The airlock’s inner door hissed open, revealing the pair of occupants who had elected to disembark from the small shuttle craft. One of them, dressed in the uniform of one of Her Majesty’s commanding generals, spent her first few moments eying the miniscule reception gathered in the corridor. Given General Charon’s rank and status within the ComGuard, such an underwhelming welcoming party would have been viewed as an intentional insult. Under most circumstances anyway. However, in this particular instance, it was the general herself who had specified that only a singular changeling was to meet her when she boarded the dreadnought.

This was, after all, to be one of those ‘unofficial’ visits for which no record would be maintained. Too many senior officers being absent from their posts simultaneously in order to attend a formal reception would have been noticed, and Charon didn’t want to be noticed. After all, she technically had no business even being in this star system, let alone this WarShip. If word reached the wrong ears that she was here, it could cause problems for her, as it could lead to questions being asked for which the general didn’t have acceptable answers.

The young midshipmare who received Charon snapped off a quick salute. It was obvious to the senior ranking empath that the other changeling was more than a little surprised at seeing the rank of the officer that she had been sent to meet, but her professionalism was such that she gave no outward reaction and very quickly tamped down on the emotional response which had slipped out. General Charon returned the salute, suppressing her own amused smile. She considered it a good sign that Admiral Gossamer had told his crew as little as possible about the general’s arrival.

“If you’ll follow me, ma’am?” the midshipmare said, gesturing towards the ship’s bow. Charon nodded, saying nothing, and she and her aide fell into step behind them. The trio marched in silence, the clicks of their booted hooves the only sound echoing through the corridor. There wasn’t even a sign of any other member of the ship’s crew. A screen mounted into the bulkhead displayed an announcement that a mandatory training seminar was being held in one of the hangar bays. That certainly explained why they hadn’t happened by any’ling walking through the corridors, Charon supposed.

The general and her attendant were brought to a door labeled as leading to the admiral’s suite. The midshipmare escorting them, without saying a word, paused long enough to ensure that her charges recognized that they’d reached their destination and then touched the small control pad mounted next to the door. It opened a moment later.

Within was an older changeling stallion dressed in the uniform of a senior fleet admiral. The aged changeling looked first at Charon before noting the other ‘ling with her. The hint of a scowl tugged at his lips before his veridian eyes darted to the midshipmare, “I was under the impression that the captain had made it clear that all hooves were to be at his seminar in Hangar Two?” He growled at the young mare, whose features blanched in confusion, “This sort of irresponsible tardiness is unbecoming of an officer, Miss Gerridae. I’ll see to it that Commander Blithe is made aware of it so that you may be appropriately reprimanded for being absent from a mandatory assembly without having a proper excuse.

“Dismissed!”

The changeling mare blanched, her mouth working soundless for several moments as she tried to process how she could possibly have been in violation of her directives while―presumably―doing exactly what the admiral had ordered her to do! Charon once more found herself suppressing a smile as she felt like she was watching a younger version of herself; recalling exactly how she had felt when blindsided by her first encounter with ‘things that didn’t happen’. She’d been given a week of extra duty in the kitchens for ‘abandoning her post’; and most decidedly not for leaving as ordered so that her captain and a visiting intelligence agent could have a discussion inside the armory she was guarding.

A few weeks later, after the monthly sensitive items inspection was conducted, and it came up a grenade short, she’d been demoted; as it was ruled that the only time the grenade could have gone missing was during her ‘inexcusable absence’.

This midshipmare should consider herself lucky for getting such a relatively benign punishment, General Charon thought to herself.

After a couple seconds, the younger officer seemed to finally grasp what was going on, and why it was going to be this way. If General Charon ‘wasn’t here’, then that meant that she hadn’t needed to be escorted from the airlock to the admiral’s quarters. If there wasn’t anypony for the midshipmare to escort, then what duty could the admiral have possibly had for her that would have kept her from being on time to the meeting every other member of the crew was currently at? Ergo: She was absent without an excuse.

“...Sorry, sir; it won’t happen again, sir.”

The midshipmare didn’t quite snarl as she galloped in the direction of the hangar. The door sealed behind her. The admiral snorted but seemed otherwise satisfied with how the younger officer had handled things. He still seemed to be unhappy with Charon though.

“Now suppose you finally tell me what exactly it is that you’re ‘not’ doing here, general?”

“How many of your WarShips are equipped with reserve jump batteries?”

Admiral Gossamer’s eyes widened in mild surprise at the question, briefly caught off his guard by the perceived non sequitur. At first, it seemed like the fleet commander wasn’t going to supply an answer either, if only to demonstrate their annoyance at having their own question dodged. However, the admiral proved to be far too intrigued by the unexpected nature of the question, and felt compelled to see where it might lead, “...Not many. The technology was relatively new by the time Tirek was defeated and not many of the CLDF’s vessels were retrofitted with them.

“Since that time, there has hardly been any reason for the shipyards in Faust to install them, has there?”

That actually surprised General Charon a little. Her features creased in disappointment, “Why not? I thought they provided a significant advantage?”

“Objectively, that’s true,” the admiral conceded with a nod, “But, as with anything: any potential benefit must be weighed against the investment in cost. Strictly speaking, jump batteries wouldn’t provide any tangible benefit for our ships; thus there has never been anything to justify the cost.”

The stallion chuckled when he saw the other changeling’s look of confusion and humored her by elaborating further, “Our WarShips only make jumps when it’s their turn for regular maintenance and overhauls at the yards. Then they return a month later. Having the ability to make back-to-back jumps wouldn’t help them in any meaningful way,” he pointed out. The stallion shrugged, “So the yard hooves have never installed them.”

“Hmm,” Charon wouldn’t say that she was happy to hear that news, but she couldn’t exactly say that she was surprised either, now that she’d heard the justification. Though, she did realize that she hadn’t yet received a real answer to her question, “So how many ships currently have them?”

Gossamer thought for a moment, “Maybe twenty? I’ll admit I haven’t looked that closely at the rosters for my squadrons; but I sincerely doubt it’s much more than that, if it even is.”

The general’s frown deepened now. That wasn’t nearly enough. It was probably fair to assume that the fleet in Faust fielded a similarly minute ratio, giving them maybe a dozen vessels with the modification. Three dozen WarShips wouldn’t suffice. She would need more, and so she stated as much, “Demand that all future ships going through maintenance be outfitted with jump batteries.”

“I beg your pardon?” The admiral snorted in amusement, initially taking her statement to be some obscure sort of joke which he hadn’t had the context to ‘get’. When he saw that the general was actually serious, his demeanor changed to one of consternation, “You can’t be serious. Even if I could convince the yard hooves to do it, why would I?”

“As a contingency,” The mare responded simply.

“A ‘contingency’ for what?” Gossamer scoffed.

“Invasion.”

