//------------------------------// // Chapter 8: Reveal // Story: Tiberian Eclipse // by Material Defender //------------------------------// “Yes, I mean all of it. Cover every free space of Camp Greenwood in pavement. If these assholes can dig, then I’d rather not wait for another security breach to do something about it,” Alexandra said, watching on his feed as engineers hopped around the base with pack of concrete mix on their backs. “It’ll be done in no time flat, sir, I guarantee it,” the con-yard manager responded. “Anything else on the list today?” “There’s a shipment of aid coming in for the locals. Mostly basic amenities and food. Notify Commander Hampton once it hits the ground; she’s in charge of delivering the stuff.” “Will do, sir. Over and out.” The screen disappeared and was replaced with a global hologram of the world, a small ISDI insignia surrounded with a barely-noticeable green sphere denoting their foothold in the region. “EVA, status on weather.” “Ion storms are steadily decreasing. Given steady rate of clean-up procedures, storm levels will soon be manageable within our aircrafts’ storm shielding parameters.” The upgrades for ion shielding during past conflicts meant that hovercraft would still be operable during the worst of storms, but aircraft had to fly through the thick of the clouds where the interference was greatest. The level still stood at the point where only the already heavily-shielded Orca transports could operate in the current conditions. “Great. Notify the pilots that they might be seeing some air time soon. I want them all ready to launch on a moment’s notice within the next half-day, and make sure their Firehawks’ stratofighter boosters and AI cores are refitted with the appropriate storm shielding.” “Yes, commander. Warning: the current generation of SF-23 Condor fighters are currently not slated for Red Zone shielding upgrades. Deployment of these fighters in Red Zones may result in unpredictable outcomes.” As far as things went, the “Condor” was the official model name for the new aircraft series, but the soldiers stuck to the old name due to its similar fixed-wing design and functionality. Besides, “Firehawk” sounded much more intimidating than the “Condor”, and it was hard to argue with that logic. “Order the engineers to accommodate as best as they can. We may not have the opportunity to wait for fairer weather before they need to be called in as support. On a similar note, what is the current status of the Methuselah’s Havoc gunships?” “The SA-7 Havoc gunships are currently at full battle-time readiness. They are ready to deploy planetside when given the order.” As expected of the pilots, they always stood ready to deal out pain at the drop of a dime. The SA-7 was the latest and greatest iteration of the Orca assault craft, now given its newest nickname after the legendary GDI commando, the late Nick Parker, for the amount of armor and firepower it now carried that allowed it to pull off feats of combat that could do the namesake’s reputation justice. “Hello...? Is this the command center?” said a voice behind him. He rotated the chair around to see Masterson basking in the routines of the command center. “Wow, man, totally awesome! I should really check out this ship sometime...” “Henry. What brings you up here?” “Oh, you know, just thought I’d take a walk. Enjoy the scenery. Maybe get something to eat that isn’t pre-processed. And inform you that our EVA unit is ready for planetside delivery.” He held up his hand. “I know what you’re thinking, and I would like to assure you right now: I have cleaned out all my junk. So don’t worry,” he said reassuringly, “no one’s going to trip over anything or lose a hand or anything like that.” “So I would hope. I hope you have that GD-10 stowed away.” Alexandra stood up and stretched his muscles; though the command chairs were certainly built for comfort, long hours sitting there doing nothing but what superficially seemed to be pushing buttons and talking made the body ache after a while. It was one of the reasons why commanders had stricter physical regimen compared to their subordinates. “Don’t worry, it’s stored on the gun rack over my fireplace. And by that, I mean inside the standard-issue triple-threat codelocker that all InOps personnel are assigned to have.” Alexandra rolled his eyes. “Oh, you get what I mean! It’s antiquated hardware, Marty, no need to worry about it. I don’t even think it could dent a power suit anymore.” “Sure,” Alexandra said. “So where did everything else in that room go?” “Oh, that stuff? I just put them in the surplus cargo containers and hauled them down to Storage. Did you know that we happen to have three whole containers down there full of Mars Royter whiskey? That’s some potent stuff, you know; I wonder who brought it on-board. Hmm, wasn’t that stuff against regulations? I thought it was—” “Stay focused, Henry,” Alexandra interrupted. “Right, right. So, the core’s all locked down snug and tight, and the catapult systems are ready to disengage and launch that baby like a hot potato through space. All that’s left now is to make sure we have a proper landing site and hope we don’t end up crushing