Slipshod stared at his hooves. It was safer than looking anywhere else. The broiling hatred oozing off of the Disciples surrounding him suggested that they were all willing to act upon any excuse that they could get their hooves on to justify causing him a great deal of pain. Not that the stallion thought that any of their superiors would put much effort into checking into whatever explanation any of these soldiers gave as to why they’d beat their changeling captive to within an inch of his life on the ride back from the Galloway. They’d only get in any real trouble if they managed to outright kill him. Even then, the only trouble they’d be in was for killing him before they could torture him to death.

So he continued to look at his hooves. Or, rather, more specifically, the blood on them.

Flechette’s blood.

Nopony would be getting in trouble for that either, he reasoned. Squelch would obviously be livid that her head of security had been gunned down by Disciple soldiers, but their justification would be difficult to dispute, even for the sage green unicorn. He’d attacked them, after all. Well, more accurately, he’d been trying to defend Slipshod. Or, at least, the creature that he’d always thought was Slipshod.

From the security pony’s perspective, things must have been so confusing. He’d known nothing of ‘changelings’, or the secret war being waged by the Disciples against Chrysalis and her agents saturated throughout the Harmony Sphere. He was just a security contractor, hired by Squelch to keep order on the Galloway. A job that that was foalishly easy to do, since the most he ever had to deal with was the occasional employee who’d drunk too much and gotten a bit too rowdy as a result. These past few months ‘guarding the prisoner’ had been the most ‘real’ work that Flechette had had to do since being hired.

Which wasn’t to say that he didn’t take his job seriously; he did. The safety and the security of the ponies on the ship mattered to him. He cared about his fellow Coursers.

So, when he’d seen Slipshod, a Steel Courser whose safety and wellbeing was his primary concern, in obvious distress, seemingly as a result of something that a zebra working with the Disciples, a cult of fanatic terrorists, had done to him, he’d acted. It really hadn’t been anything too threatening, in the grand scheme of things. He’d charged ahead to interpose himself between the Disciples and his comrade, his pinions going for his sidearm as a precautionary measure. Slipshod wasn’t sure that the pegasus had even drawn it from its holster.

The Disciples had seen things from a slightly different perspective though. They’d been focused on one of the monsters that they’d been fighting for centuries―perhaps the single greatest threat that ponykind had ever known. Then, suddenly, an armed pony that they didn’t know―and hadn’t yet screened with their weird green paste―had sought to keep them from their quarry. They’d yelled their commands, but Flechette would have been a poor excuse for a security pony if he simply stepped aside for anypony who screamed at him while he was near the Galloway, the place where―to his best understanding―he held jurisdiction, and the Disciples did not.

Flechette was dead before Slipshod was even aware that the pegasus stallion had been trying to protect him. The forced transformation had been far more shocking this time than when Twilight had dispelled his disguise. Likely a consequence of alchemy being used rather than true magic. The other Steel Courser security pony that had been with Flechette had probably survived by virtue of having poorer reflexes than his superior. He’d at least had the sensibility to not reach for his weapon when a half dozen armed and armored Disciple soldiers put him under their guns.

Nopony was that fast of a draw.

These were all events that Slipshod pieced together after the fact though. In the moment, he’d been too disoriented to understand what was happening. From his perspective, there’d been a stripped hoof covered in green oatmeal reaching for his face, a sensation of burning pain, Squelch yelling in his ear, a lot more yelling from ponies around him that weren’t Squelch, some gunfire, and then he’d been tackled to the ground by no fewer than three ponies wearing very heavy barding.

Now he was sitting shackled in the back of a Disciple APC being driven back to their DropShip with a dozen armed ponies surrounding him, each one seeming eager for any excuse to cause him a great deal of pain. Barring some sort of miracle, or an uncharacteristic display of ineptitude from the Disciples, he was a dead pony―well, changeling now, he supposed.

Obviously, they didn’t intend to just outright shoot him when they got back to their ship. They’d have just put a bullet in his head back at the Galloway if that were the case. Likely he’d be tortured for information first. Slipshod weighed his options in that regard. Strictly speaking, he doubted that there’d be any way to make that process more tolerable. Even if he was completely forthcoming and upfront with every one of his responses to their questions, they wouldn’t believe him. Not just because of how unsatisfying his answers would likely be to them, but because what changeling agent worth their slime just gave in to their interrogators? Clearly he was lying to them!

He could be a spiteful little asshole and either remain silent or feed them a bunch of obvious lies until they finally just washed their hooves of the whole thing and euthanized him. If he was going to die anyway, he would have liked to have at least performed one last act of spite against Chrysalis by spilling everything he knew to her greatest enemies. It would have given him at least some measure of satisfaction. But, if they weren’t actually going to believe him and make use of that information, then he’d have to derive his satisfaction from pissing them off.

Maybe if he feigned resisting their interrogations at first? Acted the part of the tight-lipped agent until he was finally ‘broken’ by their torture and spilled the beans? They might believe the intelligence he gave them then. It meant enduring a lot of agony, but, let’s be honest: he was going to be enduring just as much of it no matter what he did. Whether he was upfront and honest, spitefully silent, or anything in between, they were going to torture him to death ‘just to be sure’. He wasn’t going to be spared any measure of pain or suffering no matter what.

In the end, all that really mattered was: what did he want to do?

The changeling hid a smirk. Well, obviously he wanted to live, but that was off the table. Next best thing then: he wanted to fuck over Chrysalis. The best way to do that would be to give the Disciples the information that they needed in order to have the best advantage possible in their continued operations against her. Whether they chose to believe him or not, they’d still have the information. Maybe, someday, after they could independently verify some of what he’d said, they’d begin to trust the rest of it too.

He might not be around to see the fruits of his labors first-hoof, but he could at least die with the comforting thought that―someday―Chrysalis would fall. That was a better death than he could have hoped for a year ago. Which was something.

Slipshod hadn’t quite been able to avert the snort of amusement at the thought of so dismal a ‘silver lining’, and quickly set about masking it with a cough as several pairs of eyes glared in his direction. He was careful to still keep his gaze focused on his hooves. The changeling frowned now, idly rubbing at the drying blood. Not that he was able to do much more than smear it around a little.

He mentally sighed. Squelch was probably going to blame Flechette’s death on him, adding it to Val’s and the others from the ambush. That was her prerogative, and likely not an unfair characterization. The unicorn was going to be in a state, he imagined. Part of him was kind of disappointed that he wasn’t going to be present when she finally received the news about what he was. It was probably for the best. The Disciples might actually offer him a cleaner death than what would happen to him if Squelch got her hooves on him after that…

Another snort had to be turned into a cough.

Squelch indeed was in what would be termed in polite society as: ‘a state’. Most anypony else would have described her as ‘freaking out’ though.

Slipshod’s comlink had gone dead seconds after the gunshots had been fired, and nopony else she could raise on the Galloway seemed to have any more idea about what was going on than she did. High Gain was on the bridge, and hadn’t been told anything yet. Though a few dozen ponies had certainly reported hearing the gunfire as well. Her Chief of Security wasn’t answering his comm for some reason, and the unicorn figured that if anypony might know who was shooting and why, it would have been him.