The silence echoing in the admiral’s office was deafening. Both senior officers regarded each other. Charon’s expression was determined. Gossamer’s was flabbergasted, “You must be joking,” he insisted, “Who would invade us?”

“You don’t honestly expect the rest of the Harmony Sphere to simply sit back and allow their economies to crumble into dust as a result of ‘our’ imposed communications blackout, do you?” The general challenged, smirking at the naval officer, “They’ll come for ComSpark eventually.”

The admiral finally recovered from his initial shock and grunted in acknowledgement of the general’s prediction. It was hardly a difficult conclusion to draw, after all. He didn’t seem to be particularly concerned at the prospect though, “Let them come,” he sneered, “Admiral Bulwark will cut their DropShips to ribbons with the ship’s he has onhoof in Faust.

“The Successor States don’t have WarShips.”

“The Dragon Clans do,” Charon countered.

Gossamer paused briefly, considering the point, but he still shook his head, unconvinced of any need for particular concern, “Not as many as we do,” He insisted, “More than are in First Fleet, for sure,” was the only concession the stallion made, “but that’s why my Second Fleet is stationed within reach of Faust: so that―if the need ever arises―we can be there within minutes of receiving a request for reinforcements. Our combined numbers easily outnumber whatever the dragons could have at their disposal.”

“You assume,” General Charon cautioned him. The admiral wasn’t happy about the correction, but didn’t remark on it directly. The fact was that they didn’t have any hard or fast numbers for the Dragon Clans, other than what had been brought in by the four Clans which had already invaded the Sphere. Extrapolating those numbers to the rest of the Clans that they predicted existed beyond the Sphere, Charon anticipated anywhere between two hundred and two hundred and fifty WarShips at their disposal. More than what was in Faust, but less than what the ComGuard fleet consisted of in its entirety.

Numbers didn’t mean everything though. Charon suspected that axiom was as true for naval engagements as it was for ground-based battles. It was conceivable that the smaller Clan fleet could destroy both of the changeling groups. Perhaps not without sustaining catastrophic losses of their own, but that would hardly matter if they emerged victorious, would it? ComSpark had no other WarShips, and so any invading fleet who managed to defeat the First and Second would have a clear path to the planet.

At which point everything suddenly became her problem.

She couldn’t allow a single battle in space to decide the ultimate fate of her race. That would be unforgivably negligent on her part. No military leader worthy of her forces went into battle necessarily anticipating defeat; but only a fool didn’t make contingencies for the possibility. Even if it was regarded as a remote one. While Charon certainly expected―and desperately hoped―that Gossamer and Bulwark would be able to effortlessly smash any Clan WarShips brazen enough to make a run on the Faust System…

...She needed to know that there would be something left of the changeling fleets in the event that the fight started to turn against them. The possibility to withdraw their WarShips in order to regroup, repair, and―eventually―retaliate, had to be allowed for. If it wasn’t...and they lost…

Charon refused to accept the extinction of her fellow changelings.

“What do you know, Charon?”

The mare grimaced, “I don’t ‘know’ much,” she reluctantly admitted, “but blacking out your adversary’s communications abilities is ‘Prelude to Invasion 101’,” The mare shared a knowing look with the admiral, and the stallion nodded his agreement of her assessment, “And I strongly suspect that Twilight Sparkle has to have some idea of how many WarShips we could have at our disposal,” Another nod from Gossamer. After all, their fleets had, once upon a time, been her fleets. The alicorn had obviously made contact with the Dragon Clans, so she had to have an idea of how much of the CLDF her dragon comrade had managed to abscond with from the Sphere. Doing that math would hardly be a challenge.

“I find it difficult to conceive that she would initiate an assault on Equus if she didn’t think that there was at least a decent chance of achieving victory,” Charon stated.

“She might have ‘some idea’ about our numbers; but we know exactly how many ships left the Sphere,” Gossamer countered this time, “And we know that they don’t have the numbers to do it, or they would have already,” he pointed out.

“We can’t say for certain why the Clans waited as long as they did,” the general said, “But we do know that we can’t count on them having only the ships they left with. The invasion demonstrated that they have ship classes that we don’t in our fleets. They’ve built at least some additional hulls since leaving.”

Gossamer looked like he’d bitten into something sour at the general mentioning that fact. He had long lamented the fact that ComSpark didn’t have the ability to construct new WarShips of their own. While Faust did feature shipyards capable of building new vessels, some of the essential components had been built at factories located in other star systems. Those factories had not survived the first few rounds of fighting within the Harmony Sphere powers after their queen seized power and maneuvered the galaxy into conflict. Along with those factories, so too had the schematics and technical experience been lost to time within the Sphere.

Even if ComSpark had been able to reverse-engineer the technology and construction involved, there was the matter of the limited resources available on Equus. The Faust System’s singular world did not have the ability to support the construction of massive WarShip fleets on its own, and ComSpark would only be able to justify the importing of so much material resources from the outside without raising some rather pointed questions about why they needed them.

Besides, until recently, they hadn’t thought that there was any reason to bother building additional WarShips. It was certainly too late to start now though.

“Very well,” the admiral said, clearing his throat, “what does any of that have to do with jump batteries on my ships? We don’t need them to jump to Faust to relieve Bulwark.”

The younger changeling officer at her side moved very subtly. With the admiral’s attention focused on Charon, he wouldn’t have noticed it. Neither did the general. However, as she knew perfectly well what instructions she had passed on to her subordinate, the mare was mindful of what he was up to. Charon had known from the outset that her meeting today would be a risky one. So, as a precaution, she had taken certain...assurances. The explosive device tucked into the uniform jacket of her companion would ensure that, if the admiral reacted ‘poorly’ to her plan, that she would at least not be forced to suffer through the tortures that Her Majesty would doubtlessly order be inflicted upon the general for her ‘cowardace’.

“No,” General Charon agreed. She paused, took a breath, and then continued, “...But you will need them if you hope to retreat.”

Another deafening silence gripped the office. Admiral Gossamer stood very still as he regarded the changeling mare, his expression impassive, and his emotions very closely guarded from her senses. As hers were from his.

“...General,” the older stallion began, cautiously, “are you suggesting that I might abandon our queen?”

“Of course not. I am, however, pointing out that jump batteries would be necessary if you desired to withdraw from the Faust System in the event that the battle...ceased to be particularly favorable for our forces.”

Another long pause, “I have sworn an oath to serve Her Majesty, even unto death,” He tilted his head as he regarded her, “You swore such an oath, yourself; did you not...general?”

“I did,” Charon confirmed, “I recall my oath vividly: ‘I swear upon my life that I will serve Queen Chrysalis and her hive for as long as I live.”

The stress that the changeling mare had placed upon those three words, ‘and her hive’, had not been lost on the admiral. He chewed thoughtfully on what the underlying implication was and―for the first time in his life―found himself questioning which of the two were of the greater import. After all, if the whole of the hive was lost, then the implication had to be that their queen had perished along with it. However, the loss of Chrysalis didn’t necessarily mean that all changelings were doomed...did it?

