Space. Some might call it the “great unknown”. Some might call it the “the void”, “the black”, “the dark between the stars”. A vast ocean, eclipsing even the remoteness of continents during the age of sail, separating civilizations by nigh-impassable gulfs of nothingness.

To Star Weaver, it was nothing but weeks of boredom.

Interstellar travel, while commonplace, was much-romanticized. Foal’s stories, books, movies, and advertisements always pushed the “adventure” narrative. “Adventure awaits! See the stars! Make lifelong friends!” Blah, blah blah.

Star Weaver had the oh-so-glamorous job of what amounted to a space trucker. Piloting a cargo ship from one planet to another, with days or weeks of nothing in between. Most of the time she had only herself for company, aside from the ship’s AI. At least the AI knew how to keep quiet when its input was not needed.

“How much longer, captain?” her passenger, a newly-elected planetary governor, asked for the twenty-second time.

Star Weaver resisted the urge to snap at his inane question and lowered her hindhooves where they had been kicked up on the console.

“Orion. Time remaining until our destination. Precision three.”

FORTY-ONE DAYS, SIXTEEN HOURS, FIFTY-FOUR MINUTES, FORTY-FOUR POINT NINE SECONDS, the ship’s computer answered immediately.

“Really? It feels like we’ve been in here for weeks already!”

“Sir, you only boarded three days ago. Crossing the galaxy takes time.”

“But why? I thought we were going fast!”

Star Weaver wiped her hooves down her face and desperately wished she could flush him out of an airlock.

“Yes, we are going fast. Several times the speed of light, in fact. But the galaxy is a very big place. I suggest you find some books to read or a movie to watch. The ship has an extensive library, media center, and gym for just this reason,” she explained patiently.

The governor sighed, his moustache puffing. “Hm. I suppose you do this a lot, then?”

“Yep. I’ve spent more of my life in space than I have planetside, at this point. I usually don’t make trips this long, though.”

“Seems like an unpopular profession. You’re the only captain who would take my request to ferry me and my staff to my new official residence!”

“The only sucker, you mean,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. There are quite a few cargo pilots, actually. Not many long-haul ones, though. I’m sure you can see why.”

“Oh yes, dreadfully boring.”

She swiveled around in her seat to face him properly. “Why did you run for a planetary governor position so far away, anyway?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked!” His moustache fluttered jovially. “Life among the Inner Worlds was getting a bit dull for my tastes, so I thought I’d take the chance to get out to the Coreward Reaches. Bit of a backwater if you ask me, but that just means it’s much in need of someone like me at the helm! And the fact that I won my gubernatorial election in a landslide means that the people agree too!”

“Didn’t you run unopposed?”

“Exactly! No one but me was willing to make the sacrifice to move all the way out to the fringes of civilization with only himself and a dozen staff.”

“Right. Well, I’ve got some space...stuff to do, so…”

“Well, I shan’t keep you then! I think I’ll go partake in that library you mentioned earlier.”

Star Weaver resisted the urge to sigh hugely until after the governor had toddled out of earshot.

“Thank Celestia.”

She did not, in fact, have any “space stuff” to do, as all the paperwork for her voyage had been filed and approved before the ship had even launched, and Orion dealt with the day-to-day minutiae of keeping the ship running. All she had to do, for now, was stare at the stars crawling by slowly in her view monitors.

***

Although the concepts of day and night did not apply in the majority of the universe, the ponies on board a starship required day and night for their mental and physical health. So after twelve hours of “day,” the lights would dim and the ship would simulate “night” so that the crew could get some sleep. Orion, of course, would keep an eye on the ship and wake people up in an emergency, but on any other night the ship was silent.

Until Star Weaver was awoken by a blood-curdling scream.

She bolted upright in her bunk, thrashing the covers off and shaking the sleep out of her addled brain.

“Orion,” she mumbled groggily, “What was that?”

ONE OF THE PONIES ONBOARD IS DEAD, I’M AFRAID.

Star Weaver practically leapt out of bed, now fully awake. “Dead!? Who? Where?”

ONE OF THE GOVERNOR’S STAFF. CORRIDOR B OUTSIDE THE CARGO HOLD.

“Shit shit shit shit shit…” Star Weaver cursed as she sprinted down the dark corridors, navigating them by memory. She skidded to a halt just outside of a gaggle of ponies gathered around a form sprawled out on the deck. One of the staff, a mare, was plastered against the wall, horrified.

“Out of the way!” Star Weaver bellowed in her Captain Voice. The group quickly parted to make room. She approached the figure and knelt down to look at them.

