated the red biohazard container behind her every second, where Fluttershy couldn’t see. “I’m sure,” she said. “You worry about the living, d-doctor. I’ll prepare him for burial. And cremate the stowaway while I’m at it.”

She backed through the airlock rather than turning away, and risking even a second’s glance at the stolen sample container.

As soon as she was around the bend, Twilight took off galloping as quickly as she could, using her magic to keep up the illusion of gravity. No matter how powerful this technology, no matter how remote the chances of its success, she couldn’t let it wait any longer than necessary. Spike might be a dragon, but he was now a dead dragon.

This is such a bad idea, she thought, clambering into the elevator and smashing the button for central computer. This is the kind of thing horror stories are made of.

But at the same time, she found she didn’t care. The chance, even a remote chance, that this could work, was more important than any risk. It should bring Spike back to life once the dead neurons have been replaced. Bring. Him. Back.

It was like a chant in her head, a perverse funeral dirge that overwrote all other concerns.

Does Twilight move Spike out of central computer first? No.

Twilight hadn’t even moved him from where he’d fallen, for fear that even a slight perturbation would lower her chances of success.

Is Twilight prepared for failure? Critical yes.

She had done pushed Cozy’s corpse up into the air, where it wouldn’t accidentally be exposed to the virus. Spike’s sacrifice would not be undone, even if she did fail today.

Bring. Him. Back.

Twilight had done everything she could to prepare for a perspective failure, anything that wouldn’t slow her down too much. She had brought one of the energy rifles over from the Prospector, along with reloading the gun she thought Cozy had used.

Firing that one would be a true gamble, since even a hit might fly right through her target and puncture the hull. But unlike the movies, such a breach wouldn’t be instantly fatal. She could seal the breach if it came to that.

Twilight walked up to the emergency console near the corner of the room, shutting off atmospheric circulation to the room. Immediate amber lights began flashing, and a plastic box with a little oxygen bottle attached flipped out. She took it in her magic, pulling it on over her muzzle.

“Emergency atmospheric isolation protocol is in effect for mainframe level. Please evacuate the area immediately.” Starlight Glimmer’s voice said. “Please evacuate immediately.”

Twilight’s radio buzzed from her belt. “Captain, did something happen down there? I’m getting contamination warnings in medical.”

Twilight inhaled through the mask, feeling the stale, dry air on her tongue. Her throat ached with it, but it was a good pain. The pain of mistakes undone. “It was me,” she said. “Just a precaution.”

Fluttershy’s voice came back, low and sympathetic. “Captain, the dead aren’t… that dangerous. You can transport them a deck down for cremation without needing emergency air. The Equinox’s biofilters are fine for low-level contamination.”

Twilight ignored her. She stopped beside Spike, shutting his eyes with her magic. “I’m sorry about this, Spike. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

She opened the sample container. A hiss of compressed air emerged from the seal, then a little dusting of white powder. Twilight corralled all of it easily, pushing it towards Spike. She dusted his face with it, his chest, and the open wound that no longer bled.

He must’ve been dead over an hour by now. She saw the impact instantly as it struck his flesh—scales seemed immune, but the exposed parts of his eyes, mouth, and chest were not. Twilight backed away, capping the sample container and pressing the “reseal” button. There would be no accidental exposures today.

It was like watching ice spread across the surface of a chilled lake. Tendrils of strange fibers bridged across the wound, and down into his guts like a spear. They reached out, grabbing bits of metal debris out of the air and changing color to match the silvery aluminum. One tendril reached into a shattered console, and started soaking up the coper shades from within.

Twilight backed away; eyes wide as it seemed spears of the growing viral structure had been aimed at her. But no—that was just paranoia. Once the touched the deck-plating, they stopped, anchoring him in place and spinning a cocoon just as the virus had done several times before.

So the virus was… if not working, then it was certainly doing something.

“Captain, do you need me to come down there? If you can’t handle this… I’m sure the others will be fine for a few hours.”

“I’m sure,” she said through the mask. “Please, I need to do this. He’s my brother.” Bring. Him. Back.

“If you say so,” Fluttershy said. “When you’re, uh… when you’re done, I can provide counseling. Or medication, as required.”

“Yeah,” she said, turning off the radio. “But I won’t need it, because I’m getting him back.”

For now, Twilight would have to wait. She sat back, watching the cocoon for any sign of what might be happening inside. She would be here all night if she had to.

“I guess my vigil isn’t the way we intended,” Twilight said. “I hope you’ll forgive me one day.”

Author's Notes:

No vote on this one. Expect another chapter tomorrow.