Admiral Gossamer suddenly realized why it was that the general had been so insistent that no subject broached in this meeting be uttered to another. It would certainly not do for the queen to catch wind that her officers were discussing the prospect of being defeated in the Faust System...and how the future of the changeling race might best be served, even if Chrysalis herself did not feature in that future. Her Majesty would almost certainly not entertain any ‘defeatist’ attitudes from her military commanders, or the implication that Equus might be wrested from her grasp.

If Charon was right though, there did exist at least the possibility that they might lose the battle. If that did happen, and if no contingency had been made to get what WarShips they could out of Faust before the Dragon Clan fleet could finish mopping up ComSpark’s forces, then the hive was most assuredly doomed. Meanwhile, if it pulled out when defeat looked likely, and withdrew to another system, there was a chance that a future battle would go in their favor and allow them to ultimately repulse the Clans.

Besides, it wasn’t as though he intended to fight his ships any less fiercely during the battle in Faust, Gossamer reasoned. He was merely being pragmatic about the whole thing, and thinking beyond the outcome of a singular battle. Such was the prerogative of an admiral responsible for winning wars.

The older stallion finally said, “I...see that you do recall your oath. Good,” Gossamer sat back down at his desk, “On further consideration, I suppose it would be...convenient...for my ships to have the flexibility a jump battery could offer,” he added, “I’ll be sure that my captains make the technicians at the yards aware of those benefits when their vessels are next up for servicing.”

Charon breathed an internal sigh of relief, “I’m glad to hear that we agree on that, admiral.”

“You know…” Gossamer said after another brief pause, flashing the general a knowing look, “It occurs to me that the techs at the shipyards haven’t really ever conducted a properly thorough overhaul of our docking collars,” He shrugged, “It’s not like our ships would ever had a reason to use them anyway, after all. When would we ever carry DropShips anywhere?

“Still―as any self-respecting admiral would agree―I feel it is my obligation to ensure that every ship in my fleet is fully capable...in every way. To have less than perfectly functional WarShips at my disposal should Her Majesty have need of them would represent a failure on my part as one of her admirals.

“Wouldn’t you agree, General Charon?”

“Yes, Admiral Gossamer, I would agree wholeheartedly. In your place, I would strive to ensure that Her Majesty’s fleet was composed of WarShips which were as fully capable as was possible. I am certain that Queen Chrysalis desires only the finest WarShips in her service. And our queen deserves to have WarShips which are as fully serviced and outfitted as they can be.”

“I’m glad to see that we...understand...each other, general. I look forward to working with you in the future; should that ever come to pass.

“Is there anything else that you would like for us to ‘not’ discuss?”

“No, admiral; I’ve taken up enough of your valuable time. I’ll see myself out.”

As General Charon and her aide―who was grateful that he didn’t have to blow them all to tartarus after all―turned and left the office, the mare was very careful not to smile. After all, that would have been unseemly of her.

The emotional atmosphere aboard the Zathura was a mixture of enthusiasm and apprehension that Slipshod found absolutely delectable. Twilight’s return to the Peregrine System with news that her mission to the League-in-Exile had been a success had come as a great relief to many, assuring them that they would have the support of the vast and powerful Clan WarShip fleets. It had also established something of a quasi-firm timetable for their invasion of Equus. Which was why so many creatures were feeling just a tinge of nervousness:

There was now an effective ‘countdown’ to the final confrontation with ComSpark.

At least in loose terms, anyway. While they knew when the WarShips would be assembled around Lameduck I for their push into the Faust System, it was less certain when they would have sufficient strength of arms on the planetside front of things. Space superiority would only take their attack so far, after all. If they didn’t have enough hooves on the ground to get the job done, there wasn’t much point in showing up anyway.

Unfortunately, while Twilight was able to provide them with the precise number of WarShip hulls and their respective classes that would be participating in the invasion, nopony knew how big of an army they were going to be able to field for the invasion itself. Let alone when they would be arriving.

Taking down the HyperSpark communications network had definitely been something of a double-edged sword. While it meant that it would be nearly impossible for Chrysalis’ galactic network of intelligence gatherers to get word to Equus about the mobilization of forces against her, it had the downside of making it the next best thing to impossible to know how successful the Timberwolf’s Dragoons leader’s were turning out as well. At the moment, much of their planning in the next few months would be undertaken on the assumption that Timberjack hadn’t failed to secure the ground forces that they’d need.

It was going to take a lot of soldiers to carry the day. Equus was a world inhabited by billions of changelings, nearly all of whom could be counted on to take up arms in order to repel an invasion in defense of their queen.

While they wouldn’t need to necessarily fight the whole planet all at once, Slipshod conceded, they would need to land a large enough invasion force on the planet’s surface in order to hold off the changeling hordes while they took Canterlot. A feat that would be made more complicated by the fact that the changeling doubted that the capital city could be assaulted directly. It was simply too well defended against direct orbital insertions, in his opinion. In the early days of Chrysalis’ reign, before she had managed to completely secure the control of the WarShip fleets that Spike had left behind, the changeling queen’s paranoia had driven her to build up Canterlot’s fortifications and defenses in case the rest of the planet’s inhabitants caught on to her deception before she could complete her replacement of them.

On the bright side, most of the rest of Equus wasn’t anywhere near as hardened as Canterlot itself was. By the time the changelings had finished securing the whole planet, Chrysalis had also completed her takeover of the WarShip fleets in orbit. At that point, the only way that any invasion force could make it to the surface was by first fighting their way through those ships, and no other force in the galaxy at that time had anywhere close to the numbers needed to do so. Hardening the planet further against ground invasion had simply become redundant, and a waste of resources, so Chrysalis had ceased to concern herself with the task.

So, while Canterlot itself was nearly impregnable from orbit, and even well-hardened against ground-based assaults, the same was not true for most of the areas nearby. In Slipshod’s opinion, their best bet was to take several of the surrounding strategic locations, dig in against counter-attacks, and then make their moves against the capital city. This would make it difficult for Chrysalis to summon reinforcements while the attackers chipped away at her defenses.

He conceded that it would hardly be easy to hold their own lines against attacks from all sides from the rest of the planet, but they would also hopefully have the benefit of fire support from orbit while the changelings wouldn’t. That would hopefully be enough to keep any attempts from the local forces to push the invaders off the planet from enjoying too much success.

Again, this was all contingent on their side having enough forces to secure the regions surrounding Canterlot and hold the line against counterattacks. Given the size of the area in question, Slipshod doubted that any initial landing force smaller than one million troops would have a hope of doing so, and they would need millions more in orbit ready to land and reinforce any vulnerable positions at a moment’s notice. Even then, that would only support a short-term hold on those positions. If the campaign stretched out longer than a few weeks, they’d need upwards of a hundred million to keep from being repelled.