The figure was most certainly dead, with blood splattered all over the deck and bulkheads. Based on the bloody hoofprints, he had staggered quite a ways before finally collapsing. She grasped his shoulder and turned him over, and took a step back in shock. His throat was roughly torn out, explaining the copious amounts of blood, but the corpse’s face was frozen in a wide, rictus grin, as if laughing at his own demise.

The other staff members were muttering amongst themselves.

“Oh my word.”

“How could this happen?”

“Who would do such a thing?”

“Okay, everyone just calm down,” Star Weaver said. “Let’s get this guy to Medical. Orion can scan him and figure out what killed him.”

Nobody volunteered at first, but then one of the governor’s bodyguards stepped forward. With his help, Star Weaver was able to lug the corpse down the corridor to the medical bay and get it loaded onto a table.

“Orion, scan him please.”

After a brief hum and a pause, the AI’s synthesized voice gave the conclusion.

SUBJECT EXPIRED FROM BLOOD LOSS BROUGHT ABOUT BY TRAUMATIC JUGULAR INJURY. DUE TO THE PRESENCE OF SMALL BITE AND CLAW MARKS, INJURY WAS LIKELY CAUSED BY A SMALL MAMMAL. DNA ANALYSIS OF FUR SHOWS THAT THE MAMMAL WAS LIKELY A MEMBER OF FAMILY MUSTELIDAE.

“Mustelidae?”

SMALL TERRESTRIAL PREDATORS. MEMBERS OF THIS FAMILY INCLUDE OTTERS, STOATS, AND WEASELS.

“Weasels!?” the bodyguard blurted out. “Are you saying this guy was killed by a weasel?”

WEASELS CAN BE QUITE VICIOUS.

“What about the smile? What caused that?” Star Weaver asked.

UNKNOWN.

“Rigor mortis, maybe?” one of the other staff suggested.

BODY TEMPERATURE SUGGESTS A TIME OF DEATH NO MORE THAN TWO HOURS AGO. RIGOR MORTIS SETS IN AT LEAST FOUR HOURS AFTER DEATH.

“Besides, something would have had to hold his face like that the whole time,” Star Weaver agreed grimly.

“I’m going to go wake the governor. He needs to hear about this!”

***

A brief time later, everypony onboard the ship was gathered in the mess. The governor was dressed in a silk bathrobe and blearily rubbing his eyes.

“So let me get this straight,” he said after a cavernous yawn, “One of my staff is dead, killed and defiled by a weasel?”

“That’s what Orion said after a medical scan, yes.”

“Well, Orion is just a machine, yes? How can we be sure he doesn’t have a virus or something?”

“Hey! Orion is fully checked and updated every time we make port,” Star Weaver shot back.

“Don’t offend the robot, governor,” one of the maids said.

I AM A GENERAL-PURPOSE TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE CONSTRUCT. I CANNOT BE OFFENDED.

“Machines…” the governor muttered. “Anyway, assuming a weasel did, in fact, do this. Why is there a weasel on board anyway? I thought we were the only ones you were hauling, captain.”

“Technically no. It would be a waste of a trip not to completely fill the hold on every run. So in addition to you guys, I picked up some cargo that’s going somewhere nearby.”

“Could...could that cargo be killer weasels?” the maid said, the terror in her voice obvious.

“Orion, what’s in that cargo I picked up?” Star Weaver asked.

CLASSIFIED.

“Classified? Why is it classified?”

CLASSIFIED.

“Can you scan the contents?”

IT WOULD BE A VIOLATION OF MY PROGRAMMING TO DO SO.

“What if we went down and cracked open one of these crates ourselves?” the governor offered. “I’m sure you have weapons on board.”

“Yeah, I have some shock pistols and pepper spray for pirates.”

“No guns!?”

“Sir, with all due respect, guns are a stupid idea in space. We are in a pressurized soda can thousands of light-years from anywhere. A bullet could puncture the hull or destroy a system we need to stay alive.”

“Of course. Yes. Of course. Right.”

***

The trip to the cargo hold was a tense one. A dozen ponies crept down the dark corridor, ears constantly on the alert for any noise. Star Weaver swore she heard the skittering of paws, but she desperately hoped it was her imagination. When she reached the door, she entered the access code and immediately brought her pistol to bear as soon as the door was open. Nothing.

“Orion,” she whispered. “Turn on the cargo bay lights, please.”

UNABLE.

“Unable? Why?”

ELECTRICAL FAULT IN LIGHTING CIRCUIT.

“It’s chewed through the wires!” one of the staff hissed.

“Hush. We don’t know that.”

Star Weaver led the way through the rows of crates, the only light coming from a hoof-ful of flashlights. Suddenly she heard a gasp from behind her. She turned to look, and recognized the pink crates that had been loaded along with the governor and his staff. One of them had been violently torn open from the inside.

