//------------------------------// // Chapter 11 // Story: Friendship is Sanctioned // by thirdstring_overlord //------------------------------// FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord ----- CHAPTER ELEVEN Cloudsdale 0840 hours         The situation was rapidly turning into something out of an obscura-fueled nightmare. An angry mob of flying horses were carrying Macer up a flight of white marble steps, spitting out paranoid slogans and chants with zeal that would make a Redemptionist jealous.         It was strange that Discus hadn't charged off to Ponyville yet. It seemed to Macer that perhaps he was using the trial as a way to keep the crowd riled up while he figured out what to do next.         Macer was not the mob's only prisoner. Carried along like she was caught in a riptide, Rainbow Dash tried to wrench herself free from the mob's tangling hooves and wings.         “I didn't give the signal!” she yelled, straining to make herself heard over the commotion.         “I thought you'd be a bit more appreciative,” Macer shot back. “Perhaps I should have just stayed behind and had a cup of tea?”         Soon they were taken into a massive marble building with a columned front. The interior was dominated by a towering oak podium, and dozens of heavy benches were arranged in front of it.         To Macer's relief, the building had a solid stone floor. At least he didn't have to stumble like a drunkard into the trial that would decide his life or death.         “The court is now in session!” thundered Discus, trotting up to the podium. “Bring the defendants forward!” he roared, grabbing a gavel and smashing it down.         The crowd shoved Macer and Dash before him. He glared down at them balefully. “Rainbow Dash!” he yelled. “You stand accused of aiding Princess Luna in her schemes to take over Equestria! How do you plead?”         If it hadn't been for the ropes tying his wrists, Macer probably would have simply pulled out his revolver and shot him at that point.         “Give it up, Discus,” Dash spat. “You're getting crazier every second.”         The spectators booed, and suddenly Dash and Macer found themselves caught in a small barrage of overripe fruit.         “Your diplomacy could use some work,” said Macer, ducking a trio of airborne tomatoes.         “Oh, yeah?” snorted Dash. “This is coming from the 'I can blow up your world' guy?”         “I never said I could 'blow it up,'” retorted Macer. “I just said I--”         “Tybalt Macer!” Discus roared.         The scribe straightened his back and gazed as stoically as he could at Discus. He winced as a rotten banana bounced off his shoulder.         “You stand accused of plotting with your ally Luna to transform Equestria into a puppet state!” Discus declared. “How do you plead?”         Macer cleared his throat. The ability to blather one's opponents into submission was a surprisingly useful skill in the Inquisition, and his years as a bureaucrat in the labyrinthine system of the Administratum had given him ample experience.         “I believe some background is necessary,” he began, and then launched into possibly the single most tedious speech in the history of the galaxy. He regaled the court of astonished equines on the intricacies of the Imperium's legal practices. He gently chided them for not understanding the implications of the “fascinating” case of the Imperial citizen Marcos Gesmalian, a man who was proven innocent but nonetheless spent the rest of his life in prison due to a technicality. Without bothering to link this anecdote to his actual point, he then spoke at great length about the “need to uphold strong and logical precedents” for future court cases, as failing to do so would “surely result in an administrative disaster.”         Before long, the crowd was beginning to lose its energy. His face redder than an overheating gun barrel, Discus finally managed to interrupt the scribe.         “That's enough! The court finds both of you guilty on all charges!”         Macer pretended to look perplexed. “But I haven't finished my statement. And you didn't even let the jury convene.”         “You have one more chance to tell us about your conspiracy,” Discus seethed. “Go on! Tell us, or we'll force it out of you!”         “And how are you gonna do that?” demanded Rainbow Dash.         “Bring on the feathers!” screamed Discus to the roaring crowd. “Bring on the rainbow salsa! We'll find the truth, one way or another!” Everfree Forest 0835 hours         “A sagittar?” Vallin asked. “What in the blazes do you mean by that?”         “The timing of these two incidents cannot be mere coincidence,” rambled Zecora as she staggered back inside her hut. Promptly Vallin heard a loud crash, followed by a series of thumps as the zebra disappeared inside a voluminous wooden chest. When she emerged, she was clutching an ornate scroll between her teeth.         “Across hissing deserts and roaring seas,” said Zecora as she carefully began to unwrap the scroll, “I have seen countless curiosities. But I was skeptical, I must admit, before I was shown this ancient scrit.”         Vallin watched with detached curiosity as the xeno finished unfurling the scroll. Unsurprisingly, it was written in a completely unfamiliar language. But as he examined the small pictures adjoining the text, he realized that they depicted strange humanoid creatures. They resembled centaurs of ancient myths, with human upper bodies and equine lower bodies.         “What the hell is this?” he murmured, suddenly snatching up the scroll. Zecora looked shocked for a moment before shaking her head resignedly.         “According to the unicorn with the mark of the lyre, they speak of times ruled by dark and fire. They say ponykind suffered under a monstrous foe, who inflicted upon them a thousand woes. It seemed as though the world would end...but then came the arrival of strange new friends.”         Vallin noticed that one of the pictures showed some sort of titanic battle, with equinoids marching alongside their centaur allies as they charged against a swirl of insane colors.         “Wielding weapons of untold might, the strangers fought by day and night. With their help Equestria prevailed; never again by the great foe assailed. What became of the strangers the scroll does not say, but it prophesies their return on a distant day.”         “If you mean to say we have some sort of connection with these wretched mutants,” spat Vallin, “you're in for quite a disappointment.” With that, he started to tear the parchment in half.                  “A-hem,” Fluttershy said softly. Even with his enhanced hearing, Vallin could only barely hear the little equine.         “You have something to say, horse?” Vallin growled, turning to look at her.         Amazingly, she didn't back away. She blinked a few times, drew in a deep breath, and then fixed Vallin with a soul-piercing stare. For a second the Space Wolf wondered if she was working some sort of witchcraft on him.         “Yes! As a matter of fact, I do! You need to learn some manners, Mr. Vallin!” scolded Fluttershy. “I don't care if you're a Spice Wolf--”         “Space Wolf,” hissed Vallin.         “Don't interrupt! You should treat Zecora with the respect she deserves! Now, tell her you're sorry for ripping her scroll!”         Vallin had to admit the little horse had some fire in her belly. He hadn't heard such fury and conviction in a non-Marine voice since his disastrous feast with the Battle Sisters from the Order of the Silver Sword...and those women had the assurance of powered armor and heavy flamers to back their angry tirades.         He considered the torn scroll, knowing that Fluttershy had no ability whatsoever to stop him from destroying it.         But then he thought more deeply about the matter. As heretical as this text was, it certainly was fascinating in how closely it aligned with ancient Earth mythology. And while his mind was pure, Vallin was no idiot. Any warrior worth his salt knew to collect as much intelligence as possible. Obedience to religious dogma was secondary.         “I suppose I acted rashly,” said Vallin, stuffing the scroll into his pack, “but don't mistake that for an apology, xeno. Regardless of what the 'prophecies' have to say, we have come to take you back to the village.”         “From this place I will not flee. I can say this with certainty. I must remain in the wild: it is my way. If I am fated for peril, it is a price I will pay.”         Vallin turned to regard Fluttershy with sharp lupine eyes. “I grow tired of this, horse. I shall give you one minute to convince her to come along. After that, we leave.”         Almost as quickly as it had arrived, the astonishing self-assurance of the xeno vanished. “I--” stammered Fluttershy. “But I...”         The Space Wolf simply stared at her. She was caught between two immoveable forces; Zecora and Vallin. A tortured expression crossed her wide-eyed, sweating face as she desperately tried to figure out what to say next.         Most people would have called Vallin's ultimatum cruel. Vallin considered it a good way to test the little xeno's wit. Perhaps some meager semblance of usefulness might be hidden under her fluff, Vallin thought.         