Assembling a force that size was out of the question though. There just weren’t enough DropShips in the galaxy to move that many soldiers all at once. They’d be pushing it with the millions they were already trying to move. While they would have a couple thousand DropShips at their disposal―assuming Timberjack met with the anticipated level of success that they were expecting―they would have only so many WarShips and JumpShip with which to make the assault on the Faust System. According to the provisional numbers which Spike and Ember had given to Twilight, the Clans would be sending just over two hundred WarShips of various classes and twice as many JumpShips. Between those, they’d be able to move approximately two thousand DropShips at once. Perhaps more, depending on what the Great Houses ended up providing.

Slipshod hadn’t looked at a detailed accounting of what the sizes and classifications of the DropShips they’d have on hoof would be, but if he assumed a healthily-balanced mixture between them, that suggested the possibility that their invasion would consist of approximately three thousand BattleSteeds, fifteen thousand combat vehicles, and the better part of two million infantry in total. For the initial invasion. If they did things right, they could arrange for a second wave around half that size within another couple of weeks to help reinforce the attack.

This was all assuming that Timberjack didn’t come through too; which meant it was possible they’d have double that. Maybe even more. Which would put them just at the cusp of that Slipshod anticipated they’d need to be successful. Those WarShips providing fire support from orbit were certainly going to prove to be critical to the success of the invasion.

At least that was one part of the invasion that they wouldn’t have to worry about. Two hundred WarShips would outnumber the hundred and twenty-four the changelings had in the Faust System by nearly two-to-one odds. With their more advanced weapons and designs, the Clan fleet was sure to enjoy relatively easy success on that front, at least.

The ground battle would be tougher though, since the technological edge on that front was nearly non-existent. ComSpark had retained most of the advanced weaponry of the old Celestia League Defense Force, and had even improved on some of the older designs much like the Dragon Clans had. Which was to say nothing of the new BattleSteed designs that changelings had developed as well, which would seriously outclass most Harmony Sphere chassis of equal tonnage.

No, the fight wouldn’t be an easy one. Not impossible―Slipshod didn’t think anyway―but certainly not easy. A lot of creatures weren’t going to be coming back from the surface of Equus. A fact that was hardly far from the minds of the mercenary crew of the Zathura. Likely one that would have weighed far more heavily on their thoughts and brought down the mood of the crew had it not been for one other thing that the purple alicorn had brought back with her from the League-in-Exile:

Letters from their families.

It turned out that, in the intervening time between their ship leaving Clan space for the purpose of restoring Victoria Blueblood to her throne in the Pony Commonwealth, and their breaking ties with the League-in-Exile after the invasion undertaken by the Dragon Clans, the League-in-Exile had made good on their promise to seek out and evacuate the families of the Zathura’s crew. It had taken many―many―months, but those families were safely out of the Harmony Sphere and out of reach of the changelings. Upon learning this, Twilight had approached them and asked them for letters for the crew, which she had delivered just the other day when the Maelstrom returned to Peregrine via Havoc.

The mood of the crew had skyrocketed after that. For nearly all of them, it was the first that they’d heard from their families in the better part of a year. The news that their loved ones were safe and alive was a huge weight off of their shoulders.

This wasn’t the case for everycreature, of course. Slipshod and Squelch were two examples of creatures who had no family from which they could have heard. They were distinctly in the minority though; and Slipshod’s was a rather unique situation besides. By and large, the crew of the Zathura had each received letters from multiple family members, and more than a few had reported composing replies in case the opportunity arose where they could be sent back to League-in-Exile space. The changeling doubted how likely that was, but he wasn’t going to rule it out. They had months yet to go before the invasion would kick off, and a trip to the Clans and back would take only a few weeks using the Disciple flagship’s unique ‘chaos drive’.

Slipshod felt it was a shame that there was only a singular vessel capable of traveling like the Maelstrom, and had once inquired of Twilight Sparkle what it was that had made the WarShip’s jump drive capable of reaching pocket dimensions like Havoc. Much to his own surprise, the purple alicorn had admitted that even she didn’t know how the feat was accomplished. The Maelstrom had, apparently, been equipped with a standard jump drive when it was built, and had only been later modified by Discord himself after it was assigned to him. The draconequus never got around to disclosing the precise nature of the changes that he’d made to the ship. The alicorn was under the impression that it couldn’t have been anything too drastic, however, because from what she had been able to see, the Maelstrom’s chaos drive was otherwise indistinguishable from a standard jump drive.

“Teams of the best thaumaturgical engineers the Celestia League ever produced tried for literal centuries to replicate what his ship could do,” the purple mare had groused beneath a deflating sigh when pressed by the changeling, “but never managed to pull it off.

“She really is one of a kind.”

It was certainly frustrating to have only a single WarShip at their disposal with such an undeniably advantageous drive system; since it rendered the benefit the Maelstrom provided almost meaningless under the current circumstances outside of a few niche areas. With the entire HyperSpark communications network down, physical couriers jumping across the Harmony Sphere was the only way to propagate message traffic. It was a task which could take the better part of a year to get a message from one side of the Sphere to the other, where the HSG circuit could have done so in a little under a month―depending on how much the sender had been willing to pay for priority transmission privileges.

A fully charged and ready Maelstrom could cross those thousand lightyears in less than an hour. A hundred times faster than even the most costly and highest priority HyperSpark traffic speeds. Slipshod knew that the secret secondary network reserved exclusively for changeling intelligence would have taken nearly a week to cross that distance. A fleet of courier vessels with the Disciple flagship’s drive would have revolutionized communications in the galaxy. Meanwhile, a single ship limited them to getting only one important message to one location about once a month. And it was contingent on them knowing where the recipient of that message was going to be before they departed.

Which was nearly impossible to do when working off of months old information.

For example: it would be of a tremendous benefit to make contact with Timberjack and learn of his progress. However, there was simply no way of knowing where in the galaxy the earth pony was at the moment. He’d been sent to the capital of the Hippogriff Combine, but that had been months ago, and it would honestly be a bad sign if it turned out that he was still trying to get the hippogriffs to come around to the idea of invading Equus.

Not that the Maelstrom was useless, of course. Indeed, the WarShip was very good to have on hoof. Its utility was simply limited. Right now, for example, it was going to prove itself to be of great benefit in cutting down the travel time for their forces training up outside the Sphere proper. Getting to Lameduck from Peregrine would have taken more than six months using conventional travel. Admittedly, a lot of their forces and material were already taking the ‘long way around’. However, a portion―the Zathura among them―were going to be able to use the ‘shortcut’ through Havoc.