someone with the landing.” Alexandra shot Masterson a skeptical look. “A catapult system? No, Henry, I thought we went over this already. We’re not going to fire billions’ worth of sensitive AI equipment out of an airlock like it was a pod and—you know what? Who the hell even installed this thing for you?” “Idris did. I pitched the ideas to the board and they thought it could work. Imagine if we could just deploy the EVA cores planetside without any risk of intermediary transports being shot down! You remember Rostram VI, right? Core got shot down, and the entire landing force flew in blind before they could wire in a replacement. We could avoid that whole situation if this works out!” “Answer’s no, Henry.” Alexandra rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You know how I don’t like it when you keep quiet on these things. And you definitely know how I don’t like it when you’re trying new things that could potentially put our entire operation—and my men—at risk.” The Methuselah had been undergoing upgrades and repairs when he received command of the craft: now he knew why. Masterson paused for a moment, stuck in a limbo on a retort or an expanded explanation, before finally deciding on a simple sigh. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’ll find some other avenue to test it, I guess. Maybe some hot drops on Mars to refine the shock absorbers or crash cages. In any case, just let the transports know that it’s ready to be disengaged. Just remind them to align themselves properly to the hull, or we won’t be able to hook it back up to the Methuselah if they damage the hooks.” “You’re being surprisingly sane as of late,” Alexandra said. He nodded. “Yeah, lack of caffeine sobers me up pretty well. Redding’s on his way here?” “If he makes good on his course, he’ll warp in before the Scrin show up. The Hammerfest is on it’s way here, too. Along with all the bells and whistles we’re going to need to stop an attack from a dangerous cult.” Alexandra walked over to the holographic globe in the center of the room. “So it seems...” he said, slowly nodding again. “Well, I’m looking forward to being down there instead of up here when defecation hits the oscillation. Preferably under shields and deep inside a bunker, and of that, preferably your command bunker.” “You’re supposed to be in there, anyways,” Alexandra said amusedly. “Still, though, that’s an insane amount of turf to cover... but I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that. So long as we’re both standing on the same ground, the Scrin know that they’ll never see the end of our attacks. They’ll try to eliminate us as quickly as possible, and that knowledge is going to work in our favor.” “I feel bad for the natives,” Masterson said, watching with interest as the signatures of several Orca dropships departed the Methuselah. “They get us, but they get the Scrin now, too, all in one nice package. So, does this mean that ‘Crazy Ace’ Rowland is coming back to join us, too?” “Yep.” “Well, the peace and quiet was nice while it lasted...” he said, shrugging. The last time Rowland had managed to gain control of the Hammerfest’s broadcast systems, he played sped-up polka music at full blast for several hours until Masterson locked him out. Though still a flyboy at heart, Rowland was certainly not a slacker when it came to other fields of expertise, and it seemed that most of Alexandra’s chosen battle commanders had some sort of prankster streak to them. Even Michelin, who loved jump scare pranks around the living quarters. “He does what he does very well,” Alexandra said. “He wouldn’t be the support commander otherwise, and I’m sure his namesake squadron is just itching to tear some Scrin fighters apart.” “And what a sight that’ll be,” Masterson said. Floating numbers and logistics reports drifted past his vision, and he couldn’t help but notice an impromptu note from Wesley giving a brief explanation of his visit to Canterlot, lodged in one of the many screens slowly rotating around. “Heh. Canterlot. It sounds a lot like Camelot. I hope you plan on paying them a visit soon?” “Most likely, if not to let them get into contact with an ‘official liaison’, as CENTCOM likes to put it. InOps says it has to be done, otherwise there’s increased apprehension for the natives trying to interact with what seems to be a mostly faceless organization. One that just so happens to have lots of guns.” “I hope I can tag along, if you don’t mind.” “You’ll probably be riding down with me anyways, so I don’t see why not. Just make sure you keep to yourself, let me do all the talking, and don’t touch anything,” Alexandra said, giving him a cold look. “You of all people, especially. No souvenirs.” “I get you, sir,” Masterson said. “No keepsakes.” “Good,” he said, checking off on his naval contingent. The Methuselah’s escort force only numbered less than a dozen ships, less than a normal attack force would carry, and none carried the firepower required to fend off a large-scale orbital engagement. The Hammerfest and Amaranthine escort forces, however, had the battlecruisers necessary to go toe-to-toe with the planetary assault carriers and motherships of the Scrin arsenal. “Well, I