The pair remained appropriately quiet and subdued as they allowed the security mare to escort Twilight back to her quarters. Not that this required much in the way of feigning on either of their parts, given the uneasy nature of the conclusion that they’d reached just minutes ago. Slipshod went inside with the alicorn ‘to help her write her first after action report’. Once the door was closed and they could be assured of having privacy from prying ears, it was time for them to resume the conversation that had begun in the conference room regarding the recent revelation that they’d made.

“I thought you said that Chrysalis didn’t have agents on every ship?” Twilight hissed, scowling at the stallion.

“I said I didn’t think she did,” Slipshod corrected pointedly, his own mind racing with the implications, “the Steel Coursers aren’t a high profile outfit. I figured there’s no way the Queen would waste an agent on them. There are a lot of changeling agents out there, but not nearly enough to genuinely bug every ship―er, infiltrate,” he mentally cringed at the unintended―yet not entirely inapt―pun.

“So you don’t know who the other changeling is?” the alicorn’s tone wasn’t―quite―accusatory. She wasn’t using her magic to compress him into a singularity again in an effort to figuratively―and literally―squeeze the information out of him; so it was doubtful that she actually suspected him of trying to hide this fact from her. After all, she knew that he wanted Chrysalis removed from power about as much as she did―if for entirely unrelated reasons.

“I have no clue,” the stallion insisted, “it could be anypony,” he thought for a moment and then hastily amended, “okay, well not quite ‘anypony’. There’re a couple dozen ponies I know for sure it couldn’t be.”

“How?”

Slipshod tapped his personal terminal on his uniform sleeve, “the ponies on my rota. The ones I draw from. Another changeling wouldn’t let me draw from them, so none of the ponies I frequent could be the Queen’s agent,” he frowned, “though that still leaves a lot of suspects.

“And honestly...there’s at least a possibility that there actually isn’t another changeling on the ship,” the earth pony ventured, “you may not have left the ship since you woke up, but other members of the crew sure have. They weren’t supposed to say anything about you, but it’s not like everypony stayed completely sober the whole time they were in port. Somepony may have just blabbed about the ‘weird purple pony’ that was added to the crew in earshot of the wrong creature.”

“Can we really afford to take the risk of making that assumption?” the princess asked him pointedly.

“No. No we can’t,” Slipshod admitted bitterly, “we need to check. I’m just not sure how to go about it,” he looked to the alicorn, “unless you’ve managed to pick out any other ponies who didn’t react ‘appropriately surprised’ to you, like I did?” Twilight shook her head, “what about that spell that nixed my disguise? You could just go around blasting the crew with it…”

“I suspect that your ex-wife wouldn’t appreciate me using my magic on her crew without us first explaining why I’m doing it,” she said, casting an aside glance at the stallion, “besides, unless we were lucky enough to find the spy in the first few attempts, they’d doubtless get wind of our search. I shudder to think of what one of Chrysalis’ agents might do in an act of desperation if they thought discovery was close at hoof.

“Such actions would also necessitate revealing to the crew of the ship why we were doing it, and what we were looking for,” she reminded him, “do you no longer think informing them would ‘panic the ship’, as you put it?”

Slipshod opened his mouth, but said nothing before closing it again. He considered the idea carefully. Squelch had only recently grudgingly accepted that Queen Chrysalis and changelings might be a real phenomenon. The earth pony wasn’t quite so certain that she’d be receptive to the notion that a member of her crew was currently one of those very changelings.

Well, actually, that wasn’t quite true, now was it, the stallion snorted bitterly. Squelch would probably jump at an explanation for how ComSpark was tracking the Galloway’s location so easily. An embedded spy was the perfect scapegoat for her frustrations. That wasn’t the problem though. The problem was that the jade mare was already suspicious of how he seemed to know so much about what was going on.

She’d wonder if he was a changeling too.

If Squelch ordered Twilight to ‘test’ him, would the alicorn refuse? Would she fudge the results of the spell somehow? Or would she decide that exposing him was a way to further cement her concerns about the insidiousness of changelings and the danger that they presented? Assuming that Squelch didn’t outright kill him for being a ‘monster’, the fact was that having his true nature revealed to the crew would eventually lead to his death anyway.

There was no way that any of the ponies on his rota would let a shapeshifting monster anywhere near them. Especially when they found out the reason he wanted to be was so that he could feed off of their raw emotional essence. It would only be a matter of time before he starved to death.

“We need to keep this between us,” the stallion finally concluded unhappily. Twilight also was right, of course: the spy might do something drastic if they thought the crew was onto them. To say nothing of what the crew would do to each other in the meantime as they became increasingly more paranoid about who was and wasn’t a ‘real’ pony. In the aftermath, once the genuine agent was dealt with, there would almost certainly be dozens of torn and tattered relationships as a result of the inevitable accusations. Slipshod did not envy having to repair those rifts between members of the crew just so that he could get a decent meal again.

He was going to have a time of it as it was, in the wake of the recent tragedy. He couldn’t afford any significant backsliding right now.

“If we spook the agent, they might do something that gets a lot of ponies hurt, or killed,” he agreed, “right now, they have no reason to think we know that there’s a changeling onboard―another changeling anyway,” he amended with a roll of his eyes.

“I’ll find out who it is,” he insisted, “I’ll start with the more outgoing members of the crew that aren’t on my rota. Another changeling would need a wide social network in order to stay well fed, just like I do. It shouldn’t be hard to figure out who’s been frequenting a lot of the other crew’s quarters.

“In fact, it should be pretty easy to find out who it is right now.”

The alicorn raised a curious brow, “how so?”

“They need the crew to be as generally happy as I do,” Slipshod pointed out, “and right now there’s a dark cloud over just about everypony’s head. Neither they, nor I, will be able to feed until that’s mostly dealt with. Most ponies are going to be moping and stewing over the recent losses, but us changelings will be the ones actively going out and trying to get everypony’s spirits back up so that we can feed again.

“I’ll start asking around tonight,” he informed the alicorn, “I’ve got a lot of ponies to visit too,” he sighed, not looking forward to the workload that he had before him, “I can try and find out who else is going around trying to cheer ponies up.”

The princess seemed surprised by the notion, “that...is curious,” she said, prompting a look from the stallion, “in my time, reformed changelings very frequently pursued careers as counselors and therapists, due to their empathic nature, and desire for those around them to be in ‘high spirits’.

“It’s fascinating to see that this desire for happiness among the general population is inherent to even unreformed changelings. I had not anticipated such compassion from Chrysalis’ drones.”

“I don’t know if I’d call what I’m feeling ‘compassion’,” the earth pony frowned at the purple alicorn, “it’s not that I really care whether the ponies on this ship are happy or not, on a personal level. I may act ‘friendly’, but I’m not their friend. Changelings don’t have ‘friends’, we have ‘food’,” he told her flatley, “and right now everypony’s either nervous or in mourning. Neither of which are particularly ideal emotions to feed off of. The sooner I get some ponies cheered up and thinking positively again, the sooner I get to eat.

“This is about personal pragmatism, not altruism. If fear and loathing nourished us as much as love did...well, let’s just say that there’d be a very different dynamic between me and the ponies on this ship.”

That revelation certainly seemed to sour the alicorn’s opinion of him, the stallion observed. That was hardly his fault though. She was the one who was supposed to be familiar with changelings and how they operated. Nothing he had said should have surprised her.

“Look, I’ll work on vetting the crew, you just work on what you’re going to say to the Disciples to convince them that there aren’t any of Chrysalis’ spies on this ship,” he instructed the purple mare, who regarded him sardonically.

“But there could be a changeling spy onboard.”

“I know,” the stallion sighed in annoyance, “but what happens when they go looking for a spy and then find me?” he pointed out; then assumed a mocking, sarcastic, tone, “oh, no, Mister Disciple; I promise you I’m not the bad changeling! I super-duper swear it!”

Slipshod’s expression fell into a flat look at the princess once more, “unless you know how you’re going to frame it so that I don’t end up lynched? Or worse,” the mare frowned, but didn’t seem to have an answer ready for him. The earth pony sighed, “just...please don’t get me killed, alright? I recognize that the Disciples are the best chance either of us is ever going to have at beating Chrysalis...but my life is going to be hanging by a thread just being around them, more than it ever has.