Which was why the crew was currently going about packing the Zathura full of as much warfighting material as they could cram into her, leaving the vessel a hive of activity. Slipshod himself was just coming off of his own shift helping to move cargo crates into the ‘Steed Bay. While not normally something that a BattleSteed pilot would have been drafted to do, his changeling abilities had allowed him to provide a much more significant contribution to the effort than most other creatures might have managed. A Great Dragon the size of a heavy BattleSteed could lift and transport cargo containers a lot more quickly and efficiently than the standard mechanical loader it turned out.

Slipshod was on his way back to his and Squelch’s quarters when he was stopped in his tracks by the sensation of a rather pronounced drop in the overall emotional environment nearby. Curious, the changeling stallion began to empathically ‘sniff’ around to see if he could hone in on the source of the disturbance. It seemed odd to him that, when so many aboard the DropShip were in the throes of an unprecedented boost in morale thanks to the mail that Twilight delivered, there would be somecreature experiencing such deep depression.

It didn’t take him long to sleuth out that those darker feelings were coming from Blood Chit’s cabin.

As an empath, Slipshod generally went about his day with some provisional mental walls put up in his head, just so that he wasn’t being constantly bombarded with everypony’s passing thought and mood. Leaving oneself completely open was a good way for a changeling to get a headache from the utter cacophony of thoughts being put out by a whole ship full of ponies.

These mental barriers meant that Slipshod was usually only privy to the emotional states of creatures that he paid specific attention to in the moment. Only the most potent and extreme of emotions were capable of overflowing those walls and making themselves plainly felt by the changeling.

However, right now, Slipshod had no trouble sensing the utter sorrow and despair wafting out of Blood Chit’s cabin. He reinforced his mental walls to further dull those depression sensations and emotionally prepared himself to find the other stallion in a ‘less-than amiable’ state.

He touched the alert by the door, “Chit? Everything okay in there?”

A brief spike of surprise, which flowed into suspicion before finally settling into resignation. The pegasus security and recovery head had obviously not been anticipating receiving any company. A moment later, the changeling received a response through the small speaker mounted by the door, “I’m fine, Slip.”

Slipshod tried not to roll his eyes, he really did, “You do remember I’m an empath, right?” His prompt led to a mildly amusing mixture of annoyance, embarrassment, and a tinge of incredulity wafting out from the door. In fairness, it was the changeling’s experience that most creatures didn’t appreciate their thoughts being ‘spied on’. Generally, Slipshod made a conscious effort to keep himself from reading the emotions of others using his mental barriers. However, in the cases of extreme emotional distress like this, the stallion felt that he could hardly be held liable for effectively ‘overhearing’ the emotional states that they were metaphorically ‘screaming’ at the top of their mental lungs.

Squelch never accused anypony of ‘eavesdropping’ on what she was saying when they happened to overhear her loudly coursing about something while they were trotting down the corridor, after all.

Several seconds later, the door opened. Despite having fully expected to see the crimson pegasus stallion who resided in the cabin, Slipshod was still visibly taken aback and surprised by what he saw. He’d known the flier for years. The two of them had spent a considerable amount of time together, and even forged a robust friendship―even if it had initially been under false pretenses. Yet, in all that time, Slipshod could not ever recall seeing the pegasus looking anywhere near as haggard as he did at this moment.

Despite the assurances earlier, even a non-empath would have been able to deduce that Blood Chit was not, in fact, ‘fine’.

“What’s wrong?”

The changeling was forced to wince away as another powerful waive of grief and loss assaulted him. Slipshod threw up much more substantial mental barriers now in an effort to mitigate the worst of the sensations he was feeling from the other stallion. Blood Chit saw the effect that his sudden burst of feelings had had on his friend and immediately felt even worse as a result, nearly precipitating in a perpetuating cycle of misery. For his own sanity and sensibilities, Slipshod quickly ushered the pegasus back into his cabin and guided him towards his cot.

Only when the crimson stallion was seated on the mattress, and the changeling had a moment to gather himself and recover from that latest unpleasant wave of misery, did he have a moment to spare to look at his surroundings. While it wouldn’t be accurate to say that Blood Chit’s cabin had ever been the shiny gold standard of ‘cleanliness’, the changeling would never have used a word like ‘messy’ to describe it either.

It was messy now though.

That ‘mess’ also seemed to be built around a central theme, Slipshod noticed. Specifically involving pictures which prominently featured a large golden earth pony stallion with brilliant green eyes, a strawberry-blond mane, and round cheeks dotted with freckles. Many of the photos in question depicted the earth pony in the company of a familiar scarlet pegasus. Both always looked to be quite happy in the moment. While the changeling was incapable of sensing emotions from an image directly, he was a practiced hoof at reading faces; and the love for each other that those two stallions felt was plainly evident on their faces.

Slipshod didn’t consider himself to be a ‘master detective’; but one hardly needed to be Sherclop Hooves to make the connection between the central theme of the photos spread out around Blood Chit’s room, the flier’s sudden affliction of deep-rooted grief, and the recent news regarding the status of the wellbeing of the crew’s families.

“...The Disciples said that, when their agents got to the apartment, neighbors said some ponies with the ‘Dobson Security Authority’ had come by just a few days earlier asking about Chanterelle, and that they hadn’t seen him since,” Blood Chit offered, his word monotone and husky with grief. He started shaking his head, “The thing is, the DSA isn’t really an investigative agency,” He explained, “They don’t come by and question ponies. Not really. Not directly, anyway. They’re more of an...oversight bureau than anything.”

Blood Chit was silent for several seconds. Then, “The Disciples said it was most likely ComSpark that took him,” He looked up at Slipshod now, his eyes searching the changeling’s―almost fearfully―for confirmation of the theory. The ‘Steed pilot could only nod in agreement. That was almost certainly what had happened: changeling agents had discovered the earth pony’s connection to the crew of the Zathura and had brought him in to squeeze whatever information they could out of him.

Best case scenario, ComSpark had killed him outright when they either got what they wanted or determined Chanterelle didn’t know anything useful. Worst case...they tortured him for a few weeks to make absolutely certain that he wasn’t holding anything back. After which they’d probably have husked him. In either event, Slipshod laid even odds that an agent had been tapped to assume the earth pony’s identity in case Blood Chit tried to reach out to him.

“I’ve been writing him letters,” The pegasus flicked a limp pinion in the direction of his personal terminal, “Every couple of days I write a new one,” His voice was trembling, as though the stallion was just a breath away from breaking down all over again, “I haven’t been able to send any of them, of course. I just...I wanted to make sure everything was fresh in my mind. What we did, how I was feeling, how much I missed him…

“How I couldn’t wait for all of this to be over so that I could see him again―”

That was that last crack that broke the dam. The crimson flier’s words were abruptly cut off as his body was wracked by stifled sobs. He was fighting to hold them back, to keep himself composed; but it was clearly a futile effort. The sorrow and loss buffeted Slipshod like a windstorm. The changeling felt like he was having to brace himself and lean into the onslaught of bitter sadness in order to keep from being blown away by it. The changelings weathered the deluge though. This was hardly the time to bail on a friend who was obviously in need.