better get back to Engineering before someone realizes I’ve actually left my room and bugs me about it forever. See you later, Marty. Going to be looking forward to heading planetside!” he called back as he left the command center. Small groups of people hanging around corners whispering to themselves or standing awkwardly in the halls were the only things surrounding the pony group as they waited outside the operating room. The sound of hums, whirs, and various hisses from the surgical tools inside only intensified their worry for both their friends. “I... is this okay?” Dash asked. “We’re totally getting weird looks from everyone else around here.” “Don’t think too much of it,” Rarity said. “I’m sure they’ll get used to it.” “Oh, I’m so tempted to walk inside and watch the whole operation myself,” Twilight said, despondent over Wesley’s adamant decision to keep her out, citing that such an operation wasn’t really fit for pony eyes, or at the moment, it wasn’t yet. “How bad can it be?” “Twi, they had to cut off parts of my leg to get rid of the dang crystal,” Applejack said. “With Princess Luna... well, I don’t think it’ll be a pretty sight. Pinkie’s probably fine, though. He’s a bit of a crazy doctor if he’s going to operate on them both in a row, though.” “If he saved you, AJ, I think he might be able to pull it off,” Dash said. “It’s not like we can do anything otherwise...” “Um...” Fluttershy said. “I think somepony’s walking towards us...” she said, giving out a meek gasp when the human, which Applejack recognized as her attendant, approached with a tray full of cups. He set down the tray on the coffee table in front of them before tinkering around with the small device he had planted on his belt. “Huh... does this thing work? I think it’s supposed to work.” He tapped his earphones and checked his microphone. “Uh, Applejack, do you understand me?” “Can understand you as clear as day, sugarcube. Thanks for bringin’ us some drinks.” The attendant looked confused for a moment, then tapped the device again. “I didn’t know this thing could translate accents...” A small buzz emanated from the small boxlike device as he toyed around with a few dials. “You’re a cowgirl—cowpony, right?” “Darn straight! I’m also a farmer. Well, except for the part where I don’t have a farm anymore... but that’s another thing for later. But, yeah, I am. Why?” He chuckled. “Well, I’m Harold. Harold Terrence. You remember me, right?” She smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I do. You were that nice feller who helped me out when the doctor wasn’t around. Gave me some of the best water I’ve ever had.” She picked up one of the cups from the tray with her hooves, staring into the clear liquid with a gleeful expression. “And you brought more!” She downed the whole drink in one gulp. “So... you work here, Harold?” Twilight asked. “Oh, I’m Twilight. Twilight Sparkle, friend of Applejack. These are my friends Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, and Rarity. And I see you’ve already met Applejack.” Harold tipped his head towards her. “Nice to meet you, Twilight. The doctor has instructed me to keep you all here. Naturally, there are security concerns, and he doesn’t want you just walking all over the base, and certainly not outside.” “Yeah...” Dash said. “Outside’s all pretty jacked up right now, isn’t it? I mean, at first, we didn’t believe the reports. We just thought that everything out there just got all swallowed up, and the towns that were still closest to Canterlot were the last to be evacuated. But when those things showed up...” She visibly shuddered. “I mean, I think I’m a pretty tough pony, but I don’t want to look at those things ever again.” “Those poor creatures...” Fluttershy said, shaking her head. She would have nearly broke out into another round of weeping had Dash not moved to comfort her. “I know this might not be the best time to point it out,” Rarity said, “but I do believe you look quite charming in that sweater-vest.” Harold looked down at his wardrobe, then back at Rarity with a sheepish smile. “Uh, thanks, Miss Rarity.” “Think nothing of it, darling,” she said, waving her mane around as she introduced herself. “I operate—well, used to operate Carousel Boutique, where everything is chic, unique, and magnifique! And right here in quaint Ponyville, or rather, what’s left of it. Now that I think about it, I wonder if the building is even still there.” “Pony fashion. Interesting,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Um. I don’t really work here, per se... I’m just a... well, I’m freelance worker that just so happened to end up in this position through... well, a lot of dumb luck, a lot more talking, and a heck of a lot more paperwork. So now I’m working as a civilian contractor alongside a military force as a medical aide and-or secretary. Take that how you will.” “So you help around?” Twilight asked. “That doesn’t seem so bad.” She frowned when she looked around her seat. “Though I just realized that I forgot to bring my note-taking materials. There’s just so much to document here!” “I can grab a pen and some paper, if that’s what you need.” He jabbed a thumb at the receptionist’s