“If Chrysalis has an agent on the ship, I’ll find them; and I’ll deal with them. I promise.”

Twilight regarded him for several long seconds before finally nodding, “I believe you. Very well; I’ll help you keep your secret.

“Go, see to the crew,” she said, waving him towards the door, “friends or no, it’s good that it matters to you how they feel.”

Slipshod frowned but left without another word. With a parting pleasantry to the security mare posted at the princess’ door, the stallion continued down the corridor, glancing at his fetlock-mounted personal pad and the rota that it contained. According to his normal schedule, this was supposed to be his and Channel Lock’s regular riff night. She’d have been on station in the ‘Steed Bay during that hasty retrieval just a few hours ago, so it was anypony’s guess as to whether she was still there or back in her quarters again.

It was a place to start though. If she was still on duty, he’d just move on to somepony else.

The golden earth pony was surprised to find that the door to the cabin that Channel Lock shared with High Gain was actually still open. He quietly crept up to its edge and peered inside. A concerned frown creased his lips at what he saw: the strawberry red unicorn mare was sitting on her bed, using her telekinesis to scrub furiously at the back of a vac-suit helmet with a rag that he didn’t suspect had been quite so crimson before she’d started. He didn’t need to be an empath to see that she was in distress, though it did allow him to understand that her features actually concealed just how distressed she really was.

His changeling senses also allowed him to pick up on the more subtle undertones of her emotional state: tinges of shame and guilt. Something terrible had happened, and she felt partially―if not completely―responsible for it. She was so distracted by these feelings that Slipshod somehow doubted that she was aware that she was continuing to wipe at an already clean patch of the helmet clutched in her hooves, while plenty of blood yet remained on other parts. Her eyes were clouded over, as though she wasn’t even actually seeing what she was doing anyway.

The unicorn mechanic also didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned with the splotches of blood dotted across the back of the rest of the vac-suit that she was still wearing. Or that she’d stained the sheets of her bed when she’d sat down on it.

“Chans?” he offered gently from the open doorway, softly rapping his hoof on the frame more out of propriety’s sake than anything else.

The mare jerked, letting out an audible yelp. The helmet went clattering across the room, coming to rest by Slipshod’s feet. The rag she’d managed to catch in her hooves as her magic failed her in her moment of surprise. Channel Lock instantly began to knead the stained swath of cloth against her chest as her wide eyes locked themselves onto the floor in front of her.

“S-s-sorry, Slip,” she said almost too quietly for the stallion to hear, “I...I know that we usually riff on Thursdays...but I think I want to pass this time. I’m...not really feeling into it right now…”

The earth pony reached down and picked up the helmet, briefly examining the blood stains. It was only the back of the helmet that looked to have been affected. Nothing that she’d have noticed until she removed it, he suspected, “is it Thursday?” he asked absently, even going so far as to glance at his fetlock, as though only now taking note of the date, “I’d honestly forgot,” he looked back to the mare, “no, I’m actually here to make sure you’re okay,” that much wasn’t a lie, at least.

“I saw that the Bay got hit. Wanted to check on you,” he made a show of looking between the blood-stained helmet in his hoof and the mare, “are you hurt? Should I get Doc Dee?” he knew that she wasn’t actually injured, but the perceived empathy was what was important for her right now.

Channel Lock shook her head, “I’m fine. Doc’s got his hooves full right now anyway.

“Other ponies...weren’t so lucky,” the last came out in an almost haunted tone.

Slipshod slowly stepped through the opened door, closing it behind them to give the two of them some privacy, and sat down on the bed next to the mare. He set the helmet on the floor, away from the unicorn, “tell me what happened, Chans.”

The mare closed her eyes tight, clutching the rag to her chest as she started to rock slowly back and forth, “I got somepony killed,” she said in a ragged breath, before sniffing loudly.

That sense of guilt flared white hot within the mare, nearly making the stallion visibly wince in response to its intensity. He reached out with a hoof and brought the mare in close to him. He’d have to quelch that first if he wanted to make any progress here, “if there’s anypony on this ship that’s responsible for what happened, it’s me; for calling the Galloway into the middle of that killzone. The Commies shot us up. You didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“You don’t understand,” she insisted, shaking her head even as the mare seemed to reflexively curl up against him, welcoming the embrace, “Spanner wouldn’t have been standing where he was if I hadn’t fucked up!”

She sniffed again, “the call went out: Hot Retrieval. Everypony in the ‘Steed Bay ran to the locker rooms to get their vac-suits. I couldn’t get mine on right. One of the zippers got stuck. Spanner stayed behind to help me. We finally got my suit on and ran out to Val’s stall.

“The way it was was that first on the scene gets the hoist controls. Second to get there watches the wire guides,” she sniffled again, “because Spanner helped me, he got there second. So he was watching the guides when…”

Her words cut off as a shudder coursed through her body at exactly the same moment that Slipshod was assaulted by a wave of cold fear coming off the mare, “it happened so fast,” she whispered, “all I remember is is it felt like somepony had jerked the catwalk from under me. I stumbled a bit. I go back up. I saw the hole in the door. It hadn’t been there a second ago. That was for the damage control teams to worry about though. My job was to hoist up Val’s Parasprite. Of course she―” Channel Lock broke off for a moment, looking briefly up at the stallion before continuing, “...there was nothing to hoist, so I turned around to go help one of the other teams…

“...that’s when I saw―” she clamped her lips shut as her body convulsed. Nausea. Revulsion. Then the guilt again.

“Spanner should have been the first out,” the mare said when she could talk again. Bitterness was overshadowing the guilt now. Self-loathing, “I was the fuck up. I should have been out last. Then I’d have been standing where I could see the wire guides.

“I’d have been the one that died,” anger now, “should have been the one that died.”

Slipshod sighed and closed his eyes, sorting through the tangled mess of emotions swirling within the unicorn mare. He traced each and every strand back to its source until he managed to find those that wouldn’t merely lead to further self-depreciation when pulled upon. If he could unravel the right ones, he’d be able to set her straight without too much trouble. It was just a matter of hitting the right notes in the right order.

“You said that you didn’t have time to react,” the earth pony began. The mare nodded, “if you had, would you have pushed him out of the way? Even if you knew you’d die doing it?”

“Of course,” Channel Lock replied firmly, without any hint of hesitation. She meant it too. He could feel it.

“Do you think that he’d have done the same for you?” the earth pony asked next, “you said he stayed behind to help you. Sounds to me like he cared about the ponies he worked with. Just like you. So if you’d been watching the wire guides, and he saw that you were about to be killed by debris, do you think he’d have tried to save you even if he knew he’d die trying?”

“He…” the mare squirmed uncomfortably at his side, “...he might have.”

“I think he would have,” Slipshod assured her, “you guys―all the ‘Steed Bay techs―you’re a team. More than that,” he amended with a dry chuckle, “you’re practically family, the way I see you guys acting in the Bay.

“You look out for each other. You help each other. When one of you’s in trouble, another steps up to lend a hoof,” he felt her guilt thinning as he spoke, “you didn’t get anypony killed, or ‘let’ anypony die. Spanner stepped up to help a member of his team in trouble. Just like you would have if it’d’ve been him struggling. Right?”

The mare nodded. Slipshod could feel her guilt ebbing, and pressed on, “it happened fast, like you said. That’s not your fault. Nopony’s faster than an autocannon round or a missile,” the stallion’s mind flashed with an image of the recovery team mare being splattered while securing Twilight’s ‘Steed, but quickly suppressed the image. It wasn’t about him right now.

“The point is that: if you could have saved him, you would have. Everypony knows that. Spanner knew that too. Nopony holds it against you that you were slower than an explosion. And, like you said: if everypony had seen it coming, Spanner would have taken that hit for you anyway.

He gave her a squeeze and reassuringly rubbed his hoof over her shoulder, “you didn’t get anypony killed, Chans. The Commies did this. Nopony else. You see that, right?”

Channel Lock sighed and nodded once more. With the guilt all but evaporated, her self-loathing burned brightest now. Her frustration with herself for not being able to perform like she was expected to, “which zipper were you struggling with?”

The red unicorn blinked through a brief moment of confusion before rubbing her hoof along the front of her suit, and the zipper that ran up her chest. Slipshod stepped around and knelt down, looking closely at the seam of her vac-suit. After only a few seconds, the earth pony’s lips canted in a wan smile and he pointed a hoof at a part of it, “about right there’s where it got hung up?”