Her messages to the doctor were going right to his voicemail, but she wasn’t quite as surprised about that. He was already being stretched well beyond the limits of anypony’s expectations for him as a result of the influx of hundreds of zebras for him to treat. Mig had only been able to tell her that the kirin thought the shots had come from the direction of where the Disciples had parked their APCs when they’d arrived at the Galloway, but she’d been using a grinder at the time, so she couldn’t be sure. The chief mechanic had reported seeing what looked like a lot of activity, but again that was hard to judge, since dozens of ponies had been milling about the armored vehicles since they’d arrived.

All that the sage mare had been able to confirm was that Slipshod had indeed gone out to meet with the Disciples, and that there had been gunfire in the area. Nopony knew if anypony had been hurt, and the Disciples had issued a lockdown order for the area. Beyond that, there wasn’t any additional information available. Neither from from her own ponies, nor from the Disciples here. Star Admiral Cinder’s aide had curtly informed Squelch that, as she was not a member of their crew herself, the unicorn mare was not authorized to know what may, or may not, be going on with their personnel.

When the mercenary company owner had pointed out that this incident had apparently also included Steel Courser personnel, she had been told that she should then seek out details from the Steel Coursers. The unicorn had ground her teeth so hard she made a note to consult a dentist to check for chipped molars the next chance she got.

Now she was on her way towards Axel Rod and her waiting company limousine. Her suit jacket was slung over her back, and her shirt was on but hanging open, as her concentration was simply too frazzled for her to properly work the buttons with her telekinesis. If she couldn’t get any details over comms, then she’d go to the scene and find out what was going on firsthoof.

She emerged from the Dropship to find her earth pony driver still idly mopping at his face with a rag. Unlike her, Axel Rod had not been given the benefit of a shower. He noticed her approach and quickly tucked away the cloth, walking over to open the door for her.

Suddenly, an armored form stepped in front of the unicorn, drawing her up short. She briefly gaped at the Disciple soldier before narrowing her eyes at him, her lips pulling back in a sneer, “out of my way,” she practically snarled at the other pony, “I need to get back to my ship.”

“Ma’am,” the Disciple pegasus stallion said in a stern tone, “until I have been given clearance by my superiors that you are permitted the leave, I cannot―”

“Fuck your ‘clearance’, fuck your superiors, and fuck you if you think you can stop me!” Squelch screamed at the now quite taken-aback pegasus, “one of my ponies might be hurt. I’m going to my ship,” she growled at the Disciple, “and if you don’t step aside now, I’ll drag your princess out here by her damn tail and make her order you to let me leave!

“I saved her fucking life, in case you haven’t heard,” she railed on, jabbing the stallion in his armored chest with her hoof, “she owes me for the next thousand years, as far as I’m concerned, and I’m not afraid to start calling in that marker right here and now to get your flank banished to fucking tartarus; so move!”

Admittedly, Squelch wasn’t certain if she actually had that kind of pull with Twilight. The alicorn seemed like a soft-hearted enough sort that she had to feel something was owed to Squelch and her mercenary company. At the very least the purple mare would give Squelch permission to return to her own damn ship. If this trooper wanted to make a big enough deal of all of this though, she might find herself detained in the brig or something until Twilight could be reached to clear things up. Celestia knew how long that could be. Minutes, hours, the rest of the day. Far longer than the unicorn wanted to be delayed, regardless.

The Disciple pegasus finally overcame his moment of shock and bristled at the sage green mare’s demands, glaring down at her, “Ma’am, I am ordering you to get back inside the DropShip until such time as I have been informed that you can leave the area,” his right wing lifted slightly, revealing a sidearm strapped to his withers.

Squelch didn’t miss the implication. She was also well aware that she had no recourse either. Neither she nor Axel Rod had any weapons. Not that drawing them if they’d had would have helped matters. The mare had no choice but to comply with the guard’s demands, not that that knowledge did anything to soothe her ire.

...No. No, she wasn’t just going to roll over and do what these ponies wanted. She might not be able to actually fight them, but that didn’t mean that she had to just submit either. If this stallion wanted to make a big deal about this, then she was going to let him, “fuck you,” she said to the armored soldier, and had the pleasure of seeing him look surprised once more. Clearly he was not used to not getting his way.

“Ma’am, if you don’t return to the DropShip, I will be forced to take you into custody,” he warned, “I don’t think you really want to go to the brig over this―”

“I want to go back to my ship and check on my ponies,” Squelch cut him off, “so you can either move, or take me to your brig. Your choice.”

The pegasus frowned and let out a resigned grunt, “fine,” he brought up his fetlock and spoke into it, “Main Entrance to Ops, I need a detention team here. Green unicorn mare refusing to comply with orders,” he eyed her carefully, “appears unarmed. Belligerent, but not combative. Over.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen ‘belligerent’ yet, trust me,” Squelch sneered at the guard, “allow me to tell you exactly what I think of you Disciples. First of all―”

The arrival of a pair of APCs distracted the mare from her intended tirade. The Disciple soldier as well seemed to forget that the two of them were involved in a heated exchange as he put a hoof to his ear and listened intently to whatever was being said over his comlink. A few seconds later, he seemed to forget about her entirely as he looked to the armored vehicles, his stance becoming much more rigid.

The unicorn mare glanced between the pegasus and the newly arrived APCs, “what? What’s going on?”

“Ma’am, go inside!” he barked over his shoulder. The stallion’s eyes darted briefly behind her before he looked back towards the wheeled troop transports once again.

Squelch nearly jumped in surprise when a hoof took her by the shoulder and attempted to draw her backwards. She wheeled around to find a pair of Disciple soldiers looking at her sternly. One of them held a pair of hobblers in her telekinesis, the other was floating a dampening ring, “you’re advised not to resist, ma’am.”

She very nearly jerked away, if only on instinct, but managed to retain enough dignity at least to remain still. She’d quite literally asked for this, after all. Her gaze darted to a quite obviously concerned Axel Rod, who looked like he was wondering if he was expected to intervene in some way to help his employer. The sage unicorn turned her head towards him and shook her head as her forehooves were fitted with the hobblers. There was no reason that the mechanic needed to suffer for her stubbornness.

Then she looked towards the APCs, and the Disciple soldiers that were filing out of the back of them. Specifically, her eyes locked onto the figure that was quite clearly not a Disciple. Nor a pony, she realized with stunned surprise. She didn’t know what it was; she’d never seen a creature quite like it before. Its shape was vaguely equine, yes, but the beast looked like something that would only come to creation if a mare fucked a cockroach.

Shiny black carapace, gossamer wings, bulbous blue eyes devoid of iris or pupil, and limbs that appeared to be perforated. The only word she could think of to describe it was: a monster, “what is that thing?” she couldn’t refrain from uttering the breathless question.

“A changeling,” the unicorn mare arresting her stated simply.

“That’s a changeling?” then the horrific realization crossed her mind, “that thing was on my ship?” Twilight really had been telling the truth about everything, the mare realized, a cold lump forming in her gut. She’d never suspected for a moment that any of the ponies on her crew weren’t, well...ponies. How long had that...thing been hiding out on the Galloway? Months? Years?