desk just across the way from them. “Right over there.” “Sure! Please and thank you!” Twilight said, as Harold walked over to the desk, talking with the receptionist and receiving the stationery, and sharing a laugh with the woman as he returned to them. “Oh, thank you!” She floated the materials out of Harold’s grasp and towards herself with magic, only to find herself grumbling when the pen couldn’t write anything. “Um...” Harold smiled awkwardly and reached over, clicking the back end of the pen and making Twilight turn red. “I... I knew that,” she said, and immediately went to work. Within minutes, Harold could see accurate sketches of the waiting area that they were in, and off in the margin, what he assumed to be a sketch of a human face. Or rather, his face, given how Twilight stared at him intensely for several seconds repeatedly before quickly scratching in the details. “Nice sketch,” he commented. “Better than I can draw myself, actually.” “Lots of practice,” she said, smiling. “Oh, I bet there’s going to be lots of stuff to study! You know, I have a question: do your suits run on magic?” “Uh... magic? Why do you think so?” he asked. “I mean, I’m no egghead—” Dash let out a snicker as Fluttershy fell asleep on her lap. “—but you’ll have to ask the engineers if you want to know the real deal on those things. To answer your question, though: no, they don’t.” “Oh, it just seemed like...” Twilight said, pausing for a moment to choose her words. “You humans seem... small, compared to those suits. I was just wondering if you’re all super-strong or something like that. I can hardly imagine wearing all that metal on myself. I’m not even sure if even our strongest earth ponies can wear all that.” “Earth ponies?” Harold asked. “That would be ponies like me, sugarcube,” Applejack said. “No horn, no wings, just one hundred percent pony. And proud of it.” “Ah,” he said, nodding. “And then there’s unicorns and pegasuses... pegasi?” “Last one’s correct,” Dash confirmed. “Am I missing anything else?” “Nope!” Twilight said, finishing an extended sketch of the translation device on Harold’s belt. “So why do you humans wear clothes?” “Uh... we don’t have fur like you do. And when it gets cold, we really don’t have much in the way of protection against that if we’re nude. And then there’s the whole thing that humans have about being naked. We don’t really like to be naked, except when we’re cleaning ourselves, or... you know what? I’m just going to stop there before I end up causing an incident. Yes, we wear clothes most of the time.” “Hmm, yes,” Rarity said. “I’d imagine that you would look quite dapper in a suit, darling. Perhaps when this whole business is over, we’ll be able to celebrate.” “And Pinkie will throw us the best darn party she’s ever thrown the history of parties,” Applejack said. “She and the Princess will come out of this just fine. I know they will.” “How long have they been in there so far?” Harold asked. “Weren’t you here the whole time?” Applejack asked. “You’re here all the time, aren’t you?” “Well, yes and no. I was busy filing the doctor’s study notes and restocking the coffee machine in his office before I came down here, where I found the note that he left for me, and then I brought you all some water, and... well, yeah,” he said, shrugging. Heads began to turn when another round of shaking rumbled the building. “Uh, what is that?” Fluttershy said. “A-are we being attacked again?” “No, that’s just our construction crews expanding the base. We’re trying to lay down some extra groundwork so we can move all of our forces planetside instead of leaving them all cooped up in orbit.” “Orbit?” Twilight asked. “You mean you have ships in the sky?” “That’s how we got here, yeah. You’re quite the studious type, Twilight.” “She’s an egghead,” Dash said matter-of-factly as they both watched her attention jump all around as she struggled to document everything. “And... there, that’s the lights...” Twilight said to herself, staring up at the ceiling as the pen continued to float, darting across the also-floating paper. “And those strange wires...” she muttered, the pen moving on its own accord as her gaze remained affixed to the ceiling. “That’s, uh... how is she doing that? The whole floating thing?” “Magic, duh,” Dash said. “Right...” Harold said hesitantly, watching the purple glow around the objects. “Magic... yeah, we don’t really have magic where we come from. That’s why we have these things,” he said, waving the appendages attached to the ends of his arms. “Hands.” “I remember talkin’ to you ‘bout those things,” Applejack said. “Pretty nifty, if I do say so myself. It’s like you humans got your own version of magic, ‘cept it’s mostly all stuff made of metal and it’s all these other weird fancy gadgets like what the doctor’s using for his operation.” “Ooh, I’d like to take a look at that medical equipment when I can get the chance,” Twilight said. “Maybe I can even get to use it!” “Uh, they sort of use them to do things like... cut, and various unsavory stuff like that,” Harold said. “You’ll have to ask Wesley about that, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like it when people—or ponies—play