She looked at where his hoof was indicating, and nodded her head, her eyes wide with mild surprise, “that’s exactly the place it got stuck! How’d you…?”

“If you look real close, you can see the stitching’s a little uneven,” he informed her, “it’s never perfect. Most uniforms with zippers have a spot somewhere that the zipper fights them a bit. If you’re not ready for it and pull too hard in the wrong direction, you can even jump the teeth and get everything all bound up.

“It’s a manufacturing defect,” he assured the mare, holding her gaze pointedly, “it’s nothing that you did. The stitching was just a little off. A pocket on my piloting barding’s left foreleg never quite closes all the way for the exact same reason,” he said, flashing her a wry smile.

The mare stared down at her chest, running a hoof along the seam, “...I should have inspected this better,” she insisted, though the earth pony could already feel that she wasn’t being quite as hard on herself as she’d been a minute ago now that she realized her wardrobe issues earlier hadn’t been caused exclusively by her own incompetence.

Slipshod shook his head, “issues like this aren’t always obvious,” he said, “here, take it off,” the unicorn mare seemed unconvinced, but complied. Her horn began to glow as she took hold of the zipper with her magic and drew it down as far as it would go. The stallion held up his hoof, “stop!” the mare did so, mildly surprised, “now back up. Slow,” the mare frowned, but complied. The zipper began to slowly ascend back up towards her suit’s collar.

It caught halfway up, dragging on the fabric of the garment and refusing to go any further. Slipshod looked more closely, “back down...stop...up again, but bent it to the left a little,” the mare quirked an eyebrow, but did as the stallion had instructed. This time the zipper didn’t catch at all and rode smoothly all the way up to her neck. The mare’s eyes widened in surprise.

“See?” he said, standing up once more and returning to the bed beside her, “you could have put this suit on a dozen times, and never known that the zipper would only give you problems if you held it a certain way. That’s not something that anypony can reasonably be expected to know about a vac-suit that they wear...how often? Seriously, outside of drills, when’s the last time you had to get this thing on in a rush?”

“...Never,” the mare admitted, more of her self-loathing melting away as she was forced to confront the evidence that she was not wholly incompetent at manipulating a zipper.

“You didn’t fuck up, Chans,” Slipshod reassured her, putting his hoof around her shoulder and bringing the mare in close once again, getting a read on her emotions. She was almost there, but not quite. All she needed was some outside assurances. He could easily provide the unicorn with that much, “you had a bad zipper that was hiding how screwed up it was. Your teammate helped you out, just like you’d have helped him. Nopony could have known where or how the ship would get hit. It didn’t matter where anypony was standing. Heck, if the helmsmare had picked a retrieval site a few meters in any direction Spanner would have been fine.

“Do you think it was the pilot’s fault for parking the ship where they did?” Channel Lock shook her head, “was it Mig’s fault for pairing you and Spanner on the same stall?” another shake, “was it Squelch’s fault for taking the job?”

“No,” the mare finally answered aloud, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lip as she was forced to accept the absurdity of her own thought process, “okay, you’ve made your point. It’s not my fault Spanner’s dead. But…” her features fell once more, “I just…” she let out a defeated sigh, “a good pony’s still dead. He shouldn’t have died like that. And it just seems wrong that nopony can be blamed for it! You know?

“If a pony dying like that isn’t anypony’s ‘fault’, that means it can happen again. At any time,” she withdrew on the bed, wrapping her forelegs around herself comfortingly, “and it shouldn’t be like that,” she frowned.

Slipshod gave the mare a brief, reassuring, squeeze and shrugged, “that’s...life. It’s not fair. There’s no way to make it fair. We just have to accept that,” he leaned down and gave the unicorn a peck on her forehead, “I think that’s what’s called ‘living’; you know?”

Channel Lock to a deep breath and let it out as a heavy sigh, “yeah...still sucks though.”

“Tell you what,” the stallion began, adjusting himself on her bed, “I suggest reaching out to some of Spanner’s other friends on the ship. Get together, swap stories, share a few drinks, toast the good stallion that he was. Like some sort of memorial or something.”

He felt the mare perk up at the idea, “you know, that’s a really good idea actually!”

Slipshod flashed the mare a wry smirk, “I do have those from time to time…”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” the unicorn mechanic apologized, extending her neck to briefly nuzzle the earth pony on the nose, “but you’re right: the whole ‘Steed Bay should get together and do something for Spanner,” she thought for a brief moment before adding, “I mean, obviously anypony would be invited. He had friends in other departments,” another thought soon seemed to occur to the unicorn, “maybe this could even be more than about just Spanner!

“Can you talk to Squelch about hosting a shipwide memorial for all the ponies who died?” she asked the stallion, regarding him expectantly.

The earth pony winced and rubbed the back of his head, “ehhh...I would, but I’m not really Squelch’s favorite pony at the moment,” at the mare’s confused expression, Slipshod raced to come up with a plausible explanation as to why that would be. Channel Lock knew nothing about ComSpark’s involvement in the ambush, or even the fact that this ship was currently enroute to meet with the Disciples of Discord. Now was hardly an ideal moment to break that news to the tech either.

Not that Slipshod could think of when a particularly good time for such a thing was going to be coming up any time soon…

“I got the Crystal Cavalier beaten up pretty good,” he quickly explained, “and she thinks I fucked up by leading everypony into that ambush.”

Channel Lock’s face scrunched up in an almost incredulous scowl, “that’s hardly fair,” she protested, “you stuck to the plan the Highlanders laid out, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Slipshod nodded, careful to hide his own dour amusement at his knowledge that it had been ‘adhering to the plan’ which had allowed them to be ambushed in the first place, “and I didn’t say that Squelch was being rational about it,” he pointed out, “she’s just...stressed,” understatement of the decade, “she lost five of her crew, including a ‘Steed pilot, and we couldn’t even salvage Val’s Parasprite. The mission didn’t pay nearly enough to cover all of that.

“Her business took a really serious financial hit today,” he pointed out.

The unicorn continued to scowl, “she’s not honestly thinking about money at a time like this? Ponies are dead!”

The stallion waved his hoof at the mare’s ire, shaking his head, “trust me, she cares about those ponies. She’s writing letters to their families right now,” or soon would be once she was sober again, he didn’t add out loud. The tech calmed down somewhat at that information, “but she also has to take a longer view for all of the ponies that are still alive,” he continued, “which includes things like balancing the company’s budget. Being down a ‘Steed means we have to take smaller, lower paying jobs; which means taking more of those jobs to keep up overall income.

“Squelch doesn’t get the luxury of wallowing. Because I bet you still need to be paid by the end of the month, right?”

The unicorn tech looked away and awkwardly kneaded her hooves, “I mean...yeah. I guess I get it. I suppose I can talk to Mig, Tig, and Cookie about arranging something,” the mare decided, perking up a little more as the plan formed in her head, “food, drinks―ooh! I know! Eulogies, or whatever!” she looked back at Slipshod excitedly, “we’ll find ponies close to the ones we lost to say a few words about them!”

Slipshod nodded, smiling, “that sounds like a great idea,” he said, patting the mare on her head, “a great way for everypony to come together and find a little solace,” and perhaps an expedient method of dispersing that gray cloud that was hanging over everypony’s emotions too, the stallion thought to himself, “if there’s anything I can do to help…?” he offered rhetorically. He didn’t actually expect that there was anything further that the unicorn was going to need from him. She sounded like she’d have the matter well in hoof. So he started getting off the bed to take his leave.

“Um...actually,” the stallion stopped, looking at the unicorn with a confused expression, “if you could speak for Valkyrie, I think that’d be great,” Channel Lock said, sounding hopeful.

The earth pony blinked in stunned silence. She wanted him to speak for the pegasus pilot? Why? “Wouldn’t it be better to get one of her close friends to do it?” he asked, trying not to sound as sarcastic as he ended up being. He winced inwardly.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I thought…” the mare seemed uncertain, biting her lip, “I mean, you two were always hanging out together. I just assumed that you were close.

“I didn’t really hang out with her much,” she admitted, “so if you know a pony who’d be a better choice, by all means, ask them to do it. You’d know who’d do a better job, I guess. Sorry if I misread things,” she added.