Her captors didn’t have any answers for her, only pulling her back to the edge of the boarding ramp as the column of Disciple soldiers escorted the bug pony thing into the DropShip. For a moment, she thought it looked at her. It was difficult to tell with eyes like that though.

One of the new arrivals from the APCs, a pegasus mare glanced at the trio, raising an eyebrow as she glanced between the Disciple soldiers arresting her, “what’s going on here?”

“This mare refused to remain confined to the ship, Point Commander. We’re escorting her to the brig.”

The pegasus nodded her understanding before looking back at Squelch, “you’re from that other DropShip, right? One of the mercenaries?”

“I’m Squelch, owner and Commander of the Steel Coursers Mercenary Company, and registered Captain of the DropShip Galloway,” she was pleased to note that she’d managed a properly imperious tone as she rattled off her titles. Not that the ponies around her sounded all that impressed. That was usually the case with ‘bona fide military’ types, honestly. The unicorn didn’t quite understand why soldiers who were part of ‘proper armies’ felt themselves superior to soldiers of fortune like herself. As thought fighting and killing for a House and an emblem was so much more noble than fighting for C-bits and fame.

“The commander, huh?” the officer mare frowned and then looked at the other Disciples arresting her, “let her go. Something tells me that the star captain’s going to want to talk with her.”

Without protest, the pair of armored ponies removed Squelch’s hobblers and the ring on her horn meant to mute her magic, though the sage mare barely noticed, as she was more intently focused on what the pegasus had said, “why? What happened on my ship? I heard gunshots.”

The point commander frowned, “there was an incident while we were capturing the changeling,” she admitted, waving a wing in the direction of the procession that was vanishing into the bowels of the Disciple DropShip, “Star Captain Honeycrisp will be able to give you the details on what happened. The rest of your crew’s been screened. You’re free to go.”

Squelch scowled at the feathered mare, frustrated that she’d finally encountered somepony who knew what was going on and still wasn’t being given any details. Didn’t she have the right to know what was going on with her own damn crew?! With a disdainful huff, the mare gathered her fallen suit jacket and stormed off towards Axel Rod and the waiting limo, “get me back to the Galloway. Now.”

“Right away, boss,” the earth pony nodded, closing her door before trotting over to the driver’s seat. Much to his credit, it did sound like he was pushing the engine’s revolutions into a range that wasn’t recommended by most mechanics.

“Well, that certainly explains how you got me those scrolls,” the purple alicorn said as she floated over another scone, having rediscovered her appetite amidst connecting with newfound family. Though there were certainly plenty of arguments that could be made one way or the other as to whether the princess and the star admiral were actually ‘aunt’ and ‘niece’, respectively. To that end, Star Admiral Cinder felt that she’d have met with significant resistance if she’d ever tried to make a familial bid for Twilight’s throne.

Not that she’d considered such a thing for even a moment. She was in the process of being groomed to eventually succeed her mother for the position of Dragon Lord, and rule over the associated Dragon Clans. While the laws of their race precluded a successor from actually being ‘appointed’, per se, there was broadly little doubt that she’d be the victor in whatever trial her mother established in order to evaluate and choose her replacement. Not because any of the various Khans of the Clans thought that Dragon Lord Ember would manipulate the test to favor her daughter, but rather because they knew that Star Admiral Cinder was genuinely that capable.

It wasn’t like Admiralties were given out to just anycreature, after all, especially in the Clans.

“My father figured that it might come in handy someday, Your Majesty,” the cobalt-blue dragoness nodded, “though, I will admit,” she added with some trepidation, “I had begun to wonder if I would ever have need of it.”

“Please, you can call me Auntie Twilight,” the mare insisted, grinning broadly, “or just Twilight. Or Auntie!”

Cinder cleared her throat, “as you command...Auntie.”

Now Twilight frowned, “that’s not a ‘command’,” she insisted, “it’s just...you’re Spike and Ember’s daughter! That makes us family. You’re not this formal with your mother, are you?”

“Certainly in public settings, I am,” the star admiral said, “and our private interactions are much rarer of late. My assignments keep me from home much of the time.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Cinder merely shrugged, “the price of doing one’s duty, Your―” the dragoness cocked a wry smile after catching herself, “Auntie.”

“Still, I couldn’t imagine being away from my friends or family for so long,” then a sad thought occurred to the alicorn, “...though, I guess from their point of view, I was. That’s probably going to be the weirdest part of all of this: seeing everycreature I ever knew having changed so much in what―from my perspective―has only been a few months.

“I know a little about what happened to some of my friends,” she continued, somberly, “I know Celestia, Luna, and Cadence were captured by Chrysalis,” she looked furtively at Cinder, “but I heard that Flurry Heart might be...dead?” she desperately hoped that wasn’t the case, and Slipshod had certainly suggested that it might not be.

Much to the alicorn’s immense relief, the dragoness smiled and shook her head, “Princess-Regent Flurry Heart is indeed alive and quite well...Auntie. She serves as the head of the aptly-titled Celestia League-in-Exile, of which the Dragon Clans are a part.”

“Thank Celestia for small favors,” Twilight said with a sigh of relief, with only a minor flash of bitterness upon recalling where Celestia currently was, “and where’s Discord? I assume that he’s at least somewhat involved with his unit’s namesake still.”

“Actually...no,” Cinder admitted, “Discord has been absent for a long while,” the alicorn’s eyes widened in stark surprise, prompting the dragoness to further clarify, “for all that he’s the ‘Lord of Chaos’, I think that the fighting was too much ‘chaos’ for him to stand.”

“That’s pretty hard to believe,” Twilight muttered with a frown, “he thrives on chaos.”

“He needs it to survive,” the admiral acknowledged, “that much is true; but I guess even he’s subject to the adage ‘too much of a good thing’. Everycreature needs water, but everycreature can also drown. I feel that’s what happened to him: he was ‘drowning’ in the chaos of a galaxy-wide war.

“He retreated to his realm not long after the fighting reached a fevered-pitch; and nocreature has heard from him since.”

“I see…”

Twilight frowned. That was unfortunate, and not just because her friend was suffering. Discord was an absurdly powerful being. She and the effort to restore the Celestia League would have benefited greatly from his help. Though, maybe it was for the best that he wasn’t involved. He derived his power from chaos. With the turmoil of thousands of worlds embroiled in a war spanning the whole of settled space…

...well, Twilight still recalled vividly how much trouble she’d had trying to contain and control the power of three additional alicorns. She didn’t want to consider what might have happened to her―and especially those around her―if a few hundred more alicorns worth of power had been stuffed inside of her. Would that much chaos energy overwhelm his reformed nature? She’d seen what his magic could do to others, even those who were pure of heart.

“Still, it’ll be nice to see Flurry Heart again,” the purple mare said, attempting to steer the conversation back onto more pleasant topics again, “maybe together we can start making a real push to defeat Chrysalis!”