In an awkward fashion that reminded Vallin of a wounded grox pup, Fluttershy cleared her throat and looked at Zecora with the most commanding expression she could muster.         “Zecora...” she said softly. “I know this place is special to you, but please listen. Something very scary and very dangerous is coming our way. Ponyville needs you, Zecora. They need ponies who are wise and calm. You haven't lived here long, but if we lost you...” her voice cracked a little.         “We'd give up everything to get you back.”         Zecora's face softened. “Leaving my home gives me pause, but perhaps it will be for a good cause. Many thanks, young Fluttershy. To this place I will say goodbye.”         As Zecora set out to gather a few choice items, Vallin eyed Fluttershy.         “You're smarter than I thought, xeno.”         “Why...thank you, Mr. Vallin,” Fluttershy said, smiling shakily up at the towering Space Wolf.         “You shouldn't feel happy about it,” Vallin grunted as he stretched his thick, muscle-corded neck. There was a sickening but satisfying pop as his spine settled. “Want to know why?”         Fluttershy's already weak smile wavered. “Oh?”         The giant kneeled down to Fluttershy's level, flashing her a jagged-toothed grin that would have made a hardened stormtrooper soil his pants.         “The smarter an alien is, the less comfortable I am around them. So tread carefully, little horse. You don't want to get bitten.”         Fluttershy made a meep noise so soft and quiet that Vallin almost thought it was only his imagination. He nodded.         “Just thought I'd let you know,” he said, turning away from the quivering xeno. But as he did so, a nearly-forgotten emotion tugged at his spirit.         Regret. Now where did that come from, the Space Wolf wondered. Central Equestria 0845 hours         A mere fifteen kilometers northeast of the courthouse, a squadron of sleek black predators sliced through the soft banks of clouds. Even a master scout of the Royal Guard would have been hard-pressed to spot them. The only hint of their presence was the occasional protruding tail fin, making the spectacle much like a swarm of sharks swimming through a misty harbor.         But these beasts did not sleep, nor did they eat or breathe. Yet they were guided by an intelligence far crueler than even the most vicious carnivores. They were not mere machines; they were the Chayot, the flying war-engines of Exathel. In the vanguard craft sat Michael Arkayat, the Shepherd of Exathel. And as long as he had a say in the matter, the weak, unclean inhabitants of this world would never rest.         Even his face held a predatory aspect. His features were sharp and chiseled, his brow almost perpetually narrowed in concentration. His oily black hair was always kept short, so as to never spill over his watchful blue eyes.         Had anyone been allowed into his private command chamber at the back of the shuttle, they would have seen a rare sight: Michael with a vacant, unfocused look on his face. For at this moment, Michael's mind was literally somewhere else. Sent to wait at a nondescript rallying point for the promised second attack, Michael had at first taken it as a pleasant surprise. But as time dragged on, he grew increasingly tired of having his shuttle squadron fly around in endless lazy circles, waiting for Dante's mysterious orders.         Michael realized what Dante's plan had been. He had sent him on this mission to humiliate him; to take him out of the action while his more favored servants fought the battle.         Should an opportunity present itself, you are free to take whatever measures necessary to achieve your objective...as long as you stay within your zone. The mission parameters had seemed reasonable at the time, but now he saw the mockery behind them. How could an “opportunity present itself” when all the targets of interest were kilometers away?         It sickened him to see the sudden childish spite the Steward held for him. Even given Dante's age, it seemed bizarre.         Yet there was little he could do to protest. So Michael had sat quietly in his shuttle, powerless to do anything about it.         But eventually he realized there was a way to make himself useful, no matter what Dante had to say about it.         He decided to cast his mind from his body, projecting his consciousness into the world outside. It was a taxing psychic feat, but eventually his mind drew in enough power from the Warp. Colors and shapes became meaningless blurs for a moment, and then he was outside the shuttle.         As usual, everything in the immediate vicinity was sharp and impeccably clear. He could see every dent and scrape on the shuttle's exterior; taste the fresh, cold air and its faint ozone spice. But as his spirit ventured outward, the world became increasingly blurred and grainy.         