“No no, it’s alright,” the earth pony waved off the apology, smiling at the mare, “I’ll get somepony to talk about Val, don’t worry. You just work things out with Cookie and the twins,” the tech nodded eagerly.

Sensing that his mission had been accomplished here, Slipshod took his leave. Once in the corridor, he hesitated. Had Channel Lock been serious about suggesting that he be the one to speak on behalf of Valkyrie? The idea seemed patently absurd to the earth pony. Obviously it should fall to one of her friends, like…

Slipshod was drawing a blank on candidates at the moment, but he did have a lot on his mind, so it made sense that he was having trouble focussing on something as trivial as that. Only, the stallion supposed that who Valkyrie spent most of her time with wasn’t quite so trivial a matter anymore. Not if he was supposed to find somepony to toast her at Channel Lock’s impromptu memorial service.

He’d seen her and Axel Rod in the gym at the same time on occasion. That seemed like a reasonable place to start his search, so he headed to the DropShip’s garage.

The head of the motor pool was currently buried up to his cannons in the engine housing of a cargo truck, performing a regular overhaul of the vehicle. At Slipshod’s prompting, the oil-stained stallion slid out from beneath the truck and retrieved a rag to wipe away the more egregious grease smears from his face, “you want me to what?”

“Channel Lock’s putting together a memorial for the ponies that died pulling me and Purple Rose off the planet,” the ‘Steed pilot reiterated, “I was hoping you could give Val’s eulogy. Since you knew her pretty well and all.”

The mechanic regarded the other earth pony with flat confusion, “...I didn’t even know she was dead,” he looked away for a brief moment, frowning, “damn. That sucks,” he turned back to the golden stallion, “how are you holding up?”

Now it was Slipshod’s turn to be confused as his lips curled into a frown of his own, “I’m fine. Why?”

“I mean, you just lost your friend,” Axel Rod replied, sounding a little bewildered at the question, “you two were practically joined at the hip!”

The pilot was about to rebuke the obviously erroneous observation, but no words ended up actually coming out of his mouth in refutation. He was forced to grudgingly admit that the pair of them had spent a lot of time together, even outside of missions, but that was merely a consequence of them holding the same position on the ship. They were the company’s only ‘Steed pilots. As a result, they were required to train and go on missions together. It had only made sense to share a lot of their meals too, so that they could discuss how their last mission had gone, or refresh each other on what was supposed to happen on their next outing.

That didn’t make them friends.

Friends...shared interests. Presumably outside of piloting BattleSteeds. Friends also frequently socialized. Again, presumably outside of the scores of hours that the two of them had spent conversing over the radio while on assignment. ‘Socializing’ only counted if the ponies in question were physically present in the same room.

...Right?

Slipshod shook his head vigorously and looked back down at Axel Rod, “you don’t happen to know who else she spent a lot of time with, do you?”

“Besides you?” the oily stallion smirked at the ‘Steed pilot, who scowled in return, prompting a chuckle, “I mean, I guess she was on the bridge a lot. Maybe check with the bridge crews?”

That was right, Valkyrie had made several modifications to the Galloway’s sensor systems. She’d have had to spend a lot of time with the ship’s electronics techs, “Doppler!” the stallion blurted as he turned and quickly trotted out of the garage, leaving behind a bewildered looking Axel Rod.

“...good talk?”

Slipshod climbed up the four decks necessary to get from the garage at the bottom of the Mustang-class DropShip to its bridge in short order. He found the control center in a fairly subdued state, and didn’t quite appreciate the tense atmosphere he was getting from the three ponies currently occupying the room. They were cruising through space, well away from any possible threats. There shouldn’t be any reason for these ponies to be so nerv―

Oh, right. These were likely the only other ponies on the ship that knew Squelch had ordered them to meet with the Disciples of Discord, designated terrorists and avowed enemies of ‘Queen Twilight Sparkle’. They probably thought that their employer had lost her Celestia-given mind. Honestly, it was a testament to all of the good will that Squelch had earned with the ponies in her employ over the years that they’d even gone along with her orders thus far!

The stallion should probably soothe a few frayed nerves while he was here too, if he was ever going to get a decent meal today…

But how exactly was he supposed to sell these ponies―or anypony, really―on the idea of committing one of the few galactically recognized crimes that still actually existed in the Harmony Sphere? How was he going to make any of what was going on make any kind of sense without also hitting all of these ponies with some of the hardest to swallow truths that any of them would probably ever encounter in their lives: that the Disciples were the ‘good guys’, ComSpark was actually evil, Queen Twilight was a shapeshifting bug horse, and that ‘Purple Rose’ was the real Twilight Sparkle, lost in suspended animation these last five centuries?

Even after being confronted with what Slipshod considered an overwhelming quantity of hard evidence, Squelch was still only mostly on board with some of those realities. And he’d been chiseling away at her convictions for months!

What was he supposed to do that would calm these ponies in six hours?

Well...there was always his tried a true method of handling situations: lie and manipulate like his life depended on it.

The golden earth pony manifested a broad smirk and leisurely propped himself up against the frame of the open doorway leading onto the bridge, “don’t you all just look like a sorry bunch. What? Did Cookie put you guys on his ‘gruel only’ diet?”

The ash gray pegasus stallion sitting at the Galloway’s helm station turned his head to look over his shoulder at the new arrival, frowning, “the Captain ordered us to―”

“Aileron!” High Gain hissed at the other pony from her seat by the communications console, glancing fervently between the two stallions.

The ship’s backup pilot scowled at the electronics technician, “oh like she’s not going to tell him eventually anyway!” he retorted, nodding at Slipshod. The earth pony mare rolled her eyes but offered no additional objection to Aileron sharing what they had all apparently decided was ‘sensitive information’ not meant for general dissemination among the ship’s crew. The stallion at the helm looked back at the golden earth pony, “the Captain’s having us ride out to meet up with a Disciple ship that commed us out of the blue,” his tone suggested that Slipshod should find the offered information to be profoundly shocking.

He made sure that his expression remained completely unphased by the news, “oh? Do tell,” the earth pony trotted over to High Gain’s station, peering over her shoulder at the display, “what’d they say?”

The earth pony mare frowned slightly, “well, I mean, they didn’t technically say anything. It was a text message. I didn’t actually read it. It was addressed to the commander. By name,” it was clear from the mare’s own tone that she was quite uncomfortable with the implications of that last fact.

“And now,” the comm tech continued, “the Highlanders are blowing up the comm lines, wanting to know where we think we’re going, but our transmitters are locked out,” she brought up the applicable notification so as to demonstrate this fact to the ‘Steed pilot. Sure enough, the console stated in no uncertain terms that nopony was permitted to transmit any outgoing traffic without Squelch’s explicit permission to do so, “so I’m pretty much just sitting here, logging all of the abuse they’re sending at us,” the mare reached out and tapped a button on her terminal, wincing in anticipation.

“―OU GET YOUR SORRY FLANKS BACK IN ORBIT THIS MINUTE!” even Slipshod recoiled slightly in genuine shock at the pure vitriolic hatred spewed out through those words. He couldn’t ‘sense’ the emotion behind them, but he could feel it, “IF I DON’T GET A REPLY IN THE NEXT THIRTY SECONDS, YOU’RE BLACKLISTED! YOU HEAR ME?! YOU’LL NEVER WORK IN THE COMBINE AGAI―”

High Gain tapped the mute button once more, sparing those present from being assailed by any more of the roaring tirade. Slipshod continued to look down at the terminal with an appreciative look on his face as he considered what he’d just heard, “they sound a little put out,” his sarcasm earned him a flat look from the earth pony comm tech.

“‘They’,” a periwinkle unicorn mare sitting over by the sensor station chimed in, “happen to be Baron Mar, the Aris Highlander leading this little operation,” the earth pony stallion recalled encountering the tiercel for their briefing on the operation, “he’s a heavy hitter in both the Highlanders, and also a part of the Combine’s government. So blacklisting the Coursers is a threat that he can definitely make good on.”

Slipshod smiled broadly, “he could,” the stallion agreed, though he certainly didn’t sound as though he was particularly concerned about that point, “siding with the Disciples is a pretty big deal after all.

“It’s a good thing we’re not doing that then, isn’t it?”