“That has long been the hope, Auntie,” the dragoness nodded, offering her own smile in return, “we’re certainly glad to have you back sooner rather than later.”

“I’m glad to be back, but I’m sure that Flurry Heart has been doing a wonderful job in the meantime,” she paused and thought for a moment, “or at least as good a job as could be expected under the circumstances.”

“I apologize, that wasn’t what I meant to imply,” Cinder corrected carefully, “Princess-Regent Flurry Heart has performed commendably, yes,” she agreed, “what I said was in reference to the Dragon Clans,” her tone became significantly more somber now, and twilight couldn’t help but straighten up in seat as she took note of that, “they’ve become...uppity, of late.”

“Uppity?”

“After a fashion,” Cinder nodded, “our inherent nature as dragons can predispose us to avaricious ambitions. The Magic of Friendship and Dragon Lord Ember’s guidance has helped to curb the bulk of those desires over the last millenia or so, but…” she frowned now, shifting uncomfortably in her chair, “...well, it was much easier to do that when we still had other creatures to look to as aspirational examples.

“Now the creatures we once looked to for guidance on how to be friendly towards one another have apparently discarded those very ideals,” she shared a pointed look with the alicorn, “some time ago, a few of the Dragon Clans began to wonder aloud why we were still trying to cling to those ideals when even the bulk of ponykind had abandoned them.

“There is growing concern that they might invade the Harmony Sphere,” it was clear from Cinder’s tone, that the thought disturbed her, “and that they wouldn’t do so with the intent of helping the creatures within it.”

Twilight’s face blanched, “but Ember wouldn’t allow them to do that, right? She’s the Dragon Lord. The other dragons have to do what she says, don’t they?” the idea of a dragon invasion being launched upon the already violence-embroiled inhabitants of the Sphere was clearly quite upsetting for her to think about, and with good reason. The last thing that the galaxy needed was to be destabilized even further by a hostile dragon invasion!

The admiral proceeded to squirm uncomfortably in her seat now, “the other dragons ‘have to’ do what she says, only insofar as they believe that she could forcibly compel them to do her bidding by using the Staff of the Dragon Lord if they refused,” she clarified, “to be compelled in such a way is incredibly demeaning for a dragon―especially one who holds a position of authority, like a Khan―so dragons tend to follow whatever commands she gives without the need to be compelled. It allows them to retain their dignity and the respect of those they rule directly. However…” the admiral trailed off, furtively biting her lower lip.

“What?”

Cinder hesitated for several moments before finally quirking her mouth and rolling her eyes, “shells, it’s not like the princess doesn’t have a high enough clearance or a ‘need to know’ for something like this,” she muttered aloud, though she did still cast a glance around the otherwise empty room, as though to confirm that no other creature had wandered in during the course of their chatting. Star Commodore had left to attend to his duties a good while ago, leaving the pair quite alone.

She leaned over the table, her gaze intent on the alicorn, the implied seriousness of the matter even prompting Twilight to inch her head in closer as well, “some time ago, Dragon Lord Ember confided in me that the Staff hasn’t functioned in nearly a thousand years.”

“What?” Twilight’s startle exclamation left no doubt to her own surprise on the matter, “a thous―? She never mentioned that to me!”

“Likely out of embarrassment,” the cobalt dragoness acknowledged, “for obvious reasons, she has kept the matter extremely quiet. Confined to her immediate family, I believe. And Princess Flurry Heart, of course. If the Khans of the Dragon Clans were ever to learn that she could no longer wield the staff’s power…” Cinder shuddered, “it would be pandemonium.”

“What’s wrong with it? Is it broken?”

The dragoness shook her head, “Princess Flurry Heart doesn’t believe so, but she acknowledges that she isn’t familiar with dragon magic. For obvious reasons, the Dragon Lord is reluctant to broach the subject of the Staff with other dragons. Those who are wise and old enough to know what might be wrong with it are also the same dragons most likely to revolt when they learn they are no longer tethered by it as they once were.”

“That’s...not great,” a grandiose understatement if ever there was one, the alicorn knew, “I’m not very familiar with dragon magic either,” she admitted, flashing a sardonic smirk at the admiral, “as you can imagine, dragons aren’t too keen to share where they get their power from.”

Cinder nodded in understanding, “indeed,” then her expression became more concerned again, “but this has led to something of a downward spiral: Dragon Lord Ember knows she cannot compel any of the Clans to obey her, so she shies away from issuing any order that they might balk at, and is giving the Khans much more leeway where their conduct is concerned so as to avoid being placed into a situation where she is compelled to forcibly reprimand them and reveal the Staff’s impotency. Similarly, many Khans have begun getting more brazen with their actions and rhetoric. For which the Dragon Lord has only reprimanded them for verbally. She threatens them with use of the Staff if they should go too far, and that has been enough of a deterrent for the moment, but…”

“It’s only a matter of time before one of them calls her bluff,” Twilight finished in a resigned tone. Cinder nodded.

That was...hardly ideal, the alicorn thought to herself. A number of theories as to what might have gone awry with the Staff of the Dragon Lord bloomed and withered in her mind as she considered―and quickly dismissed―various possible causes. Most intriguing though was the timetable that had been outlined: the better part of a thousand years since it last worked? That meant that whatever was wrong couldn’t be connected to anything that had transpired since Chrysalis’ return.

Twilight wasn’t certain if that made things better or worse. Certainly it made things a little more personally concerning, as there was the possibility that it might be connected to something that she’d done.

The purple mare took a deep breath and extended her hoof from her chest out to the side, feeling herself begin to recede back from the manic state that she’d been working herself into fretting over the Staff. Certainly there was no use putting too much thought to the matter when she hadn’t even seen it yet. Finding the problem, and formulating a solution, would have to wait for that much at the very least.

On that note: “how long will the trip take to reach...Somni Patrium?”

“Not long,” Cinder assured the princess, “a jump chain is in place beyond the Periphery, waiting to ferry this DropShip back to Clan space. A couple weeks, at the outside.”

“And what of the Steel Coursers?” Twilight asked.

The dragoness hesitated for several moments, “they will be coming with us,” she stated simply.

The purple mare frowned. She had not completely approved of the tone with which Cinder had said that, “what is to become of them?”

“Nothing,” the star admiral replied, still sounding a little confused, “I mean, we certainly aren’t going to harm them, or anything like that,” she assured the alicorn adamantly, sounding a little offended at even the notion that that might have been the assumption, “however, as they have all seen the Rockhoof, they cannot be allowed to return to the Harmony Sphere.”

“So...what? They’ll be imprisoned back on Somni Patrium until Chrysalis is defeated?”

The star admiral was squirming uncomfortably beneath her monarch’s gaze once again, knowing that the answer that she was about to give wasn’t going to be as well-received as she might have hoped, “essentially? Though, I assure you that they won’t be confined to anything even remotely like a prison cell. They certainly won’t be treated like criminals. They will be set up with proper homes and a modest living stipend to support themselves. They’ll even be free to pursue vocations if they wish―and still receive the stipend.

“They simply will not be permitted to leave Clan space until we have managed to finally defeat Chrysalis,” she finished, looking expectantly at the princess and hoping that her response had been found to be satisfactory.