Slipshod sat down on the cot next to the pegasus and lay his foreleg over the convulsing stallion’s shoulders. As though on instinct, the flier leaned into the changeling, “It’s all my fault!” He wailed, “I shouldn’t have left,” Blood Chit insisted, “I should have taken up a job planetside. That way none of this would have happened”

Well, it looked like the flier was well into the ‘Bargaining’ phase of grief, the changeling deduced. Considering all of that grief balled up inside of him, it wouldn’t be long before Blood Chit moved on to ‘Depression’. With a little bit of effort on his part, Slipshod was confident that he could help his friend skip right over that unpleasantness and move right on to accepting the loss of his coltfriends and be all better. The key was getting rid of all of those negative emotions. While it would be a little unpleasant, it wouldn’t present any sort of real challenge for the changeling.

Slipshod began to siphon off the flier’s grief into himself, “You’re too smart for that kind of talk, Chit. You couldn’t possibly have known about who and what ComSpark really was,” the changeling pointed out. Drawing on those negative emotions was like swallowing bile, but he pressed forward. His friend needed help.

“But if I hadn’t left―”

“Then Maybe Chanterelle would still be alive,” Slipshod acknowledged, suppressing a disgusted shudder as he took more of Blood Chit’s grief into himself, “But I bet Twilight and I would be dead. Maybe even the whole crew,” The pegasus flashed him a dubious look, “Remember PEA...wherever? When the ship had to do a quick grab at a hot LZ? Like, volcano-spitting-lava hot?

“You and I both know that seconds count in a situation like that. Any other team that hadn’t been so mercilessly drilled by you might have taken twice as long,” Slipshod wasn’t even exaggerating this point. He was quite familiar with how long a BattleSteed recovery operation like that could take. The gold-standard that was taught in the academy was sixty seconds. While it might not have sounded like much, it was a lot of time to be in the crossfire of an encircling enemy.

Blood Chit’s team had done it in less than thirty. Yet, that had still been long enough for the DropShip to sustain several hits that punctured the hull and even destroyed a gun turret, killing its crew. Another thirty seconds of that level of heavy fire could have easily gotten the DropShip destroyed, killing everycreature onboard―including Twilight―and ending this whole adventure before it had really even had a chance to begin.

“I’m not saying that us dying if you hadn’t been here would be your fault,” The changeling amended hastily. He then paused to swallow back a wave of nausea before continuing, waving away a concerned look from the pegasus, “I’m just saying that we can’t know ahead of time how what we choose to do will affect the lives of others.

“You want to sit there and blame yourself for getting Chanterelle killed because you left? What about me? I’m the one who convinced Squelch to keep Twilight on the ship and get us tangled up in this whole thing,” Slipshod pointed out, “If Squelch had turned her over to the authorities on Canis like she wanted to, maybe none of this would have happened.

“Or what about Valkyrie? She was the one who tweaked the sensors on the ship, which was how we found Twilight’s ship in the first place. Or me again: If I hadn’t pissed Dominus off by fucking his wife, we wouldn’t have had to avoid those Dragoons because of the bounty on my head.

“If I hadn’t signed on with the Steel Coursers in the first place,” Slipshod continued ruefully, offering another alternative future to the pegasus, “None of this would have happened if I’d just rolled over and let myself starve to death like I was supposed to,” he spat out with a sneer directed at his former queen.

“I could have been a good little drone and just shot myself in the head the moment I stepped hoof on Simeron. Fulfilled my mission and made the lives of everycreature I know better,” The changeling all but snarled the last little bit, furious with himself for the misery that he’d brought to those he cared about, “Wouldn’t have broken Squelch’s heart. Val would still be alive because I didn’t fill her head with vapid drivel. All those ponies who died on Colton, because I came up with that stupid mission…

“The Clan invasions…”

“How many creatures are dead because I’m alive?” Slipshod asked hollowly, looking at his friend.

Blood Chit wasn’t looking in his direction though. Rather, the crimson pegasus was massaging his temple, a wry smirk on his face as he nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I get the point: The galaxy is a complicated place and we can’t keep second-guessing every little thing we do,” he sighed, “Shanty wouldn’t want me wallowing mike this either,” Something that was almost a chuckle escaped the flier, “Fuck, he’d wallop me good if he saw me blubbering like this; hating myself.

“He’d be the first one to tell me it’s not my fault,” Blood Chit agreed. He reached down and scooped up one of the photos featuring the pair of them as a happy couple and held it close in his pinions, “The last thing he’d want was for me to hate myself like this,” His smile was more genuine now, “Thanks, Slip; I―”

The pegasus’ words caught in his throat as he finally turned back to the changeling, and only now saw the haunted expression on the despairing stallion’s chitinous features, “...Are you okay? Slipshod?”

Millions were dead because of his actions; and there were still millions more bodies to add to the butcher’s bill in the coming months. The extermination of his whole race was another atrocity waiting in the wings that would be staining his hooves in the fullness of time. Valkyrie, the assault team, the victims of the Clan invasions, all of that blood was on his hooves, nopony else’s. All because he was too selfish to let his singular life end when it should have. His refusal to do what would have been best for the galaxy and die had brought nothing but death and misery to the Sphere.

This whole galaxy would have been better off if he’d just flung himself out of an airlock when he was supposed to―

Slipshod’s whole body jerked with a start. He turned to see that a scarlet wing had been placed on his withers. For a few moments, the changeling couldn’t grasp who it was that was touching him, or why they would be. After all, who would want to dirty themselves by making physical contact with a loathsome wretch like himself? A monster to be detested and erased from existence; the best course of action to benefit the Sphere―

Again the changeling shook himself. In a moment of fleeting clarity, the stallion threw up internal mental walls around the roiling ball of guilt that he’d excised from Blood Chit only a minute ago. The thoughts it prompted were both insidious and intoxicating. Especially for an individual who was as familiar with self-loathing as he was. He needed to be careful, lest his psyche be overwhelmed with those thoughts. He still wasn’t entirely over his own insecurities, if the changeling was being honest with himself.

He finally became aware that somepony was talking to him, and recognized the concern in the nearby pegasus, “I’m fine,” Slipshod lied, cultivating a sincere-looking smile, “And I’m glad that you’re feeling better.”

Blood Chit narrowed his eyes slightly at the changeling, initially seeming to be unconvinced; but he could no longer identify anything amiss about his friend’s behavior, “You’re sure? You looked kind of―”

“Just some indigestion,” Slipshod waved away the concern, still smiling broadly at the flier, “Ate a risky oat cake. Probably going to end up destroying Squelch’s commode later,” the changeling winked at the other stallion and chuckled.