around with medical equipment, of all things. I hope you understand.” “You raise a good point. Maybe I should start learning human speech! Do you have any works on basic human speech and language?” “Um... I can try to pull something up for you, but it’ll take a while.” Harold pulled out his own PDA and began flipping through it. “Yeah, it’s just... we’re an expeditionary force, mostly fitted to combat Tiberium growth, not really so much as a ‘first contact’ sort of thing. Hold on a moment.” “Looking for something, son?” came a voice from behind him. Harold turned around to see the form of Lieutenant Viers peering over his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll have a heck of a time learning all the human languages.” Twilight looked quizzically at Viers, unsure of what he was saying in untranslated speech. “I’m sure she will, sir,” Harold responded. “Just pulling up the information now, but that’s kind of a problem. It’s all text, and we don’t have any samples of their written language.” “Oh, I can help with that!” Twilight drifted over a blank piece of paper and wrote down a number of symbols on it, and then drifted it over in front of him. “Here you go! The Equestrian alphabet, from A to Z! We can work on basic speech conventions later!” “A to Z...?” Harold muttered, looking at the twenty-six ‘letters’ floating in front of him. “Twenty-six letters?” “Yes! Is that odd?” “Well, our standardized language also has twenty-six letters. Huh. I guess there might be the possibility that our languages are pretty similar.” He took the paper, folded it, and stored it in his pocket. “I’m sure the linguistics department back home would be interested in this.” “Twenty-six letters! How coincidental,” Twilight said. “I wonder if our speech works the same, too!” “If it does, then it might explain why the translator managed to adapt to pony speech so fast,” Harold said. “If your assumption is true, then what ponies speak is just essentially English, structurally, with different phonetics. That’s... weird, and pretty coincidental,” Harold agreed. “So we have more in common with talking colorful ponies than an insectoid race,” Viers said. “I recall those days, reading the news on that. Took them freaking forever to translate bug-talk.” “Proper term is ‘Ecredian’, Lieutenant,” Harold corrected. “And you’re right. It was a total nightmare to translate, last I recalled. Well, both sides worked towards translation, but it’s kind of hard to properly document a language that chitters with huge variations in tone creating entirely different meanings. I mean, you ponies can understand sarcasm, right?” “Sarcasm? Yeah, we totally don’t understand that,” Dash replied, rolling her eyes. “That good enough for you?” “And there you have it. Less trouble for us this time around, it seems. I’m sure the commander is going to be happy about that,” Harold said to Viers. “Oh, Twilight, just a question. Are words spelled the same way?” “Hmm? Well, let’s use the word... ‘word’, for instance. That would be w-o-r-d. Or...” She wrote on her notes and displayed the word to him in Equestrian. “Like that! Word!” “That’s freaky,” Viers said. “That ‘w’ even looks like an English ‘w’. Sort of. If it were all curly and crap, but you get what I mean.” Suddenly, the PA system squealed to life. “Attention, all personnel. This is Commander Alexandra speaking. As some of you may already know, we’ve made contact with sapient lifeforms on this planet. Following protocol, we will be assisting them as best as possible, and thanks to the initiative of Doctor Wesley of InOps, we have a working translation program that can be used to facilitate communication with these natives.” “Huh. Guess we’re finally going full-blown on the relief efforts now,” Viers said. “However,” Alexandra continued. “I would like to make myself clear right now: if I catch anyone harassing the natives or otherwise causing—keyword being ‘cause’ here—a disturbance with them on any level, I will personally track you down myself, break both of your legs, and toss you in front of the brass at CENTCOM to explain yourself. They’re serious about this, and so am I. Have a nice day.” The PA system clicked off. “Uh... was he joking?” Harold asked. “He’s Alexandra. Hard-ass, takes no shit. His Steel Talons love him, the brass tolerate him, the regulars are awe-struck by him,” Viers said. “People will follow what he says. If they don’t, well... as a commando, I can appreciate the Steel Talons’ aptitude for combat. Some part of me thinks he’ll deliver if push comes to shove.” “What was that about?” Dash asked. “That sounded pretty important. I mean, seeing as how all those guys over there at that corner just went all quiet and stuff.” “Nothing to worry about,” Harold said. “Just our commander... kindly reiterating what happens if we happen to end up hurting a pony while we’re here. Though I don’t think that will be much of a problem.” “Not with me around,” Viers said, raising a curious eyebrow at the staring Dash, who immediately turned her head away when they met eye contact. “What’s her problem?” “Hmm?” Harold exchanged glances with both of them. “What’s up, Rainbow Dash?” “Nothing. But he looks totally