All three of the ponies on the bridge exchanged confused looks before looking back at the ‘Steed pilot. It was High Gain who spoke up, “excuse me? But we’re―”

“I know what it looks like we’re doing,” he acknowledged, nodding sagely, “but just ask yourself one thing: is Squelch an idiot?”

“I assume that’s a rhetorical question?” the unicorn sensor tech asked in response, propping her head up on her hoof, “or is our response going to come up on our next performance reviews?”

“That’s what I like about you, Doppler: you’re very career oriented. It puts a level head on your shoulders,” Slipshod grinned at the blue mare before clearing his throat and once more addressing the room at large, “seriously, though, we’re not throwing in with the Disciples. At least, not really,” the others flashed him a collection of confused and skeptical looks, “we’re plants,” he informed them pointedly, pumping every ounce of confidence that he could into his demeanor.

“Obviously, none of you heard this from me,” he went on, giving each of the bridge crew a knowing look until he got a nod from them, “but isn’t it a bit...odd, that there’s a Disciple ship parked in a system with a secret Pony Commonwealth base in it? A ship that has clearly been here since before we arrived?”

The three bridge ponies once more looked at one another, seeming to confirm between themselves that they each did now wonder about that coincidence. Slipshod seized upon their fledgling doubts in order to implant the new narrative that he was crafting for their consumption, “ComSpark has suspected for a while now that the Archon has been getting support from the Disciples, but there’s never been anything that they could prove. Even this is technically ‘circumstantial evidence’,” he gestured at a display with a map of the system on it, and the signal that they were enroute to, “if they want to pin anything on Dominus, then ComSpark needs hard evidence. Irrefutable proof that the Archon’s in bed with terrorists.

“How better to get that than to go right for the source?”

“This is part of an op?” Aileron quirked an eyebrow at the other stallion.

Slipshod tapped his hoof on the side of his nose and winked at the stallion, “I didn’t say that, of course. Right?” the pegasus offered a hesitant nod, “and, obviously, none of you should either. Because you didn’t hear that.”

High Gain frowned, looking back at her own console, “but that still doesn’t explain why the Disciples reached out to us first―”

“That was our doing on the planet,” the ‘Steed pilot quickly cut in so as to head off the technician’s well-founded doubts, “if you go over the logs, you’ll see that there was some coded chatter from my ‘Steed during that last little scuffle,” the earth pony mare frowned at him, but did turn back to her screen and skim back over the communication logs from the fight. Within a few seconds, her eyes widened in surprise, “see? Right after picking up those same kinds of coded chatter from the other ‘Steeds?” another nod of agreement.

“That was Val’s doing,” a tiny part of Slipshod’s meager conscience wondered at using the dead pegasus like this. Though, her absence made for a perfect opportunity to attribute to her whatever he wished to. It wasn’t like she was going to be able to refute any of it, “she intercepted and broke down their codes, and then I used them to convince the Disciples that we were their Commonwealth contacts! So now the Disciple ship is reaching out to us, thinking we’re the ponies they had on the inside.

“Baron Mar has to play all this up,” he went on, waving a hoof at High Gain’s station, “so that nopony gets wise to us. It can’t look like we’re getting away too easy, or that it went unnoticed.”

“...Oh fuck,” Doppler said breahtlessly, falling back in her seat as she digested everything that the golden stallion had just related to them, “this is...big time stuff though…like way above a small outfit like the Steel Coursers,” she added, sounding concerned.

“Which is why nopony would suspect us,” Slipshod pointed out, “we’re the perfect double-agents.”

“So the commander’s not actually throwing in with the Disciples?” Aileron asked pointedly in an effort to soothe his concerns.

“Squelch would be offended if she heard you ask that,” Slipshod frowned at the helmspony, “you know her better than that. All three of you do,” he amended, looking at the other two in turn, and seeing them shy away at his gaze. He could feel their shame at having doubted a mare that they’d all come to respect and trust so much.

“She knows what she’s doing,” he reiterated, “and she’s not going to do wrong by us, okay?” the other three nodded.

Slipshod spent a few seconds confirming that the majority of the apprehension that they three bridge ponies had been cultivating prior to his arrival had indeed been dissipated before nodding and making his way over to Doppler at her sensor station, “Doppler, hey, I was wondering if I could ask you to do something for me? Well,” the earth pony quickly corrected a second later, “more of a favor for Val, really.”

The periwinkle pegasus regarded him expectantly, “um, sure, I guess. What’s up?”

“Channel Lock’s going to be working with Cookie to organize a memorial service. Nothing big. Just drinks in the mess, I bet. She’s looking for volunteers to say a few words for the ponies we lost today. I was hoping that you’d be up for speaking about Valkyrie?”

The mare cocked her head to the side in clear confusion, “me? I mean...I guess I could, but…” she frowned, rubbing the back of her head, “I’d kind of feel real weird about it,” she admitted, “we barely said two words to each other since I came on board.”

Now it was Slipshod’s turn to look a little abashed, “oh, really? I’m sorry. I assumed that since you both worked this station that you’d...hung out I guess.”

“Not really,” she said, shaking her head, “she gave me an orientation on the tweaks she’d made to the ship’s sensors and then we only ever saw each other for the thirty seconds or so we tagged out shifts on the bridge,” the unicorn looked up at the ‘Steed pilot, “is there a reason you can’t go to the service? I’m sure Squelch’d let you get out of whatever she has you doing if you asked her.

“I think it’d be good for you to go,” she went on, reaching out with a hoof and placing it on his shoulder, “we all know how close you and Val were,” she flashed the stallion a wan smile, “if anypony on this ship is qualified to speak for her, it’s you.”

Slipshod wasn’t sure what surprised him more: the very genuine empathy wafting over to him from the unicorn, or the fact that he could feel how strongly the other two ponies on the bridge agreed with her. He was the best qualified to speak for Val? That couldn’t be right.

“Yeah...I’ll, uh...ask Squelch about it,” he managed to get out as the swirling mass of confusing emotions began to form a little tempest within him. How was it possible that he’d become the closest thing that that poor pegasus had to a genuine friend on this ship? There was no way that could be the case.

He turned to take his leave from the bridge, pausing at the door, “just, uh, remember: not a word to anypony about us being ComSpark spies infiltrating the Disciples,” he said absently before leaving. They assured him that they’d keep the secret.

Once more back out in the Galloway’s corridors, the stallion paused for a moment as he actually processed what he’d just said.

They’d really bought that story? It wasn’t even his best work…

It was barely even passable work, in his personal opinion.

He shook his head and resumed trotting away from the bridge, “and Twilight wonders how Chrysalis had it so easy convincing ponies that changelings aren’t a thing…” he muttered under his breath.

Four ponies down, another several dozen to go, Slipshod thought dourly. He’d known this was going to be a long and drawn out endeavor from the get-go, but that still didn’t make him appreciate the scale of it any less. That brief surge of compassion from Doppler had served as a refreshing little snack at least. Not that he was quite in danger of starving to death any time soon. He was certainly well on track to have a suitable little clique of ponies cheered up and content by tomorrow. So that was one less concern.

The bigger one was by far the still as-yet-unknown identity of the changeling agent on the ship. He’d floated the idea that Chrysalis had learned of Twilight’s presence through other means, but he knew that was likely not the case. His conversation with the ComSpark ‘Steed pilot on the planet had confirmed that there was genuinely an informant on the Galloway.

He was also convinced that they’d be doing exactly what he was: visiting crewmembers and raising their spirits. So, if he came across any ponies who looked like they’d already been cheered up, he might be able to get a lead on who’d come to them, and build his list of suspects.

They might even make an appearance at the memorial service. It was a prime opportunity to help a large segment of the crew work through their grief. The agent would either be working the crowd, or perhaps even be one of the ponies giving a speech. He’d have to keep an eye out.

Which would be a lot easier for him to do if he wasn’t also one of the eulogizers.

He needed to find a pony to speak for Valkyrie, but he was fast running out of possible candidates. Didn’t that damn pegasus hang out with anypony on this ship?! It sure wasn’t helping that every time he came up with a candidate, they went ahead and pointed their hooves right back at him! Now he was fast running out of leads, and could think of even fewer avenues of tracking down additional ones.

Specifically: asking Squelch to look at Val’s personnel file.