“Knowing full well that it could take years―even decades―to complete such an invasion,” the dragoness was forced to acknowledge the possibility beneath the alicorn’s cool gaze, “perhaps the rest of their natural lives.”

“Word of our true capabilities cannot be allowed to reach the changelings, Your Majesty,” the star admiral insisted in a deferential tone, falling back into the formal relationship of a military leader and her monarch, “Chrysalis’ mistaken belief in her own superiority is our greatest asset at the moment. With the level of control she exercises over the Harmony Sphere, she has access to the raw materials and industrial capacity to outproduce the Celestia League-in-Exile. If she thought―if she even suspected―that anycreature else in the galaxy possessed a genuine navy, or an entire corps of BattleSteeds not under her influence, she’d begin a massive production effort to give her an indisputable advantage over it.

“If that happens…” the star admiral shook her head in resignation, “we’ll never be able to retake the Harmony Sphere. Chrysalis will have well and truly won, Your Majesty.

“The crew of the Galloway simply cannot be allowed to return to their homes. I’m sorry.”

“What of their families?”

The admiral balked again, “I...um,” she clearly had no response to that point.

Maybe she couldn’t do anything about the Red Reivers―not right this moment, anyway―Twilight admitted, but this much at least, she could do to help, “may I assume that the Clans operate a spy network within the Harmony Sphere?” the dragoness nodded. Twilight had figured that had to have been the case; and that it was a rather talented one. After all, they had known who she was with, and where to find her, almost as quickly as the changelings had, “then I shall have a list of the families of the Galloway’s crewmembers sent to you, and you will forward it, along with whatever proof of my authority is required, to the appropriate field agents, with instructions that they are to move those families into whatever protective custody is necessary to ensure they are safe from Chrysalis.

“Bring them all the way back to the Dragon Clans if that’s what it takes, and they are willing to come. Whatever must be done, they will be protected from Chrysalis. Am I clear on that point, star admiral?” the alicorn’s tone left little doubt as to the finality of this command, and so the dragoness nodded.

“Yes, Your Majesty. The arrangements will be made as quickly as possible.”

Twilight sighed now, resentful that a meeting that had taken such a warm and inviting turn should end on so formal a note. The pitfalls of leadership, the alicorn supposed. Still, with the next month to spend together, the two of them might still manage to form close bonds of genuine friendship, “thank you, Cinder,” she said, mustering a wan smile. Then she stretched her wings and touched the now thoroughly dried paste that was still spread across her face, her lips crinkling in a tiny smile as she recalled a future-that-never-was.

“And now, perhaps, I should follow Squelch’s example and seek out a shower.”

“A suite has been prepared and is waiting for you...Auntie,” Cinder said, standing up from the table and gesturing towards the door, “I’ll show you the way myself.”

“Thank you, Cinder. That’s very kind of you.”

Squelch stood in the infirmary of the Galloway, staring at the body of her chief of security as it lay beneath the sheet on the retractable locker slab. Her expression was cold and impassive, betraying nothing of the maelstrom of emotions that raged beneath it. The cherry red earth pony Disciple officer in charge of the screening operation here had been sympathetic, and acknowledged that the outcome had not been ‘ideal’, but had stood by the actions of her soldiers and their decision to open fire.

The Steel Coursers’ commander didn’t agree with the justifications as they had been presented to her, but she wasn’t a ‘fighting pony’ at heart. She freely acknowledged that she lacked the training, experience, and expertise, to evaluate when lethal force was acceptable. Squelch had traditionally relied upon the conclusions of those around her who did know better. In this case, she would have deferred to Flechette’s guidance.

But she couldn’t of course. Not this time.

He was dead. Killed in the confusion that arose from the exposure of a monster hiding in the midst of her crew. A monster that the Disciples now had in their custody.

As a result, it wasn’t the other soldiers that Squelch held responsible for this. It was that creature. It was their fault. That alone would have been enough to fill Squelch with a desire to see it punished. However, an additional reason to despise it was also present, “...you’re sure it was him?”

The only other living pony in the clinic at the moment, the other security pony who’d been present when Flechette had been killed, nodded, “yes, ma’am. It was Captain Slipshod. When the zebra put that stuff on his face he―it―changed into that thing…” the guard trailed off, clearly still trying to process what they’d witnessed.

Squelch could empathize. She was having trouble coming to terms with it as well. Slipshod? The stallion that they’d all known and trusted for years? An imposter? A monster? It was difficult to believe. Yet, the evidence was indisputable. Some of it was lying cold and dead right in front of her.

“That you, corporal,” the mare said in a cool tone, “you may return to your duties. See if you can track down the doctor. Tell him, when he gets some time, that I’d like to review Slipsh―that thing’s―medical records,” if changelings were going to be a part of her reality, she wanted to know as much about them as possible, in order to avoid something like this happening in the future.

“I...yes, ma’am,” the security pony said before withdrawing from the infirmary.

Squelch stood in silence, staring at the slain pegasus stallion for another minute or so. Finally, she reached out with her telekinesis and depressed the controls that would retract the slab into the locker, where the body would be preserved until they could return it to his next of kin. Whenever it was that they finally made it back to the Harmony Sphere, that was.

She began to seethe now, her lip curling in a hateful sneer. Nopony on the Galloway was talking about it yet―at least not where she could hear it―because they all had much more pressing matters occupying their thoughts. But once the current crises were dealt with, these events would finally start to gain traction. About how a creature who could look like any of them had been hiding out on the ship, undetected. They’d start to ask what it was, and where it had come from.

‘Infiltrating the Disciples’, the green mare snorted at the thought. That cover story was going to unravel any day now. Ponies would start to demand the truth―and they’d damn well be entitled to it too. What would happen then? Clearly there’d be no going home for any of them, not if this was a war that had been going on in secret for so long. So what would happen to them?

Damn that creature, and damn her for giving in and letting it spin that bullshit story to feed to the crew. She should have come clean to them from the onset. Now she was going to be left to clean up its mess. That much was partly her own fault, she knew, and she was prepared to face the repercussions for that.

Which wasn’t to say that the unicorn wasn’t also interested in obtaining the justice that was due her.

Squelch walked to the clinic’s storage cabinets and tapped in her personal code, overriding the lock. The door obediently opened. She looked over the shelves, scouring them for what she was seeking. While she might not have been a medically trained pony, she wasn’t completely ignorant of all things pharmacological either. Running a mercenary outfit was a very stressful job. She’d had more than a few restless periods in her life, and had needed some help getting the sleep that she knew she needed.

The mare soon found what she was after and filled a syringe with the contents of the vial. If Doc Dee complained about her ‘stealing his medications’, she’d just point out who had bought them for him in the first place. She capped the hypodermic and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket. The unicorn then left the clinic.

Just one more quick stop to make before finding Axel Rod so that he could take her back to the Disciple DropShip.