Sometimes it was possible to see more distantly—but only under proper conditions. He searched for a fluctuation in the dimensional membrane, hoping to find a small stream of warp energy he could drink from.         Nothing. He mentally sighed, preparing to return to his body. But then he felt something tweak his senses. It was like the faint brush of a hand after spending weeks in an isolation chamber: shocking, but exhilarating. Eager to find out what it was, he swam blindly through the mist until he reached his destination.         He found himself inside what appeared to be some sort of courthouse. The tall windows offered him a glimpse of a spectacular landscape of clouds, lit by the blazing morning sun.         After he shook off a brief wave of disorientation, he realized that he was surrounded by a mob of jeering equines. They babbled and booed in their inane language, hurling fruit and garbage at him. Even though his projection was invisible and incorporeal, he winced as a melon whizzed by.         He turned around to see the targets of the mob's outrage: one of them was a rainbow-maned alien that he instantly recognized as one of the targets. The second was a human male that looked familiar.         The human muttered something just a bit too muffled for him to understand, but there was a sarcastic bite to his tone.         In response, the aliens roared and threw yet more rotting fruit at the human and his companion. What had they done to inspire such rage? It was a shame he couldn't record their speech; the cogitators had just finished analyzing the aliens' language.         But more important to Michael was the matter of why the human looked so familiar. He let his psychic view grow blurry while he searched through his memories.         Finally he realized it. He had seen the man on the vid footage his soldiers had recorded during the assault. As unassuming as the man looked, he had been in the party of attackers that had defeated the first invasion force. Despite not being one of the formidable Space Marines, he had somehow endured the wrath of Exathel.         The sounds of the room grew muffled as Michael stared at the Imperial with growing disgust. Such humiliation could never go unanswered...sooner or later, this kurnak would suffer. Balefully he watched the bedlam around him, a plan forming in his mind.         Perhaps there was a way he could twist this situation to his advantage. The prospect of capturing two priority targets in one strike was certainly tempting. Not only could he punish the Low Ones, but he could show Dante what he thought of his degrading little games.         He drifted out of the courtroom, hoping to discover where he could find this city.         “Prepare the dajeen drone,” he growled into the vox-set. “An...opportunity has presented itself.”         Sweet Apple Acres         0833 hours         Birds merrily chirped territorial threats to each other as they fluttered past the armored goliath named Dac'an.         Chewing thoughtfully on a piece of straw, Big Macintosh glanced at the giant looming over him.         "So yer name's Dac'an."         Exactly 2.3923 seconds passed before Dac'an gave a response.         "Affirmative."         The air was abuzz with the mating calls of at least thirteen genuses of insects. Dac'an decided he would relay this discovery to the Explorators when they arrived.         "Have your kinfolk dwelt on this plantation for long?" asked Dac'an.         Big Macintosh gazed off into the distance.         "Eeeyup."         "You should prepare for the possibility of losing it."                  Big Macintosh set the bucket of apples down to stare at him.         "Why?" he asked flatly.         Before Dac'an could muster a reply, his enhanced aural senses detected a flurry of activity in the farmhouse.         "Granny, no!"         "Guests? Ah love havin guests! Lemme see for mahself!"         "No! You don't--"         The front door burst open, revealing a wizened equine with a gray mane and a crooked stance.         She squinted curiously at Dac'an for several seconds while the juvenile, Apple Bloom, desperately tried to pull her back inside.         A grin lit up the elderly alien's wrinkled face. "Howdy, stranger!" she yelled. "Care for a slice a pie?"         For a moment the only sounds were the swaying of trees in the wind and the chirps of avian fauna.         "I am not here as a guest," Dac'an said simply. "Your offer is unnecessary and undesired."         "Yew sure?" drawled Granny Smith uncertainly.         "This is an inefficient use of time. I will allow you exactly three minutes to gather whatever belongings you deem essential.”         "Dac'an!" Applejack said sharply. "Show some respect, will ya?"         Dac'an evaluated the xeno. Iris dilation and pulse were elevated well beyond the norm, and her expression suggested extreme frustration mixed with annoyance. He felt faintly illogical for superimposing human behavioral cues onto an alien, but so far it seemed that these creatures had largely the same body language as humans.         Evidently, he had broken some social taboo. He estimated his odds of successful apology at less than ten percent.         He considered several courses of action. Perhaps the application of humor would ease the tension? No, he decided. There was only one course of action left; a proven method from his days handling refugees on Nocturne.         "I will ask only one more time. Prepare for evacuation now.”         "I'm stayin' put!" huffed the elderly equine. “I grew up on this here farm. As long as mah hooves trot on earth, I ain't goin' nowhere!”         “If you insist.” Without another word, Dac'an scooped the xeno up and tucked her under his right arm, ignoring her yelps of protest.         Soon the colossal warrior had picked up Applejack and even the ponderous Big Macintosh. Applebloom he elected to carry in his servo-arm, carefully modulating the pressure of its pincers to avoid injuring her.         His orders had been to extract the xenos in a safe and speedy fashion. Suppressing a victorious smirk, Dac'an decided that he had fulfilled this order quite adequately.         Cloudsdale         0850 hours         “If you won't give us a confession,” said Discus, “we'll crush one out of you, alien scum!”         Macer shrugged, hoping that the cuffs of his sleeves adequately concealed his attempts to undo the rope around his wrists. “It seems you're in for an awful waste of time.”         Dash's eyes were like dinner plates. “Wait. Are you seriously gonna...”         Discus grinned wickedly. “Yes. Your buddy is gonna get the Trample Treatment, and there's nothing you can do about it! Except, of course...if you can just swallow your pride for a moment and tell us the truth...”         Dash frantically shook her head, her eyes still bulging. “No. You're kidding, right? C'mon, cut it out. This isn't funny anymore.”         “Drizzly Rain? Would you mind lending me your hooves for a moment?” called Discus. A petite white-furred female pegasus marched forth from the crowd, her face set in a mask of grave determination.         “No,” said Dash, all color draining from her face. “You've lost it, haven't you?”         The small pegasus shoved Macer to the ground.         “Do it,” Discus commanded.         “No!” screamed Dash. But it was too late: Drizzly Rain began to jump up and down on the human's prone form, smashing her weight down on his spine and his ribs.         “You sick freak!” screamed Dash as a loud series of pops and snaps emanated from Macer's back. “Can't you hear that—you're breaking his bones!”         “On the contrary,” said Macer, “this is quite comfortable. My joints were a tad stiff until now—oof!–in fact, could you do it a little lower, please?”         Discus's jaw flapped with a motion that reminded Macer of a dying fish. The scribe traded a look with Dash, who valiantly tried to stifle a fit of snickering.         As Drizzly Rain continued trying to stomp the information out of the scribe—which made for a surprisingly good massage—Macer wondered how it was that these creatures had no understanding of even the basics of torture. He had been subjected to vastly worse treatment at the hands of his own friends.         “Enough!” Discus finally managed. “You've made a big mistake, my alien friend. You've just upped the ante!”         Shortly after Discus's dire warning, a group of grim-faced equines emerged from the grand doorway, bearing bags of feathers and jars of some strange multicolored paste.         Their first act was to have Macer was “tarred and feathered,” which apparently meant that a small quantity of lukewarm glue and feathers were dumped onto the back of his robe. Unfortunately for Discus, the scribe simply looked annoyed and promptly scraped the mess off.         To Macer, this was quickly seeming much more like a series of mild annoyances than torture. And yet, it was as though this was some unprecedented level of cruelty for the citizens of Equestria. Dash exhorted them constantly to stop, seeming more and more frantic every second.         