The company’s owner had made it pointedly clear that he wasn’t her favorite pony on this ship, and that encountering each other today would prove very dangerous to his health. However, he wasn’t seeing a lot of other options. Besides, she’d just been being hyperbolic about spacing him.

...Probably.

The earth pony stallion smelled Squelch before he saw her. Or, at least, he smelled what he hoped to Celestia the green unicorn wasn’t honestly drinking. Much to Slipshod’s horror when he stepped into the galley, he saw his employer slumped over a table, her hoof wrapped around a half empty bottle of...something. More than a little alarmed, he ran up to the mare and placed his hoof gently over her neck. She had a pulse, and was breathing; so it hadn’t killed her. Quite.

He picked up the bottle and examined the sickly yellow contents, making the fatefully unwise decision to sniff at the opening. He gagged instantly and extended the offending container as far from him as his leg would allow as he dry heaved, “sweet merciful Celestia!” he gasped, “what is this stuff? Cookie, what the fuck?!

“You actually drink this shit?” he asked the donkey chef in disbelief.

The jack was leaning lazily over the counter by the kitchen, watching the stallion’s display with his typically detached expression. He slowly shook his head, “tartarus no,” he motioned behind him with a hoof, “I use it to degrease the stove. Best shit for it. Look at that sucker: you can see yourself in it!”

Much to Slipshod’s chagrin, the donkey was not exaggerating: the stove looked absolutely pristine, despite its age and frequent use, “then why’d you let her drink it?”

Cookie shrugged, “she asked.”

“She asked you to let her drink oven cleaner?!”

“Cleaner? Boy, that there’s Jetsam’s Malroot. Minotaur booze,” the ship’s cook informed him, “I just use it as cleaner.”

Slipshod wasn’t sure if that was actually a meaningful distinction, but decided that getting into an argument over semantics wasn’t something that he wanted to do right now. Instead, he simply placed the container of―alleged―alcohol as far away from him and Squelch as he could get it, and looked to tending the unicorn mare. The rest of the crew certainly didn’t need to see their boss in this kind of state, “I’m going to get her back to her room,” he informed the donkey.

The sage unicorn stirred at his touch as he sought to scoop her up onto his back, opening one of her bleary, bloodshot, blue eyes. She groaned, closing it again, “...said’I’d kill’u…” she slurred. Maybe it was the booze, but she didn’t sound like her heart was really in the threat. She wasn’t putting out any particularly hostile feelings either. Granted it was hard to really pin down any of what she was feeling through her drunken stupor. In any case, she was hardly in a condition to make good on any threats that she might make.

“How about we get you to bed first?” he suggested. The unicorn offered an unintelligible grunt in response.

“You coming back for Channel Lock’s little service?” the chef asked before Slipshod was quite out the door.

He hesitated midstep, looking back over at the jack, briefly confused as to how Cookie had known. Then he realized that Channel Lock would of course have reached out to coordinate her impromptu service with the galley’s overseer as soon as possible, “yeah,” he responded, “I’ll be there.”

“Good,” he nodded, “I’ve got a bottle of Apploosa Estate set aside for you to use to toast Valkyrie after you’ve said your piece on her. Picked it up fresh for her on New Aris. She’s the only pony on the ship that drinks that brand,” the mule frowned as he corrected himself, “she was anyway. Not sure what I’ll do with the rest of it.”

“I’ll take it,” the words were out of the earth pony’s mouth before he’d quite been conscious of uttering them. He wasn’t quite sure what had possessed him to make the offer. He recalled the pegasus mare’s penchant for toasting successful missions using the niche rum, and knew that it was nowhere near the heavy favorite among the crew the way that spirits like Wild Pegasus, Prince Morgan, and Bonnie Trotter were. Without Valkyrie around, that bottle would likely go unused until some new addition to the crew came along someday who shared the pilot’s tastes.

Yet...that thought rubbed the stallion the wrong way for some reason. The bottle in question had been bought explicitly for Val. Nopony else should be allowed to drink it if they hadn’t even known the mare.

“After the memorial,” Slipshod said, “I’ll take it.”

“I’ll have it ready for you,” Cookie assured him.

The golden ‘Steed pilot shifted his burden to make sure the unicorn didn’t manage to slip off his back in her limp state, and left the galley. It wasn’t until he’d made it several steps down the corridor that he’d realized he hadn’t refuted the jack’s assumption that he’d be eulogizing Valkyrie at the group service. He let out a resigned sigh and shook his head. He probably did need to give up on what was clearly turning out to be a futile effort and submit to the collective will of the ship’s crew.

If everypony thought that he was the best choice, then who was he to argue?

Not that it made things much better. All it did was replace one problem with another. He no longer needed to trouble himself with tracking down a pony that had known Valkyrie well, sure; but now he was confronted with the prospect of having to draft a fitting speech in...five hours? Maybe a little less―

His personal pad beeped at him, the tone announcing that he’d just received a message. The stallion lifted his leg to peer at the screen. It was a calendar update. One that had been pushed out to the entire crew, inviting any who were interested to attend the memorial service that Channel Lock was organizing. It was scheduled for three hours from now.

Perfect.

Three hours to put together a speech that made it sound like he’d know his fellow ‘Steed pilot inside and out. Obviously, it wasn’t as though it had to be anything exemplary. None of the other ponies who were going to be offering any words for the other crew members who died had been given more time to fashion their speeches than he was. He’d likely just have to fill a minute or two. The length of the speech wasn’t the issue though.

It was the substance. Especially after finding out that everypony on the Galloway had thought of him and Valkyrie as close friends, he’d clearly be expected to offer at least something that made it sound like that had been the case. Just a few vague platitudes that could have made it sound like he was talking about anypony weren’t going to suffice. He’d be expected to talk about her like she’d been special to him.

Slipshod grimaced. It’d been a while since he’d had to put on an act like that. Even his planetside daliences hadn’t needed him to come off as genuinely emotionally invested in their interactions. Just like him, they’d been interested in finding somepony to share a good time with, not a long time.

In fact, the last time he’d had to put on that kind of an act with anypony had been…

The stallion turned his head to regard the listless unicorn on his back. Squelch could testify to his abilities to affect a facade of emotional attachment and investment better than just about anypony else who knew him. He’d had her convinced in short order that he genuinely loved her. Enough so that she had agreed to marry him in less than four months, as Twilight had noted.

A trivial task, really, when one considered that he could read in real time how the unicorn had been feeling about everything that he said and did. As a result, he’d always managed to say exactly the ‘right’ thing to her. His every action towards her struck the proper cord, making the mare believe that the two of them shared a deep connection that signaled something special. The sex had been amazing too, as it had felt―to her―as though the two of them responded instantly to one another’s desires.

And every moment of it had been a ploy.

Admittedly, an ultimately ill-thought out one. That had been his mistake though. One that he’d corrected as quickly as he could, once he’d realized that he’d made it.

Though, despite his changeling senses making him particularly adept at manipulating his way into a creature’s good graces by playing off of their emotions, that would still leave one middling little snarl when it came to delivering his speech: Valkyrie wouldn't be there for him to play off of. He couldn’t sense the emotions of a dead pony. Especially one whose corpse was still on a frozen wasteland of a plant tens of millions of kilometers away and getting more distant by the second.

Playing off the audience would be risky. Too many different ponies with differing expectations. He’d end up being all over the place if he tried to appeal to the crowd’s communal senses. Especially when it seemed like so few of them had known Valkyrie on any sort of meaningful level beyond: Parasprite pilot. He’d somehow need to come up with genuine feelings to draw on.

Which was profoundly difficult for a changeling to do.

His ear flicked behind him as he heard somepony talking softly, “...show me d’way t’go home,” Squelch was chanting in a somewhat sing-songy voice. Her right forehoof was waggling lightly in time with the―groosly off―beat of her words. Mostly, “‘m tired’n’I wanna go t’bed. Had m’self a’drin’ bout’n’hour ago, an’it wen’ staigh’ t’my head!”

Slipshod turned his head away from the mare, wafting away at the air in front of him as his features creased with disgust, “went straight to your breath too, sheesh! And it was a lot less than an hour ago,” he pointed out to the inebriated mare, whose response was to mekely swat at his head with a hoof that seemed quite unwilling to comply completely with its owner’s instructions.

She stubbornly continued on with her singing, though she did raise the volume a bit, “where’e’er I m’roam, in space’n’sea’n’foam, y’can always hear me, sin’in’ my song: show me th’way t’my home!”

