“You may,” said a voice from beside her. She had felt no movement of the air, seen no flash from a teleport—but there was somepony there. A pony made entirely from metal, though its flesh was more like dense bundles of wire than any android she knew. It was about the size she imagined an Alicorn must be, the size Thorax had stood, with wings and a horn both made of something transparent and vividly blue. “And you are. Citizen designation Mending lifted isolation approximately one year ago.” The voice wasn’t clearly male or female—one moment it seemed deeper to her, but the next it might change, becoming high and squeaky like a child. “You are not aware of the activities of your own civilization. You have been retrofitting the Agamemnon for several months now.”