Slipshod craned his head up, looking first to his left, and then his right hoof, noting the shackles that were suspending him from the ceiling of the surprisingly well lit room. Somehow he’d formed this mental image of being dragged to a place that was damp, and dingy, and dimly lit. However, he’d been surprised to discover that the cell he was being kept in was actually quite well illuminated. It was also quite clean and the humidity was on par with any other part of the DropShip. Likely just a consequence of being a contained environment. Dampness and the potential mold that such a condition could produce probably didn’t work out well for a spacefaring vessel and its life support systems.

The restraints and the tray with the assortment of concerning-looking implements, those were matching with his expectations pretty well though. His imagination was already starting to run a little wild with how a few of them might be creatively used. While there wasn’t anything quite as intimidating as a spark-battery with leads hooked up to it, the changeling was feeling a little put off by the quantity of tools that had blades of some sort attached to them.

...and was that a...small circular saw?

Okay, that had him feeling a little uneasy about how these sessions might go down.

The door opened, drawing the changeling’s attention to the new arrival to his cell. He was a little surprised to see that it was a griffon who had come to see him, though they were clearly still a Disciple, by the uniform that they wore. The pink-hued hen adjusted her wire-frame glasses as she reviewed some papers on a clipboard that she was holding in one of her clawed hands. Her tail flipped out and smacked the door controls, closing it behind her, as she walked calmly up beside the restrained changeling.

She didn’t say anything at first, and Slipshod was unsure if he’d be punished in some way for speaking out of turn. He couldn’t sense anything overtly hostile or malicious coming from the griffon, so he didn’t think she was the type to be gratuitously cruel. On the other hoof, the sheer indifference she was exuding was also a little concerning in its own right. He might as well be a decorative wall piece to her, for all the acknowledgement that she was giving him. In fact, a piece of art might have actually evoked stronger emotional reactions than what he felt from her. He suppressed a grimace at his lack of insight into the new arrival and decided that it was best to just ere on the side of caution for now and remain silent until directly addressed.

The griffon seemed to be less interested in him than his restraints, inspecting all four of the shackles and chains attached to his limbs. She appraised their tightness on his joints, and then how securely their other ends were mounted into the walls of his cell. She made a note on her clipboard and then stepped over to the table full of implements. These she tallied and counted, making additional marks on her paperwork. All the while operating in complete silence.

It was honestly getting a little unnerving how little attention that the griffon was paying to what Slipshod would have expected to be the most interesting thing in the room: the changeling prisoner.

“Age?”

Slipshod blinked. The question had come so suddenly and stoically that, at first, the changeling hadn’t even realized that it was a question, let alone one being addressed to him, “huh? Oh, um, twenty-five Standard Equus Years?” he hadn’t meant to sound unsure, but he was still a little taken aback that that had been the first thing that any of the Disciples had wanted to know about him.

Not: “what’s your mission?” or “how long have you been on the Galloway” or “what does Chrysalis know?” Instead, they wanted to know his age? Why? What use could that be to them?

The griffon hen nodded, made a notation on her clipboard, then set it down on the tray and picked up the small circular saw. She depressed the button on it, prompting the blade to spin up to full speed with a high-pitched whine that chilled the changeling’s blood. A second later, having confirmed that the battery possessed a full charge, the feathered Disciple walked over to Slipshod.

“Woah, hey!” he instinctively tried to recoil away from her, but that was nearly impossible for him to do to any meaningful extent, suspended as he was, “what gives? What are you going to do with thaAAARG!”

It was up for debate what echoed more loudly in the small cell: his scream, or the sound of his carapace being carved away by the spinning blade of the small circular saw.

Three times it bit into him, and each of those times it was like a fire had been lit inside of him. Each time, a scream tore from his lungs as if in an effort to somehow expel the pain from his body upon his breath. Those efforts were to no avail, of course. The pain remained, only growing in intensity with each successive slice into his carapace. Only after the third cut did the griffon stop, floating away with a few deft flaps of her rosy pink wings. The saw clutched in one hand, and a small triangular piece of his excised exoskeleton pinched between the talons of her other.

Much to his relief, the griffon set down the saw and turned her focus to the sample of shell that she’d taken from him. This she scrutinized with the aid of a loupe for several long seconds. She then discarded it into a nearby bin and turned back to her paperwork, making a note and murmuring under her breath, “age confirmed...at...twenty-five...SEYs...”

Slipshod hung, panting as the pain continued to wrack his body from where the griffon had just―literally―carved out a piece of him, “what the fuck...” he gasped, “why…?”

“Role?” There wasn’t the slightest hint from the griffon that she’d heard his question. Beyond that, the changeling noticed with some confusion, he still wasn’t getting an emotional reading on the hen. She hadn’t enjoyed doing that to him, nor did she seem to regret it either. She’d just...done it. Like she was slicing a brown patch from a banana.

“...Infiltrator,” the changeling said, swallowing back his mounting dread. His mind raced with thoughts about how the griffon might seek to independently verify his response, and how painful any of those methods might be.

The hen nodded, made her note, looked at the array of implements at her disposal. She retrieved an oral retractor and a scalpel. The griffon then turned back towards the strung up changeling, who had just felt his mouth go dry with dread, “what are you going to do with―awk!”

Slipshod’s question was cut off as the griffon reached up and fearlessly grabbed onto his jaw with her talons, yanking down on his chin and slipping the retractors in with a practiced deftness that surprised him. A few quick twists and the changeling found that his mouth had been spread open to a painfully wide degree. He was pretty sure that the hinges of his mandible were being pried out of their sockets, in fact.

Then the scalpel went to work. The screaming soon followed.

He tried to pull his head away, but his captor retained an impressively firm hold of his jaw with her other hand, clamping her talons onto the metal device which was keeping his mouth open. Pain and fire burned along his pallet as she did...something with the razor-sharp surgical implement. He began to choke after a few seconds of cutting as ichor dribbled down the back of his throat. Still, through all of his convulsions, he couldn’t pull away. Panic welled up within the changeling as the sensation of fluid pouring freely down his throat convinced his body that he was in the midsts of drowning. Some of the ichor was certainly going into his lungs, but he genuinely doubted it would be enough to kill him.

No that that knowledge was enough to overcome the instinctive terror coursing through him.

“One...aaannnnd...two sedative sacs,” the griffon mumbled to herself before receding from the changeling. She flipped the release on the oral retractors and tore them from Slipshod’s mouth. The changeling immediately began to hack and cough as he sought to expel the fluids that had taken up residence in his lungs. Droplets of green ichor splattered onto the floor below him. The griffon returned the implements to her tray and made another note on her paperwork, “confirmed...infiltrator...type...drone.”

When the worst of his upheavals finally subsided, the changeling hung his head forward, his jaw slack, as rivlets of green fluid continued to dribble onto the floor from the open cuts on the roof of his mouth. His eyes were wide from the shock of what had just happened to him, as well as the continued lack of emotional sensation he was getting from the griffon.

She wasn’t feeling anything from this.