ripped. Kind of reminds me of my friend Gilda...” Her face looked forlorn. “I hope she’s okay. She was always real tough, wouldn’t let anything get her down. And I won’t let anything get me down, either!” she said, raising her own spirits. “I’m sure she’s okay.” The red light above the ER doors shut off and a whole flurry of medical personnel broke out of the double doors, carrying a heavily-bandaged Princess Luna and Pinkie Pie off towards a ward down the hallway on their left. Wesley walked out, pulling off his surgical mask and shutting off the electronic adjutant system hanging off the side of his medical helmet. “Well, that wasn’t too bad,” he said, taking in a deep breath of air, free from the confines of the mask’s musky filtration systems. He thankfully took his PDA from Harold’s ownership and activated the program, anticipating the inevitable questions from the ponies. “How are they?” Twilight asked. “They’re fine, right?” “Relax, Twilight, they’re just fine,” he said, pulling off his latex gloves. “Your pink friend was a minor case, since it was just a little under what Applejack had. Princess Luna, on the other hand...” He whistled. “Advanced stage. I’d say that her containment either was lucky or skillful, because if it had advanced a little bit further... well, I’m not entirely sure how organ donation works here in Equestria. Or whether or not some super-pony like herself even has a chance at organ donation.” “But you managed to save her?” “That we did. She’s without quite a number of things, though. Her crown and jewelry, or whatever the equivalent of what her sister was wearing is currently undergoing decontamination, but they should be readily usable afterwards. Herself, though...” Wesley shook his head. “Well, we did some serious operation on the wings. Manes and tails grow back, right?” Twilight nodded. “They do, given enough time. The Princesses’ are different since they’re magically infused, but they should grow back all the same.” “What about wings?” Silence permeated the group for a moment, until Dash spoke up. “Did you... have to cut off her wings?” “Sort of,” Wesley said, sitting down in the empty seat next to Harold. “I see you’ve kept them company, Harold,” he said, exchanging a nod with his assistant-attendant before continuing. “Luna’s wings were almost completely engulfed, and we had to apply some pretty extreme measures to remove it.” “Uh... how bad was it?” “Cutting it close kind of bad,” Wesley said. “You see, um... how should I put this... we have these really high-powered lasers—beams of pure energy, extremely focused for the nature of precise medical procedures—that we had to use to cut off the worst of it. She... doesn’t really have much in the way of feathers anymore, if you could even still call them that by this point.” “So... you only cut off her feathers?” “And some... parts of her wings,” Wesley said awkwardly. “Not all of it, but the tips were practically long-gone by then, converted into pure crystal. No chance of reversion afterwards, once something’s been claimed. About the only downside to our medical procedures: we can only save what’s still alive.” “I saw that her horn was mostly intact,” Rarity pointed out. “Managed to save it, did you?” “The horn was the least of our worries, but it was barely even afflicted. Knowing that you unicorns use it for magic,” he said, gesturing towards Twilight’s usage of magic before him, “I really don’t want to see what might happen if I had to cut it off with high-powered beams.” “There wouldn’t be a large chain reaction,” Twilight stated. “It’s not as if all of our magic is contained within our horns, so it wouldn’t explode in your face or anything. But the worst part is that it’s an intrinsic part of our very being. To cut off the horn would cause a great deal of pain to the unicorn, on a level equal to or greater than that of giving birth, some say.” “I can imagine why no one’s in a rush to find out...” Wesley said. “So... can I go inside and look at everything in the operating room?” “What?” He blinked for a moment, then fervently shook his head. “No! It’s still being scrubbed down and decontaminated for any rogue crystal particles that we might have missed. And besides, that’s dangerous equipment that we use in there, and it’s no place for a young unicorn such as yourself.” That’s not to say that the operations were entirely bloodless, either, which was the more concerning part for him. Twilight looked at Harold, who merely shrugged. “Well, you can still dream, right?” he said. “So was it her idea, or yours?” Wesley asked, unamused. “Hers. I just told her what you would probably end up saying. Which you did,” Harold said. “Your notes are all filed, by the way, and the coffee’s brewing.” Twilight floated the styrofoam cup towards her and took a sip from it. “Well, if you ever change your mind... I’m your unicorn. Oh, hold still for a minute, doctor.” She leaned forward, staring intensely at Wesley’s face, her pen flitting back to work. “What’s with the creases on your face?” “Oh, you mean these?” He pointed at them, a curve across his cheeks and just above his nose. “From the mask. Sorry if it doesn’t look good, you can just omit them from