“I’m glad you’re doing better though,” Slipshod stood up suddenly enough that it surprised the pegasus, who still looked a little puzzled about the whole thing, “I have somewhere to be; we’ll catch up later!” Before the crimson stallion could say another word, the changeling was walking briskly out the door, his face still the perfect image of contentment.

It was a visage that melted away almost instantly the moment he was in the corridor and heard the door seal behind him. The changeling stumbled and leaned against the bulkhead for support, gasping and sweating with the effort necessary to keep the emotions he’d stolen in check. Dealing with his own lingering self-loathing had been bad enough without compounding the problem by taking on Blood Chit’s burden. However, he was a changeling. If anycreature knew how to compartmentalize and deal with emotions―even the toxic ones―it was him.

Besides, it had been the most expedient way to help his friend. It was worth feeling like he had intestinal cramps to see Blood Chit get over the death of his coltfriend like that.

Slipshod spent a few more seconds letting out deep breaths as he worked to steel himself against the worst of those dark thoughts threatening to overtake him again. If he could keep focus for long enough, he should be able to devour the guilt and finally eradicate it. Truth be told, the changeling wasn’t particularly looking forward to the prospect. It was going to be synonymous to a normal pony eating a saddlebag...that had been seasoned with rotting rat corpses.

The changeling shuddered as another wave of nausea coursed through him, prompting him to gag and dry heave several times. Somehow, despite not having actually eaten anything, Slipshod had a rather foul taste in his mouth. Almost certainly psychosomatic―a not uncommon problem with empaths, to be sure―but the changeling felt compelled to find some way to replace that sensation with something far more pleasant nonetheless. Bracing himself as best he could, Slipshod stumbled his way towards the ship’s cafeteria. He needed a pot of Cookie’s strongest coffee. To start with anyway.

His arrival in the DropShip’s dining hall didn’t go unnoticed, much to the changeling’s chagrin. Perhaps even worse was the fact that Squelch was one of the ponies who saw him. She had apparently been conversing with Xanadu and Mig over dinner. All three paused their conversation to look at him.

When she saw Slipshod stumble into the cafeteria, the sage green unicorn mare rose to her hooves, her face a mask of concern, “Slip? Are you okay?”

The stallion waved off her concern, shaking his head, “Just a stomach thing. Here for some coffee,” He hastened his gait to the carafe and briefly thought about pouring a mug for himself before thinking better of it and just absconding with the whole container. The changeling shifted into a dragon in order to obtain a more favorable tolerance for heat and grabbed up the carafe with a clawed hand and tossed the contents down his gullet. He paused only long enough to swirl the vile bitter drought―Cookie made strong coffee, not ‘good’ coffee―around in his mouth before swallowing it down. On any other day, the overpowering taste of iodine and varnish would have curled his tongue. However, it was like slurping down honey mixed with sugar compared to what it felt like his mouth had been filled with a moment ago.

Slipshod became aware that he was the subject of every pair of eyes in the room. He initially assumed it was because of how he’d inconsiderately monopolized the coffee. The dragon offered up a sheepish smile and shrugged with his free hand, his mouth opening to make a quip regarding his escapades. However, the words he’d selected to add some levity never materialized, as the changeling found that his own attention was very suddenly focused on his own clawed fingers. His very gnarled fingers, covered not in glistening scales, but with patches of sloughing hide and weeping sores.

Wide, surprised eyes, traced their way up from that hand along an equally mangy arm that was attached to a lepric body, “...Oh. That’s...concerning,” he remarked, still in shock.

His first impulse was to shift back into his previous form, but Slipshod fought back against that notion. Another creature might have been forgiven for thinking that the changeling had simply made a ‘mistake’ during his change and wound up with an unsatisfactory shape, much like a distracted unicorn might fumble their telekinesis. However, changeling magic didn’t quite work like that. His kind did not fail to become what they intended to become in that way.

Instead, Slipshod was reminded of a conversation that he’d had with Twilight Sparkle some time ago when the subject of his transition to glittering wings and a pearlescent sheen in his chitin was concerned. The alicorn had advised him that changelings were black with dull wings and pocked limbs, not because it was their ‘natural state’, but because their essence was tainted by the corrupted means by which they obtained the love that they stole from their prey. It was in that way that Slipshod had come to learn that emotions―and the means by which they came to be acquired―could affect changeling magic.

It didn’t strike the changeling as a coincidence that this transformation snafu had occurred only minutes after he’d ‘stolen’ a lot of grief and anguish from Blood Chit.

“I might have fucked up,” Slipshod deduced. If there was a saving grace, it was that the changeling at least didn’t feel nearly as bad as he looked. His gastric issues notwithstanding.

“...Da Fuck happened to you?” Xanadu gaped, wide eyed, at the dragon. Most of the other expressions around the room mirrored the concern audible in the zebra’s question.

“Dietary issue,” Slipshod quipped before beating a hasty retreat, the half-full carafe still in claw.

“SLIP.”

The dragon froze mid-step at the warning note in Squelch’s raised voice. It was an eclectic mixture of a commander exasperated with their wayward subordinate latest transgression, blended in with the resignation of a wife awaiting the fantastical explanation for her husband’s far-from-first―and most assuredly far-from-last―foul-up. It was the sort of vocal inflection that expertly conveyed the unspoken understanding that anything less than a thorough―and completely truthful―explanation would be received...poorly. It also only hinted at the terrible magnitude of the punishment which awaited any who thought to test the unicorn mare’s patience.

A few bystanders made subtle efforts to lean as far as possible from Squelch and Slipshod, lest they end up as collateral damage in the ensuing ‘spat’.

The changeling―briefly―considered his rather scant list of options. He then elected to turn around to face the unicorn mare, flashing her the most charismatic grin he could manage, “Yes, dear?” He asked in what actually sounded like a sincerely innocent tone.

“What...did you do?” The sage mare’s eyes briefly surveyed the decrepit dragon standing in the doorway. Then she added, “And to who?”

“I...helped a friend,” Slipshod assured her, maintaining his affected innocence, “This…” He waved a dismissive claw at the sorry state of his dragon shape, “Is just a small―temporary―side effect,” He assured her, “Nothing to be worried about!” The changeling’s toothy grin lasted all of two seconds before his gut cramped up, both audibly and painfully, eliciting a wince and a hiss from the dragon, “...Maybe,” he amended. Another shudder, “Hopefully…”

Squelch’s expression remained unchanged as she stared down the dragon. Her hoof motioned for Slipshod to come and sit at the table, which the changeling stallion did, with jerky steps as he held his protesting gut. The unicorn mare, aware of the stares of the onlookers, turned her attention to the rest of the room’s diners. She didn’t say anything to them. Her eyes merely conveyed the profound suggestion that their attention was better directed towards their own affairs, rather than hers and Slipshods.