When the time came for Macer to be force-fed rainbow salsa, he watched with indifference as the pegasi slowly—perhaps in some vague attempt to be more menacing—lowered the ladle of steaming sauce to his lips. To Macer's puzzlement, it appeared to be some sort of multicolored paste. A quick sniff brought a sting to his nostrils.         “Don't taste it!” wailed Rainbow Dash. “That stuff is nasty!”                  “I've always been one for exotic cuisine,” he said, shrugging and taking a hearty slurp of the salsa.         “You may laugh now,” warned Discus, “but you won't find it so funny once the heat kicks in.”         Seconds passed.         “Any time now...”         Macer's expression remained a portrait of disinterest. Stealthily, he worked a bit more on loosening the rope.         “Oh, for goodness sake! Suffer already!” yelled Discus.                  “Your presence alone is adequate,” quipped Macer, just before a rotten tomato splattered across his face. Discus seemed profoundly grateful for the interruption.         “A wise guy, huh? I gotta break it to you...I don't like wise guys,” said a pegasus with a brilliantly streaked orange mane. The bombastic tone of her voice and her cocky expression screamed to Macer a personality tainted by extreme arrogance. He'd dealt with the type far too many times when working with certain Imperial Navy pilots.         “Ah, how the mighty have fallen,” said the pegasus, strolling up to Rainbow Dash with a look of mock pity hanging on her features. When Dash gave her no answer but an angry stare, she took it as an invitation to continue.         “Isn't it disgusting?” the equine smugly asked the crowd. “This is the mare with the Element of Loyalty? What a joke that turned out to be. She can't even be loyal to her own kind.”         Macer made a mental note to ask Dash what she meant by “Element of Loyalty.” Assuming I ever get the chance, he noted.         “She betrayed everyone just for her...boyfriend,” she added, throwing a sideways smirk at Dash.         “Shut up!” roared Dash. “You don't know anything, Lightning Dust! I'm trying to save Cloudsdale, and all you care about is your stupid little revenge scheme!”         Lightning Dust pretended to check her hoof throughout Rainbow Dash's outburst. “Yeah, sure. I'll bet your alien buddies just wanna hold our hooves and sing, right? It's not like we've got any reason to doubt 'em, or anything.”         To Macer's contempt, he saw that Lightning Dust was getting the same self-satisfied look that Discus had whenever he was making one of his particularly power-crazed sound bites.         Dear Throne. How many demagogues does this city have?         Was it some sort of normal behavior for the equinoids? Or was there something else going on?         He looked around the room again, and the hairs on the back of his neck began to tingle. It was very subtle, but he started to realize that there was something wrong with the crowd. Up until now the mob had acted quite similarly to human analogues, with peaks and valleys of anger and energy.         But something was different now. Each face in the crowd held a look that sent a chill down his spine. Rather than seeming angry or scared, they simply stared with gazes that had as much life and soul as broken mannequins.         Lightning Dust didn't appreciate the lapse of Macer's attention. “Oh, so I'm boring you, huh?” she spat. “Tell you what. How about we take you to The Wheel? If that won't get you to talk, I don't know what will.”         “Sounds like a plan,” chimed in Discus. “Whaddaya think, ladies and gents? Think it's time for The Wheel?”         He was answered by nothing but silence.         This is wrong. This is very, very wrong, thought Macer. Every instinctual alarm system in his body was blaring full alert. One did not survive in the service of the Inquisition for long without developing a sensitivity to the presence of witchcraft. He shivered as a familiar chill ran down his spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Rainbow Dash had frozen stock-still with alarm. Her face was locked in a scowl, her eyes sharply scanning the room for the source of the evil presence.         “Discus,” he said as calmly as he could manage. “You need to get everyone out of here. Now.” As he said this, he felt another knot in his bonds give away. Just a little bit more...         Discus's laughter came as a painfully forced bark. “You think I'm stupid? I can see right through your little games. Now, stop...whatever it is you're doing to them right now, and maybe I'll go easy on you.”         Macer felt some of the dark presence fade, and with it life began to return to the crowd. There was no anger on their faces now: only drowsiness swiftly transforming into terror. They seemed like children getting out of bed only to find the beasts of their nightmares staring straight at them.         