your sketch there.” He waited a moment for her to finish sketching, then relaxed a bit, as Twilight turned her attention to Viers. “Whoa, there, sweetheart,” he said, laughing as he turned his head away and held up a hand to block. “I don’t do pictures or autographs. Sorry.” “What’d he say?” Twilight asked a smirking Harold. “He says he doesn’t do pictures or autographs,” Harold repeated. “Uh, he’s one of the better trained soldiers in our force here. Deals with more secretive stuff and all that, so you can understand if he doesn’t really want any pictures of himself out there.” “Oh... okay,” Twilight said, relenting. “Who else can I sketch? Hmm...” “You could just draw Hampton, the pilot of that giant walking crawler thingy, but she’s stuck in it all the time,” Applejack said. “She seems to be the friendly type of person, though. She’ll probably agree.” Just then, the sirens began to blare and flashing red lights permeated their viewspace. Personnel caught up in gossip on the ponies and other mundane things immediately jumped to action as the crackle of the PA system returned yet again. “Hello, everybody, this is Forward Battle Commander Hampton speaking! For those of you with adequate viewpoints, if you take a look just west of Camp Greenwood, you’ll see that we have an incoming wave of baddies! So all non-essential personnel, please find the nearest safe haven, stay inside, and remain calm until the situation has been dealt with. Please and thank you~!” she sang. “And for the rest of you grunts, battle stations!” “I better get to work,” Viers said. “Nice to chat with you all, though. Stay safe, doc, Harold, and guests.” He walked off, joining a small group of fatigue-clad soldiers sprinting for the barracks as they disappeared around a corner. “Well...” Wesley said. “I’m sure this might be something worth documenting, Miss Sparkle. Let’s see if we can’t get a view from the third floor observation deck.” “Wow, it’s pretty roomy up here,” Dash said, walking through the doors as they slid open. “Great view, too, and... whoa.” When the ponies had first encountered a battle, they had been located within the safety of the Mobius, and hadn’t actually seen the battle. With the observation deck view, they had an unobstructed view of the carnage unfolding as harvesters, convoys, and engineers quickly made for the safety of Camp Greenwood’s walls below. Focus beams sitting on the periphery of Camp Greenwood’s walls immediately tracked the first of the invading elements and let loose powerful lines of particle beams as they cut a swathe through the charging creatures. Infantry squads clustered together in small fireteams in bunkers scattered in between the turrets, firing upon diamond dogs as they scrambled to get closer to the base’s reinforced walls, only to be cut down by the watchtower vulcans hanging from the parapets above the field of battle. “This is... insane,” Rarity said, watching as an explosion rocked the far left side of their vision. A Titan waddled backwards on the field, its left leg hydraulics damaged as a group of mutated manticores attempted to encircle and finish the walker off. Redirection of fire from the nearby emplacements quickly solved the problem as the shimmering half-sphere shields of the Aegis whirred by their window, en route to the western gates. “Insane? Perhaps,” Wesley agreed. “But needed in the greater scheme of things, especially when the Scrin show up. This isn’t even going deeper into the hierarchy. What we have here now is essentially bare bones compared to the soldiers coming in to reinforce us.” “You kidding?” Dash said. “I mean, this is kind of awesome. You guys just fly in here and then just start kicking flank and taking names. I just wish you guys got here earlier. Maybe if we had you all, we could have saved Cloudsdale.” “Cloudsdale?” Wesley asked as light flashed across his vision, the bright explosions from the landing of several missiles from the batteries on the walls causing him to squint. “A city made of clouds, and one of the pride and joys of Equestria and the pegasi culture,” Twilight pointed out. “We... lost them when the storms suddenly got really bad. The weather seemed fine before, mostly minor turbulence, but when it struck, it struck hard. Most of the pegasi didn’t make it out, and those that did were even luckier to make it to Canterlot through the heavy rain.” “Ah,” he said, nodding quietly, deciding not to push the issue any further out of respect. “I think it’s quite evident that we’re going to win the battle. But we need to know what they’re doing.” “Huh?” Dash asked, breaking her out of her reminiscing stupor. “You mean they’re actually doing this for a reason?” “They are. Every attack so far by them, it’s always been controlled, always in waves, and always from a specific direction. The first times, I believe they were merely trying to gauge our defenses, but since they’ve realized that we’ve been reinforced, they’re doing something else. What that is, I don’t know, but they’re not mindless animals.” “Maybe they’re just here to get rid of you,” Rarity offered. “After all, you did set your forces up extremely close to the Everfree Forest.” “One of many