What was any of this supposed to accomplish? Were they performing some grotesque sort of ‘assessment’ of his reliability by asking him questions that they could objectively confirm? While he could see some merit in doing something like that, it ultimately didn’t make sense. He’d have had to have been an idiot to lie about things that were so easy to prove were lies. And it wasn’t like they could objectively prove the answers to some of the more pertinent questions they were eventually going to ask him. What ‘medical evaluation’ could they do on him to confirm the number of WarShips that Chrysalis had in Equus orbit, or the reserve fleet staged a few lightyears out in a nearby otherwise-uninhabited system?

At this point, his situation felt less like an ‘interrogation’, and more like a ‘cataloguing’, if anything.

“Sex?”

Slipshod’s head shot up, his eyes growing wide as he saw the hen turning to face him, an oscillating saw clutched in her hand. She gave the trigger of the cutting tool a quick test pull. The whir its motor made alone was enough to make the changeling start screaming again.

Princess Twilight Sparkle stepped out of shower and into the adjoining full-body dryer that was attached to the washroom of what the ship’s directory identified as “The Royal Chambers”. The purple alicorn had to admit that the designers had certainly not overlooked any amenity when it had come to crafting the suite. She knew that these sorts of quarters were nowhere near standard fair for a DropShip of this class. Clearly this vessel had been tasked specifically for her retrieval from the Harmony Sphere, and outfitted accordingly.

The closet―which alone was larger than her quarters aboard the Galloway had been―had been stocked with dozens of elaborate garments all sized for her specifically. None of them were articles that she’d worn prior to her entering stasis, as five centuries was far longer than any fabric had a right to last and still be serviceable, but the styles were perfectly on par with what she had worn during most of her rule over the Celestia League. She’d chosen a soft yellow gown and laid it out on the absurdly large bed to put on once she was done with her shower.

Blasts of first cool, and then progressively much warmer air assaulted the alicorn from all sides as the dryer sought to wick away most of the water dripping from her body. Her horn began to glow as Twilight used her magic to levitate and spread out her mane and tail in order to expedite their drying process. She looked down, admiring her coat which now seemed to positively glisten in the aftermath of the conditioners that had been made available for her use.

After several minutes spent lingering in the invigorating heat of the dryer long after she was properly dry, the alicorn returned to the sleeping quarters part of her suite and began donning her dress. She had noted as well that a set of regalia had also been provided. The genuine article too, she noted after a brief period of inspection. Obviously smuggled out of the Sphere, likely by Spike himself. She’d have to remember to add that to the list of things to thank the dragon for.

As she regarded herself in the full-length mirror next to her vanity, the mare’s smile faltered at the thought. From her perspective, she’d been gone only a hoofful of months. Barely anytime at all when compared to the average time it took to travel across the galaxy using Jump Ships. She’d certainly been away from Spike and the rest of her Court at Canterlot for longer periods of time in the past. Yet, from the purple dragon’s perspective...it had been far longer.

Five hundred years.

How much would he have changed in that time? She wanted to think that he hadn’t. How silly a thought that must have been, that her nearest and dearest companion might be different from how she remembered him, after having known him for a millennium. He hadn’t changed hardly at all in that time, after all, right?

That was how it felt, anyway. Twilight knew that the reality would be different. Ponies―and other creatures―changed over time. Molded by their experiences. She wouldn’t have noticed over the centuries as she changed with him, increment by increment. It would have been difficult―if not impossible―for her to tell. But now she would be skipping over five centuries of Spike’s personal development. She’d meet him, expecting the dragon to be exactly how she’d left him, and that wasn’t the individual that she was going to meet.

This Spike will have been changed by centuries of strife, and fighting, and loss. Twilight had only experienced it for a few months and could feel the effect it was having on her, emotionally. How jaded might she become after a year? A decade?

Would she even still recognize her oldest and dearest friend?

That thought chilled the alicorn. She didn’t want the galaxy to be such a vastly different place. She needed something to be unchanged, so that she could try and anchor herself. Her emotions were already so frayed from the past few weeks, and the suffering that she’d borne witness to. A nice brunch with her new niece had been a pleasantly refreshing diversion, at least. The shower and being surrounded by all the trappings of her royal position had briefly taken her back to a better time, before the Celestia League had begun to fracture.

Perhaps that really wasn’t for the best―to escape to delusions of normalcy in a galaxy that clearly didn’t fit her personal definition of what ‘normal’ was anymore. But she liked it nonetheless, and she wanted more of it. As long as she didn’t fully retreat into those delusions it would be fine, she suspected. Just those occasional indulgences, in order to help her ease into acclimating to the ‘new normal’.

A temporary ‘normal’, the alicorn thought to herself with finality.

She’d get the galaxy back to the way it was―the way it was supposed to be―soon enough. Too many lives were counting on her for her to fail them.

A terminal beeped at her, flashing an alert for an incoming message. The purple mare reached out with her magic and accepted the summons, “yes?”

“Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty,” a mare’s voice said over the speaker, “there’s a Miss Squelch at the entrance stating that she has an appointment to see you?”

Twilight frowned. She didn’t recall the two of them arranging a specific time to speak. Regardless, she supposed that the least that she could do was speak with the mare. It would give her a chance to confirm with the mercenary commander that measures would be taken to protect the families of her crew. She did also need to obtain a list of those family members anyway. A meeting was probably a good idea, “yes, please send her up.”

“Understood, Your Majesty. I’ll call for security detail to escort her immediately―”

“That’s hardly necessary, I think,” Twilight sighed, “Commander Squelch is perfectly capable of making her way to my quarters. Just direct her where to go,” forgoing all of this excessive security for a moment was going to be another of the alicorn’s little indulgences. She understood the justification for them, but honestly they just made her feel uncomfortable. Harmony was never going to flourish if they remained so suspicious of one another all the time.

“...as you command, Your Majesty,” the purple mare grimaced at the response that sounded as though the guard pony was far from thrilled at the order. Twilight really did have a long way to go when it came to reeducating ponies about friendship, didn’t she?

She should have a talk with Cinder about that. There would be months to go before they arrived in Dragon Clan space. Perhaps the star admiral could be persuaded to allow Twilight to host some classes on the Magic of Friendship? Well, strictly speaking, the alicorn knew that she could just order the dragoness to have her crew attend those classes, but that was hardly an ideal way to set the tone for those lessons, wasn’t it? She would ask, and make it known that attendance was encouraged, but absolutely not compulsory.

One DropShip crew might not be much when compared to a whole galaxy containing trillions of beings, but the alicorn knew that she had to start somewhere!

She used her magic to open up a new channel, “Cinder? Might we talk for a moment in my quarters when you have some time?”

Squelch strode purposefully down the corridors of the Friendship-class DropShip. She was familiar with their layout, having been on several during the course of her life. She’d actually worked on one in her youth as a personnel officer before deciding to strike out on her own. Which was how she was able to navigate herself, not to the overflow cargo bay that had been converted into an oversized executive suite, but instead to where the brig was located.

Nopony who even spared the time to notice her gave the unicorn a second glance. After all, if she had made it past the front door onto the ship, then clearly she had been cleared to board. Similarly, if she was without an escort, then she also clearly did not require one. That marked her as somepony of importance, and none of the lowly techs going about their day were interested in antagonizing somepony who might be important enough to get them in trouble with their supervisors.