Throne, Macer thought. Was someone controlling them? Or were they just being influenced? It was a mystery to solve later, for now a new cause for concern was emerging.         “You hear that?” said Rainbow Dash, glancing upwards. A high-pitched whine was building in the air. To a civilian it might have sounded like a tea kettle's whistle. To Macer it brought back toxic memories of trenches and cannons.         “Wait a minute...” murmured Lightning Dust, a subtle hint of fear beginning to fall on her face. “I hear it.”         “Hear what?” snapped Discus. “Don't tell me you're falling for his tricks, Lightning.”         “Shut up!” said Rainbow Dash and Lightning Dust simultaneously. Discus gave them a comically dumbfounded look before he tried to speak again.         Macer cut him off before he could start. “It's time to stop playing pretend, little xeno. If you want to be a leader, you can start by leading your people as far away from this place as possible. Do you understand this?”         “All too well,” sneered Discus. “Then you can sneak off and--”         “Do you know who you're up against?” thundered Macer. The two guards who had been holding him down were far too frightened to give any resistance as he rose to his feet. Quickly shaking the useless ropes from his hands, he snatched Discus by the throat, drawing a gasp from the crowd. “My comrades would gladly stomp you to paste for what you've done. But compared to what we're about to face, they're bloody angels of mercy.”         He heard commotion from behind him as the mob began to try and rush out the front door. It didn't sound like they were having much success.         “You hear that? They're panicking. I'm thinking you and Lightning Dust might be able to get them under control. Or perhaps you'd rather just sit around and keep screaming at me?”         There was a pause as Discus glared at Macer with a look of pure hatred. For a moment Macer expected him to turn into a snarling, shrieking embodiment of rage.         But then he turned and flew to the crowd, quickly being joined by Lightning Dust.         “This isn't over,” Lightning Dust murmured to Dash.         Dash didn't take the bait, simply coldly watching her as she left.         “Needless to say,” said Macer, gazing at the teeming mob jamming the front door, “I think we won't be using that exit.”         “It's okay, I have a better way,” said Rainbow Dash, grabbing a heavy tome off the podium and hurling it at the window.         The beautiful stained glass shattered into a million pieces, nobly sacrificing its life for the good of the citizens of Cloudsdale.         “Hey, anypony want another way out? Found one for ya!” yelled Rainbow Dash, only barely making herself heard over the growing shriek from above.         “We'll need to get to a rendezvous point,” shouted Macer. “I'm hoping your...Wonderbolt friends called in some reinforcements?”         Weaving through the fleeing mob, Dash sped through the broken window. She craned her neck to look up and see what was making the noise.         When she looked back at Macer, her eyes were wide with terror. “Not good. Notgoodnotgoodnotgood.”         “What is it?” demanded Macer, pushing through the crowd and leaping out the window to join Dash.         As he looked to the source of the noise, he saw a fiery projectile traveling in a ballistic arc through the sky. To his terror, it seemed it was going to land on the courthouse in only a few more seconds.         Oh, forn.         “Everypony out!” screamed Rainbow Dash. The sound was almost like a siren now, quickly bursting past the pain threshold of hearing and making Macer clap his hands to his ears. Dash zipped back inside the building, perhaps trying to help the last few civilians. To Macer's interest, Lightning Dust and Discus were still inside.         Macer wanted to angrily admonish Dash for taking such a stupid risk, but he never got the chance.         The ball of fire punched straight through the roof of the courthouse, landing on the floor in a shower of shattered marble and granite.         Macer only get a fleeting glimpse of the projectile before it landed, but it the blinding flash of its retro-rockets burned the afterimage into his eyes.         It was some strange sort of drone. It resembled a human skeleton, but its bones were glistening steel rods and its skull was an armored optics cluster. Mounted on its back were two skeletal metallic wings, each bearing three small plasma thrusters. In its right fist it clutched a strange device that continually spewed a tight plume of white-hot fire, easily a meter long.         