reasons, perhaps,” Wesley said, pondering the possibilities of why they’d—though who ‘they’ were was essentially unknown at the moment—so callously throw their own forces at a superior enemy. Were they trying to prove something? “Hey, doc.” They nearly jumped back when a power suit hopped up onto the roof in front of their window, only for Wesley to realize that it was Viers. “Nice view, huh?” “Uh, shouldn’t you be, like, out there, instead of over here?” Harold asked. “Normally, I would be. But Hampton’s told me to stay back. Apparently, she didn’t like me ‘over-performing’ on the way down from the mountain. Racked up too many kills, or so she said, so I’ve been relegated to overwatch. Besides, it looks like they’ve got everything under control.” He rotated his torso to get a better view of the battle. “Hmm...” Wesley activated the lone terminal sitting at the window, punching in his credentials and waiting for the system to let him in. “What are you doing, doctor?” Twilight asked, trotting up beside him and examining the terminal with a look of wonder. “Ooh... what is this?” “It’s a terminal. With the proper authorization, you can access information across the entire network, all from a single location. Like... that.” The system’s circular loading screen disappeared and the display expanded, revealing a wide variety of information from standard news channels, along with a sidebar of InOps memos, which he closed. “Can’t have you looking at that,” he said, as Twilight frowned at him. “Sorry, classified.” “So... what are you trying to do here, then?” she slowly asked. “Trying...” he said, entering the local command network—normally inaccessible to regular personnel but allowed by InOps or similar CENTCOM clearance. “...to find... this.” He entered a sub-branch of the screen labeled ‘Infantry - Combat Cameras’, and wheeled down to a familiar entry labeled ‘Yankee’, and tapped on it. In which they were immediately greeted with the deafening sound of speaker-filtered gunfire. “—whoa, whoa! Four, watch your fire! You almost hit that freaky bomber bug thingy right as it hit that Titan! Let them get some breathing space before you unload on that sucker!” “I totally had that bastard! Yo, boss, watch your left!” The camera turned left and the face of a snarling diamond dog covered the screen, before an armored fist landed a solid punch on its face, sending it flying, and threw a line of spittle on the camera. “Ugh, gross,” Yankee Lead said, shaking his hand to wipe off the iridescent green saliva as Yankee Two stepped in and smashed the barrel of his cannon straight into the prone dog’s neck. “Man, that cannot be normal.” He looked up and saw the automated construction facilities for a bunker complete its self-deployment just a stone’s throw away, and pointed. “There! Move, move, Yankee, movement orders from Aegis! Let’s get the hell off this field!” Heavy thumping, the sounds of beams fizzing, and blurry camera movement of Yankee running for the bunker stayed for a few seconds before the dimmed interior of the emplacement came back into focus, with Lead’s chaingun pointing out an open port. “Watch out! Here come more of them!” Three shouted, unleashing a burst from his own weapon. “Wait, no, now they’re coming from over there! Now there! Holy shit, how many of these guys are there?!” Wesley looked up to see that the Mobius had now joined the fight in earnest, entrenching itself on the opposite side of the Aegis as their respective crawler repair fields helped to keep the Titans in working order, as their own defenses fired off against closing enemies. This was, by far, their largest battle yet, and he grew irritated; there was something to this. What did they want? “Wait...” he muttered, before a surprised shout drew him back to Yankee Lead’s camera. “Agh, what the fuck?!” Lead shouted, as a diamond dog suddenly unburrowed in front of his port, evading his chaingun’s barrel and attempting to land a futile bite on his plated forearm. “Get the hell out of my bunker, you prick!” The diamond dog hissed something back in response, less of a shout or a snarl and surprisingly more coherent. Rough was the least to put it, but the translator fizzled out an incomprehensible response before returning nothing on the faulty sample it received. “Damn it,” Wesley cursed. “Just what did that dog say...?” “I... think I know what it said,” Twilight said, flipping to another blank page as she stared at the chaos outside. “Really?” Wesley asked. “What did he say, then?” “I only caught part of it, but he said ‘kill the crystal destroyers’, or something like that. He must be referring to you and the rest of the humans. And... ‘protect the home shard’.” Thoughts whirred through Wesley’s mind as he blankly stared at the camera feed of Yankee Lead repeatedly slamming the diamond dog’s head into his port’s windowsill, before sending it off with another solid punch and a chestful of bullets. So the diamond dogs could talk. They knew something, and that something was something that he and the commanders needed to know. “Time to flex my authorizations...” He opened a direct line to Hampton on the local comm network. “Commander Hampton, I have a favor to ask of you...”