Most creatures decided that they had, in fact, eaten a sufficiently large enough meal and had other places to be. Those who didn’t leave outright diverted their full attention to their meals. Not a word was spoken in idle conversation among them, and not a single head was even facing in the direction of the group of four creatures.

When Squelch was satisfied that they were no longer the overt focus of other eyes and ears, the unicorn―in a much more restrained and quieter tone―once more spoke to Slipshod, “Which emotions; and whose?”

The changeling waited for the latest round of gastrointestinal irritation to pass before hissing out his response, “Grief,” he admitted, “Blood Chit’s. Coltfirend murdered by ComSpark,” he grunted under his breath, wincing at the discomfort inside of him, “He was in a pretty bad way.”

“You...took away a pony’s grief?” the rosie kirin gaped in shock, “You can do that?”

“Changelings can drain emotions,” Slipshod nodded.

“That’s―” Xanadu began, but Squelch cut the zebra off.

“―Reckless and irresponsible,” The mare seethed under her breath, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“He was in pain!” The dragon protested.

“‘Was’?” Squelch scoffed, “You really think he’s not anymore? He’s over the death of his coltfriend? Just like that? Blood Chit’s completely moved on and will never think about how much he misses his coltfriend ever again, for the rest of his life?”

Admittedly, when the mare put it like that, Slipshod was slightly less confident that his course of action would have the desired effect. Another pang of pain in his gut doubled the dragon over at the table, prompting him to lay his head on its surface as he groaned in pain. He idly wondered if Cravat had any medications that would calm the emotional equivalent of acid reflux? Probably not…

Meanwhile, the sage mare continued to berate him, ignoring his obvious discomfort, “Or...do you think that when he wakes up tomorrow, and thinks about his coltfriend not being around anymore, maybe he’s going to look back on right now, and feel even worse because he’s going to think that he’s a bad pony for not ‘missing him enough’ right now?

“You can’t just go around manipulating how ponies feel, Slip! I thought you understood that?”

“I was just trying to help…”

Squelch let out an exasperated sigh, massaging the bridge of her muzzle with a hoof. It looked like she was tempted to continue deriding the changeling’s irresponsible approach to ‘helping’, but then thought better of it. Whatever the result may have been, it was fairly obvious that there hadn’t been any malicious intent behind what Slipshod had done. He’d encountered a friend in distress and had taken the initiative to assist as best he knew how. That was commendable.

It was merely that his actual approach had been...ill-conceived. The unicorn reconsidered her approach before resuming her critique, “‘Helping’ is fine, Slip,” Squelch continued in a significantly less harsh tone, “But you need to respect the emotional states of other creatures. You can’t just reach in and start...fiddling around in our heads like we’re de-polarized drive coils!” She gestured in the direction of the kirin mechanic.

The engineer raised a tentative hoof, “Um, actually, drive coils aren’t polarized; so they'd never technically become depol―”

“My point is,” the unicorn growled, flashing a brief glare at the kirin and prompting the other mare to stop talking, “that you can't ‘fix’ creatures like that,” Her attention was once more fully on the changeling, “Not quickly, anyway.

“It’s going to take Blood Chit time to make peace with himself. It’ll take all of us time to accept the loss of those who were close to us when it happens. There’s no shortcut that can magically make everything better.

“That’s not how the universe works.”

“Would be nice if it did,” Slipshod murmured, a wan smile on his lips now.

“Tell me about it,” The sage mare was wearing a smirk of her own now too. She sidled up closer to the dragon, placing her hoof on his back in a comforting manner, “It means a lot to me that you wanted to help him. And I get that being a changeling gives you ways to approach situations that other creatures don’t have. But having the ability to do something a specific way doesn’t mean that you need to use it.

“It’s not like Mig goes all fiery whenever she needs to weld something,” The unicorn chuckled as she gestured to the kirin again.

The rosy mare bit her lip briefly before hesitantly saying, “Um...actually, sometimes I’ll―”

“Oh, you are just dead-set on undermining my points today, aren't you?” Squelch shot a feigned scowl at the maned pony. She wasn’t quite so conceited as to not recognize that it was her own fault for making assertions about somepony else without actually knowing for certain whether they were true or not, after all.

“Fine, I admit it: I don’t know a damn thing about what you do or how you do it,” Squelch acknowledged with an exasperated sigh, even while glints of amusement danced in her sapphire eyes, “Happy now?”

Mig snorted, cocking her own wry smile at the unicorn, “I think I might be a little happier if you did understand what I do,” she said, “I mean, how are you supposed to be appropriately impressed by my abilities if you don’t understand how amazing they really are?”

“Well I’m impressed with your abilities!” Xanadu beamed at the kirin. After a beat, the striped stallion winked and added, “And also the things you do with machines and things. What you do with those is impressive too―ow!” The ‘Steed pilot flinched away in exagerated fashion as the mare next to him bapped him playfully on the shoulder with her cloven hoof.

Slipshod perked up slightly, his eyes bouncing between the pair seated opposite him at the table. There was an emotion buried beneath the shared feelings of overall camaraderie that the two held for one another. A sensation that burned a little hotter than mere ‘friendship’. He’d known for some time now that the two equines had become something of an ‘item’. It was rare that the two were far from one another these days. While Slipshod doubted that either of them would deny that it had started out as anything more than some very vigorous ‘stress relief’, it had clearly grown beyond just the physical.

Slipshod was happy for the couple. The dragon raised an intrigued brow, “Well now, when did you two become a real couple?”

Both equines jerked in their seats and stared at Slipshod in surprise. Xanadu stammered out a response first, “I-I wouldn’t say we’re a ‘couple’...” the zebra began, as though not wanting to sound presumptuous. The dragon sensed an internal pang of disappointment from the kirin as he said it though, drawing his attention, “We’re just...y-you know…” His hoof was gesticulating in the air, as though physically grasping for the right words.

“Casual,” Mig supplied in an ever-so-slightly subdued tone, “We just hang out...casually,” This time it was Xanadu who seemed to not be wholly thrilled by the articulated assessment of their relationship by the kirin. Slipshod’s head whipped back towards the zebra this time, a confused look plainly visible on his face. He’d raised his clawed hand and was about to comment, but the unicorn beside him interrupted before he could.

“Slip…” Squelch hissed through her clenched jaw in a warning tone.

“Sorry!” The dragon said defensively, throwing up his claws in mock surrender, “I couldn’t help but sense how they felt about each other and assumed they were an official couple now! How was I supposed to know two ponies who loved each other weren’t ‘together’?!”

Several things happened at once:

His partner and employer face-hoofed.

The zebra and kirin pair’s jaws both went simultaneously slack as they gaped at each other, sputtering in shocked unison, “You lo―?!” “―ve me?!”

A donkey back in the kitchen yelled out, “Who the fuck stole my coffee pot?! Whoever it was is on the ‘special menu’ for a month!”

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