In that way, military structure was a lot like corporate structure: you didn’t stray outside of your prescribed lane. It just got you into trouble more often than not.

It didn’t take her long to get to the brig. As she arrived, she saw a uniformed Disciple soldier speaking with a pink-feathered griffon hen. The griffon was just finishing up wiping her talons off on a rag that bore a number of odd green stains. The unicorn stayed back, watching the exchange from just around the corner. She couldn’t quite hear what they were saying, but it didn’t last for very long. Less than a minute after Squelch had arrived, the griffon nodded to the Disciple pony and stuffed the rag into their pocket before walking away.

Once the griffon was gone, and only the single guard remained, the sage mare took a deep breath and made her presence known, “good afternoon,” she greeted pleasantly as she approached the guard.

The Disciple jerked a little, clearly not having expected anypony else to show up quite so soon, and certainly not anypony who wasn’t dressed in a Disciple uniform of some sort, “can I...help you?” the stallion asked, looking Squelch over suspiciously, “are you lost?”

“I hope not,” she cocked a wry smile, “I was looking for the ship’s brig. Is this it?”

“Yeah, but―”

“Good,” the unicorn mare smiled. Before the Disciple could react, the syringe in her pocket darted out, the cap flicking off as it plunged itself into the stallion’s neck. The guard tensed, reached for his sidearm with his own magic, but the telekinetic field almost immediately faltered and fizzled. He fumbled for his comm to no avail, made an anemic attempt to yell out, and then collapsed to the floor. Squelch placed a hoof to the side of his neck, noted the presence of a pulse, nodded to herself, and stepped past the body.

She looked down the hall and the rows of opposing doors that each led to holding cells. There weren’t a lot of them, only six. Even on a ship this size, they didn’t anticipate a great deal of trouble, or need to incarcerate a lot of ponies. In fact, Squelch strongly suspected that only one of them was occupied at the moment.

After all, only one of the doors appeared to be locked.

The mare’s horn glowed as she rifled through the pockets of the slumbering stallion’s uniform before finding an identification card. She stepped up in front of the locked door, and held the badge in front of the keypad next to it. A second later there was a pleasant-sounding beep and a flash of green light. The door slid open.

What the unicorn saw in the cell made her take a step back in shock.

She’d seen the changeling as it was being led into the DropShip less than an hour ago. She’d been ready to confront that alien black creature again. What she saw now though...wasn’t that. At least, it wasn’t only that. The insect-like equine form was suspended in the air by shackles affixed to the corners of the cell. Below it was a pool of green fluid, some of which was still continuing to leak out of several portions of its shell that looked like they’d been cut away.

Her gaze darted briefly to the table nearby that was laden with various tools and cutting implements, most of which were still stained green. The mare’s instinctive reaction was horror. The idea of torture held no appeal for the unicorn. In her mind, it didn’t gain anypony anything worthwhile. It was just a way for the torturer to gratify some dark desire within themselves. It repulsed her.

Then she remembered that the thing hanging in front of her wasn’t a being worthy of her pity. It was a changeling. And whatever Princess Twilight might claim that they had done to ponykind in the past, Squelch knew that this particular monster had done something unforgivable vile to her.

So, in this case, she wasn’t sorry that it had suffered. If anything, she regretted that it hadn’t suffered more.

The door closed behind her.

Squelch didn’t say anything at first, instead listening to the ragged, pained, panting of the changeling. Green fluid, that she took to be the creature’s blood, flowed steadily from its jaw, expanding the pool that was congealing on the floor. Slowly and jerkily, it raised its head and looked at her. It was difficult to tell, but she thought that she saw its eyes widen in surprise at her presence. It tried to say something, but almost immediately choked and began to cough, expelling more ichor.

The mare sneered at the sight, briefly rethinking her plan. Maybe it was better that she left it like this. Allowed its suffering to be prolonged at the hooves of the Disciples.

...No. She deserved satisfaction for the wrongs committed against her.

Squelch’s horn glowed, and a pistol floated out from within her jacket. The unicorn glared up at the monster hanging before her, as the barrel of the weapon positioned itself beneath the changeling’s chin and pressed up against its flesh there, forcing the creature’s head upwards so that it was looking at her. She narrowed her blue eyes at the monster, growling up at him, “when did you do it? When did you kill Slipshod?”

The changeling’s mouth moved for several seconds as it swallowed back the blood filling its mouth, “...didn’t,” it rasped.

“Liar!” she snarled, drilling the pistol deeper into the creature’s jaw, “I know you’re lying; because I know he changed! You’re not the stallion I married, so I know you replaced him. When did you do it? How long ago?!”

“...s’always me,” the bug pony choked out, stubbornly.

“Liar!” the unicorn mare screamed again, her eyes burning with tears that threatened to break free down her cheeks, “the Slipshod I married wouldn’t have cheated on me! He was good, and kind, and he loved me! You’re not that pony!

“So when did you kill him?! Tell me!”

The changeling closed his eyes, swallowed, and then began to mutter something that was hard to make out at some parts, “you didn’t want to be like your mother.”

Squelch blinked in surprise, the gun lowering slightly in her shock, “...what?”

“The week before the wedding,” the changeling said huskily, coughing out some blood, “we were talking about foals. You said you didn’t want any. You were terrified that you’d turn out like your mother; putting work before family. You didn’t want a foal to grow up in a home like yours. Foals deserved love, you said, but you knew that the Coursers would always come first in your life,” he looked down at her, a little smile tugging at what was left of his chitinous lips, “you even had yourself fixed, just in case; years before we met.

“You cried because you thought I’d want foals and call off the wedding when you told me the truth.”

“You...you couldn’t know that unless…” the mare swallowed, staring at the creature in disbelief. The changeling nodded slowly. It wasn’t mocking her though, or trying to taunt her. If anything, it seemed resigned, “...what was I to you? Did you actually love me?”

For a moment, it looked like the creature was about to smile and nod, then it caught itself. It’s big blue eyes stared down at the unicorn for several long moments. Then a wan smile spread across its mouth and it began to slowly shake its head, “...I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

She almost believed him. Regarding the apology anyway. She completely accepted the truth of the first part, “then why...all of it? The lies, the marriage? Why?”

“Food,” the changeling said, offering a weak, sardonic, smile, “changelings survive off of feelings of love. I figured if I got somepony to fall in love with me, it’d be a life-long mealticket,” it’s expression fell, “I’m sorry.”

Again, the unicorn almost thought the creature was sincerely apologizing. It sounded genuine enough, but whatever this thing was couldn’t actually feel empathy, not if it had been willing to do something like that, “you were using me...for food?” she couldn’t have hidden her revulsion if she’d wanted to, it was so overpowering. It nodded, “you really are a monster,” she once more sneered at the changeling, the muzzle of her gun jamming itself back up beneath his chin, “you deserve so much worse than a clean death.”

A siren began to wail, sounding an alarm that echoed throughout the ship. The thud of booted hooves in the corridor. She’d been discovered. There was no more time to waste, “but it’ll have to do.”

The door opened.

“Nooo!” a mare yelled.

Squelch pulled the trigger.

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