“Well, that solves that mystery,” a bodyguard said as he walked up to the crate. The governor shifted nervously from his position in the back.

“Be careful now, there might be-”

A pair of yellow eyes flashed from within, a fraction of a second before a brown blur came flying out of the hole and attached itself to the pony’s face. He screamed and thrashed about, his flashlight falling to the deck as he tried desperately to pull off the mass of fur that was clawing and biting at his face. The rest of the staff were screaming and shouting in panic. One of the other bodyguards pushed his way to the front and took aim with his shock pistol. A ball of blue light streaked out from the device and struck the weasel dead-on.

It convulsed and screeched before letting go of its victim and falling to the deck. It lay there twitching before the bodyguard walked up and stomped it with a hoof, and it finally went still.

The bodyguard who had been attacked, though, was not so lucky. He was clutching at his neck, blood running down his hooves. His face was pulled into a full-width smile, and he was laughing crazily. The rest of the group could only watch as he finally collapsed beside the weasel.

“What in Tartarus was that!?” the governor shrieked.

“Hush! There might be more of-”

Before Star Weaver could finish, she heard a high-pitched growl coming from the darkness. She glanced over, and saw another pair of yellow eyes, watching them. Then another. And another.

“RUN!”

She took off at a dead gallop towards the doors, and the rest of the group quickly followed. She heard a yelp and a scream as someone else was attacked, but she didn’t dare look back. She sprinted through the doors and quickly shut them as soon as the last pony was through.

Everyone stood, catching their breath for a few moments.

“Celestia above…” the governor gasped. “What are we supposed to do now?”

Before anyone could answer, a rattle and scurrying sounds could be heard coming from above them. As one, the remaining ponies looked up at the ceiling above them.

With a bang, a ventilation grate fell to the deck, and multiple sets of yellow eyes were staring at them from above.

“They’re in the vents!” someone screamed, and they all took of running again.

Bang! Bang! Bang! came from behind as more grates fell. Screeches and screams as more ponies were attacked by the furry terrors.

“The decontamination bay! There’s no vents in there!” Star Weaver called, quickly turning a corner. She glanced behind her and saw the governor falling behind, huffing and puffing as he tried to keep up.

One turn, then another. The lights flickered, plunging sections of the corridors into darkness.

Just ahead of her, she could see it. Her heart was pounding and her lungs were burning, but she pushed on, trying to ignore the screams of pain from behind.

She burst through the doors. “Orion! Seal decon bay four!” she barked as soon as everyone was inside. The doors slammed shut right as a weasel launched itself at them, snarling and clawing, spittle and scratch marks marring the window. Everyone backed away from the doors, breathing hard.

Star Weaver took a head count. Only six of them left, she noted grimly.

One of the bodyguards clutched his temples, staring at the floor. “This is it, we’re done for! Game over, game over!”

“Hey! Pull yourself together!” Star Weaver said. “We can still figure this out. We still have some weapons, right?”

They all took stock. One shock pistol and two cans of pepper spray between all of them.

“We managed to kill one of them. As long as we can keep our heads and fight them one at a time, we’ve got a chance.”

Suddenly, the lights dimmed, then darkened completely. There was the sound of electrical sparking, and the smell of ozone.

“Orion…?”

ELECTRICAL FAULT.

“Keep the doors closed!”

DECONTAMINATION ROOM DOORS ARE DESIGNED TO FAIL OP-

With a burst of static, Orion’s voice cut out.

The latch cycled, and the doors opened.

Three pairs of yellow eyes stared at them from the darkness.

Faster than she could blink, Star Weaver saw all three of them latch themselves onto the governor’s body. Biting and clawing at anything they could reach, they tore at his ears and burrowed under his clothing. He screamed grasped at them, but they continued their assault.

Everyone backed away from him, frozen in terror. Star Weaver looked around for something, anything, she could do. Her eyes found the airlock, the only other door in the decontamination room. She quickly rushed over and opened the door.

“Pepper spray! Quick! Get those things off him!” she shouted, and one of the staff with a can started spraying the red liquid at the governor. The stream hit him full in the face, and his convulsions redoubled and he began running. Blinded and in agony, he bounced off of walls, rolled off of decks, and staggered into the airlock.

Star Weaver hit the control and the doors slammed shut.

“Oh no...what do we do?” a maid whimpered.

She watched as the weasels finished their grisly work, and the governor’s lifeless body slumped to the deck, smiling like a madpony.

“He’s dead. There’s only one thing we can do.”

She matched the gaze of the three vicious little creatures in the airlock, growling at her, as she pressed the button to cycle the airlock.

The doors on the other end of the small chamber opened, and with a blast of decompressing atmosphere, the three terrors were flung out into space.

“Good fucking riddance.”