“By your command, Commander,” the earth pony chuckled as he brought them to the door leading into her quarters, “and here we are!”

He shimmied up to the keypad nearby so that Squelch could submit her personal code to get in. The sage unicorn turned her head and squinted at the panel in irritation. Likely because it was making less sense to her now than it typically did, and she was of a mind to ascribe malicious agency to the door on that count. After limply fat-hoofing a few buttons, she let out an annoyed grunt and turned away from the uncooperative keypad.

“Y’do it.”

“I don’t know your code, Squelch,” he reminded her gently, unable to keep himself from smirking a little.

“S’day you cheated,” she mumbled. Adding a half-hearted, “y’bastard,” a breath later.

The earth pony frowned at the revelation but diligently typed in the date without remark.

The door obediently slipped open with a welcoming chime and the stallion stepped inside. He gingerly sidled up next to her bed and carefully eased the quasi-fluidic unicorn onto the mattress. It was frankly always fascinating to him how amorphous ponies became when they were drunk enough. It was like the alcohol content of their blood had a direct correlation with the rigidity of their bones.

He tugged at the sheets, draping them over the prostrate mare, who shifted and snuggled with a contented sigh as she was deftly tucked in. Then the earth pony dragged over the waste bin and placed it near the head of her bed ‘just in case’. He stepped into her cabin’s attached latrine―which was notably bigger than the one that he had in his quarters―and retrieved a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin, placing them on the nightstand nearby.

“There you go,” Slipshod announced, looking around her cabin to see what additional precautions he should consider taking where her impending hangover was concerned. He glanced up and then reached over to dim the lights to a level that was unlikely to split her head open from the inside when they came on again later, “all ready to wake up regretting the day you learned alcohol existed!”

Squelch groaned in response and rolled in her bed to face away from him, pulling the covers tightly around her. She mumbled something that he could quite make out, and honestly doubted would have made much sense if he’d been able to hear it anyway, “I’ll take that as a ‘thank you’,” he said, heading for the door, “get some rest. I’ll handle things until you’re feeling better―”

The stallion stopped short at the door, as something had his tail rather firmly rooted in place. He looked back over his shoulder to see tendrils of cyan magic gripping him from behind, “...stay.”

Slipshod sighed, a wry smile winding its way across his lips as he nodded and turned around. Her magic faded away and the stallion daintily crawled up into the bed next to her, doing his best not to disturb the drunken unicorn. Her body squirmed and shifted until her back was pressed up firmly against him. The earth pony crossed his hooves, and craned his neck, laying his head down over the unicorn’s shoulder, looking down at her face.

Drunk though she may be, he features right now looked anything but relaxed or carefree. He reached out with his empathic senses and very quickly found the worry bubbling up within her, fighting its way to clarity through the alcohol, “m’scared.”

He frowned, feeling sympathetic for the mare. She was casting aside the life she knew―her entire world-view, in fact―on the say-so of a mare that she’d known for only a couple of months. It wasn’t even just her own future that was at stake either. She was risking her entire crew, nearly all of whom didn’t know anything about what was happening. Sometimes, operational security meant that she couldn’t tell everypony everything that was happening. That was the nature of the beast. But there was keeping a few mission details a secret, and then there was...whatever this was. The two honestly couldn’t be reasonably compared.

The reality of the Steel Coursers’ situation would come out eventually. Then what? What would the crew do? How would they react? What vengeance would they exact on Squelch for leading them down this path and putting all of their collective futures on the line like this? She could try to put the blame of him or Twilight, sure; but ultimately she’d been the one to make the decisions. She was the commander and owner of the company. The C-bit stopped with her.

She was right to be worried.

“I know,” he said softly.

It wasn’t much, he knew. Honestly, he didn’t have all that much else to offer. His ambitions lay far outside the considerations of a single ship’s worth of ponies. A battle to topple Chrysalis would certainly result in thousands, hundreds of thousands, maybe even tens of millions of deaths. Perhaps several billion or more, in the fullness of time.

What did one DropShip with a crew of less than a hundred matter when numbers like that were involved? What became of these ponies after he and Twilight were delivered into the hooves of the Disciples of Discord honestly didn’t matter. Not in the long run. Besides, everypony on this ship was a mercenary, why should they care who and why and where they were fighting for? The Hippogriff Combine, the Pony Commonwealth, the Federated Moons, the Our Worlds League, the Kirin Confederation, ComSpark, the Disciples―they all wanted to fight somecresture, and they all payed those who fought in one manner or another.

These ponies took on contracts from nearly any organization against any other. So it wasn’t as though they had any particularly strong allegiances towards any group in the Harmony Sphere. Would there really be that strong of an outcry about throwing in with the Disciples, as long as they were extended the promise of continued pay? Granted, the Disciples presumably didn’t pay in C-bits―for obvious reasons―but money was money, no matter the denomination it came in.

Besides, Slipshod was confident that he could come up with a plausible enough lie that would satisfy the crew, if it really came to it. The bridge crew had seemed eager enough to believe that this was all part of some elaborate ComSpark plot to infiltrate the Disciples. Once Squelch sobered up, he should be able to get her to pass that off as the ‘official’ purpose behind them doing all of this.

It certainly would explain why she’d been so mum about the details until they’d docked with whatever Disciple ship was out here: the crew had to be kept in the dark to avoid possible leaks to the Commonwealth until they were out of the Harmony Sphere.

The best part was: it was the sort of story that would hold up over the long term too. It could legitimately take years to get whatever information they decided they needed to get for ComSpark. So, reasonably, most of the crew shouldn’t get too suspicious if it was a while before they made their way back to the Sphere. There might be some grumbling about exceeding their previously agreed upon contracts, but Squelch could just extend them, citing ComSpark as the reason for the extenuating circumstances. Even those grumblings shouldn’t be anything a little bump in pay, or maybe some bonuses to make up for the inconvenience, couldn’t solve.

“It’ll work out,” he assured the unicorn, “you’ll see.”

The mare didn’t respond. She just closed her eyes. Slipshod remained in the bed with her for another ten minutes, until he was certain that she was genuinely asleep. Once her breathing had settled into the familiar soft snores that he remembered from their nights together, he carefully extracted himself from her bed and slipped out of the room; making sure to set up a ‘Do Not Disturb’ warning on the doorside panel.

Well, that was one minor crisis dealt with, he supposed. All that was left was to come up with what he was going to say in remembrance of Valkyrie…

Channel Lock did good work, Slipshod concluded, as he stepped into the ship’s galley three hours later. Something of an altar of sorts had been assembled on one side of the mess, hosting five holo-busts of the crewmares who’d died that day. A few already had little collections of offerings and tokens gathered around them, presumably left by ponies who’d known them. Slipshod inwardly cringed as he realized that he hadn’t brought anything specifically to leave as a tribute. As Valkyrie’s foremost ‘friend’ among the crew, he was probably expected to have done something like that.

Thinking quickly, the earth pony stepped up to the table with the holo-busts and very somberly removed a pin of a stylized robotic pony head and crossed lances from his duty uniform and placed it by Valkyrie’s image. He’d be able to get another of the company’s BattleSteed Pilot designators easily enough later. It wasn’t like anypony was going to jump him for being ‘out of uniform’ anyway.

He noted a couple of nearby ponies regarding his actions with approval. His respects properly paid, the stallion began making his way around the room, taking stock of who was in attendance and what they were doing. This was one of the most likely locations that he was going to find the other changeling, after all. Somepony here was going to be far more actively pepping the others up, he just had to figure out who―

“You made it!” a strawberry unicorn mare’s face popped up into his field of view, a glass of white wine floating in her magic. She pressed the fermented beverage to the earth pony’s chest, smiling at him, “I was honestly getting a little worried,” she admitted, biting her lip nervously for a moment before her expression brightened again, “but now we have everypony who was going to speak.

“There’s not any real order that I had planned, but I’m wondering if you wouldn’t mind going first?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” that was probably for the best, Slipshod decided. He’d be able to focus on the crowd without having to worry about when his turn was coming up. He took the offered drink in the crook of his hoof and redirected himself back towards the memorial altar. As though the ponies in the galley somehow were able to recognize the difference between a pony going up to offer a token, and one preparing to give a speech, Slipshod felt a hush slowly descend over the room.

He turned around to find that every other face in the room was looking in his direction, expectantly. All idle chatter had ceased, as they waited for the impromptu ceremony to get underway. The earth pony stallion suppressed a grimace, as he realized that while going first offered him an opportunity to conduct his audit of the attendees unmolested, it also meant that he’d be setting the standard for what was expected of the eulogizers. He hoped that what he’d managed to come up with passed muster.

It wasn’t as though he’d done a lot of these in the two years since leaving Equus.

Slipshod cleared his throat, glancing briefly at the monochrome image of a smirking pegasus mare with a short-cropped mane. He took a preparatory breath and looked back at the crowd, “us ‘Steed pilots, we go into this job with it always in the back of our minds that every mission could be our last. This job has risks. We know that, and we accept it,” a few ponies were sagely nodding their heads in agreement. He seemed to be on the right track, at least, “and for mercs, the job’s not about ‘duty’, or ‘honor’, or some noble higher calling,” he favored the crowd with a wry smirk, “it starts out being about the almighty C-bit.

“We live hard, on the chance that we’ll be able to retire young. Looking for the next big payday, and hoping that we don’t meet that HE shell with our name on it before we find it,” a few scattered chuckles, though there was certainly a bittersweet tinge to the mirth, “that’s how it starts anyway. You focus on yourself, think about your own bank balance, and get along with your life one day at a time.

“Then, one day you sign up with a crew that motivates you to fight for more than your own bottom line. You start going that extra kilometer. You put in that extra effort, because the ponies around you matter to you. Maybe even more than C-bits,” Slipshod grinned, “maybe,” some audible laughter this time. He was sensing a general upward trend in the atmosphere though. It was going well.

“That was Val,” Slipshod went on, “this ship mattered to her―this crew mattered. She put in that extra effort, tweaking the Galloway’s sensors until they were so finely tuned that they could detect a pony farting in their vac-suit on the other side of the solar system,” another chorus of gentle chuckles, along with a nod of agreement from a periwinkle pegasus mare who’d managed to steal herself away to the memorial despite still technically being on shift on the bridge.

“She was my eyes and ears on the ground, keeping my dumb, blind, flank out of trouble on every op. I can’t count how many times I’d have been killed if it wasn’t for her,” marginally true, if a little embellished, “this op was no different. She spotted that ambush before they could spring their trap,” that much was certainly true, “she’s why Purple Rose and I made it out, and she’s the reason that we completed the op,” he allowed his tone to become more somber now, as he headed into the bitter ending of his speech.

“She exposed herself to enemy fire in order to get a target lock that would have been impossible for any other pilot. Because completing the op was how this crew’d get paid. And this crew mattered to her. Mattered more than C-bits. Mattered more than her own safety.”

Correctly sensing that he was coming to a close, Cookie stepped out from the galley’s kitchen, balancing a tray on his back containing a bottle of Apploosa Estates and two full shot glasses. He slipped them onto the altar, where Slipshod put down his wine, picked up one of the shots, and faced Valkyrie’s image.

“Well, you mattered to us too, Val,” he stiffly touched his shot to the one by the pegasus mare’s image and then tossed it back. He suppressed a sour expression at the bitter brew. He could see why nopony else on the ship seemed to care for it. He honestly wasn’t a fan either. He placed the now empty glass back on the table, “and you’ll be missed.”

Slipshod picked up his wine glass and turned back to the crowd once more, who were now mutedly stomping their hooves in a reserved applause, most just finishing mirroring their own toasts to the dead ‘Steed pilot. It looked―and also felt―like the rest of the crew approved of the speech and the perceived sentiment behind it. Mission accomplished, it seemed.

Channel Lock stepped up to the stallion and embraced him in a tight hug, “that was lovely, Slip; thank you,” she pulled back a little, looking up at him, “are you okay?”

“I’ll manage,” the earth pony assured her with a somber smile. He leaned in and gave the Maresaille native a polite peck on each cheek before parting company with her to take up an unobtrusive spot near the back of the room where he could get a view of everypony else in the room. A few other ponies extended their own condolences and words of appreciation for his speech along the way, to which Slipshod respectfully responded to each in kind, a smile plastered on his muzzle.

“Blood Chit? If you’ll do the honors?” the unicorn technician hosting the event beckoned.

The stallion in charge of the Steel Coursers’ recovery teams stepped up to the front of the room, taking up a position next to the image of the unicorn mare who’d been killed on Twilight’s ‘Steed. He took a deep breath, “Lifeline was a good mare…”

The earth pony quickly tuned out the rest of the speeches. They weren’t why he was here anyway. His attention went exclusively to the crowd, and the ponies within it. The other changeling had to be here, just like he was, and for the same reasons. They’d be working the crowd, soothing emotions and raising spirits. More so than other ponies. They’d be moving from clique to clique, not limiting themselves to what would otherwise be considered their ‘circle of friends’.

That tended to be unusual in an organization like this. ‘Steed mechanics hung out with ‘Steed mechanics. Engineers hung out with engineers. Electronics techs hung out with electronics techs. It wasn’t a ‘rule’, per se. It was just how things tended to work out: ponies formed bonds with those they spent a lot of time with, and they spent most of their time with other ponies on their shifts. There were social butterflies on every ship, of course, and those were the ponies he needed to find and vet, because it was one of those ponies who was Chrysalis’ agent.

So he watched, and he waited. He made careful observations about which ponies were mingling with which groups, and whether or not they were migrating towards ponies from divisions of the ship that they’d have little expectation to encounter during their normal duties. Having once had a direct hoof in helping Squelch manage the outfit, Slipshod had a general idea of who worked where for the most part. He didn’t know everypony on the ship in serious detail, as there was always some turnover every few months, but he could look up records later using his old access codes if he really needed to.

Over the course of the rest of the service, he managed to compile a list of a few suspects that bore serious investigation. Three ponies in total:

A unicorn stallion who worked down in engineering, Arc Light, who was being a little more chummy with Rigger Brush and her team than he had any professional right to be. He’d been brought onboard six months ago, and Slipshod hadn’t had much cause to interact with him on a regular basis. He resolved to make an effort now though.

Then there was Dustoff, a pegasus mare assigned to Blood Chit’s team, who hadn’t spent hardly any time at all with those that had come to mourn Lifeline before meandering over to Channel Lock’s group of ‘Steed Bay mechanics, and then on to the ponies from the gunnery crews. That was an unusually wide social net to have cast, to be sure. It was definitely worth finding out what connections could possibly exist there.

Lastly, there was Wing Nut. Who...honestly was standing out by virtue of not standing out. They were one of the two vehicle mechanics who worked with Axel Rod in the Galloway’s garage. Slipshod was having a difficult time trying to place why the earth pony mare was even up here in the first place. They weren’t mingling with any of the other groups, and hadn’t seemed particularly invested in any specific eulogy. They were just kind of...there.

Not so very unlike what he was doing right now, honestly.

Slipshot narrowed his gaze at the mechanic, wondering if he might have actually managed to track down the most likely candidate to be a changeling spy. Not that there was any great hurry to nail down who it was just yet. He still had some time before action needed to be taken. The Disciple signal that they were heading to was almost certainly a Jump Ship. Why else be located at a Lagrange point? There was also no way that this system was only a single jump out from whatever planet they had their base on. Which meant that there’d be weeks of transit time ahead of them.

Plenty of time to thoroughly investigate all three of his suspects and present his conclusion to Twilight.

At which point they could then decide on how they wanted to handle things. Whether that meant disposing of said changeling quietly, or setting things up for the Disciples to find them out and try to capture the agent for interrogation. Slipshod knew for a fact that would be a useless endeavor, but there was no reason he could think that the Disciples would be aware of it.

The earth pony glanced at the time on his personal pad. It was nearing the time for their rendezvous with the Disciples. He slipped out of the galley and headed for the bridge. Squelch having drunk herself into unconsciousness was perhaps for the best. It meant that Slipshod could take charge of the situation and ensure that things went in the direction that he needed them to. Though he did need one other pony present with him.

“Flechette?” he spoke into his transmitter after keying in the desired recipient, “have Purple Rose brought to the bridge please.”

“Yes, sir.”

Slipshod closed the channel.

Time to join ‘The Resistance’, he thought with a smirk.

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