Already blinded by the retina-scorching light, the resultant blast of noise and the concussive punch of the impact shockwave sent Macer reeling. His ringing ears were promptly tortured by a hair-raising, trilling shriek that made him imagine an enormous mechanical locust grinding sword-like legs against meat cleaver wings. It was a sound he dearly wished he would never have to hear again.         He tried to call out for help, but no reply came save for the screams and wails of the mob. His vision had been reduced to a vague blur of shapes and colors, forcing him to rely on sound and luck to guide his steps.         He ran as fast as he could on the treacherous mat of clouds, hoping to the God-Emperor that Dash had somehow made it out. As for Discus and Lightning Dust? To hell with them, thought Macer. They had their chance.         They had their chance, he repeated to himself as he kept running. He owed nothing to them. He looked back at the courthouse, hoping to see Dash flying to safety.         She was nowhere to be found. Maybe she had escaped with the rest of the crowd? With a sinking sensation, he saw that the crowd had come to a dead halt on the front steps of the courthouse. A small shuttle drifted to a stop above them, taking potshots at anyone who tried to fly away. The wind carried their pleas for mercy and their wails of despair.         Macer swallowed.                  They're xenos, a small voice reassured him. None of them matter. Just focus on finding Dash and getting out of here. You're already going out of your way by agreeing to assist her.         He wondered why Dash would care so much about saving the lives of people who had been at her throat just minutes earlier. Was she insane?         More whip-cracks of rifle fire sounded from the shuttle. Macer gritted his teeth and fished for his revolver.         But they made their choice! the voice pleaded. Save yourself!         New plan, Macer mentally replied as he ran to flank the shuttle. Take your advice and shove it.         He smoothly raised his revolver and trained the crude iron sights on the gunman leaning out the vehicle's side door.         The shuttle hovered quietly in midair, giving the Exathelite soldier Goliat Akarda an excellent firing platform.         Goliat Akarda grinned behind his mask and leaned further out the shuttle door. No kills yet, but it was more fun this way. After the humiliation his squad had went through earlier this morning, this little game was the perfect medicine for his wounded pride.         The puny little aliens were faced with a terrible choice: meet their doom at the fiery blade of the Dajeen drone, or meet their doom in a torrent of his bullets. It was great entertainment to see the looks of childlike terror they got when they grasped the impossibility of escape.         He wouldn't have felt pity even if they had been humans. The only humans fit to live worshiped the glorious angel of the Machine God, Sirnath. All other life had been created solely for the sport of destruction. They were the Unclean; the Low Ones; the kurnak-tal. Such was the Mandate of Sirnath.         He aimed his rifle at a small family of the creatures as they fled the burning building.         Goliat was a father with two children, much like the terrified stallion he trained his rifle on. And just like him, he would have given his life to protect his young ones. And yet, even as he saw the look of helpless fear in the alien's eyes--even as the alien tried to move himself in front of his two terrified foals--he felt no sympathy whatsoever.         He drank in the moment, feeling the world slow down as he gently began to put pressure on the trigger of his miquelar, his family rifle.         This time he wouldn't miss, and the alien knew it as well as him. His eyes were so white and round, like little moons. He set his sights on those eyes, thanking Sirnath for this exhilarating moment. One more ounce of pressure on the trigger--one more split second--and it would be over.         Bam! A gunshot rang out, harsh and unfamiliar. A bullet pinged off the shuttle's fuselage.         Goliat cursed to himself, more because of the ruined moment than the danger. Where in the abyss had that come from?         The shuttle shifted, and then he saw the shooter. It was that miserable Imperial weakling from before. No matter. He would be simple enough to deal with. Then his entertainment could resume.         Another bullet ricocheted off the hull. Unhurriedly, Goliat raised his rifle and framed the scrawny little man in his sights. Pitiful Imperials and their pitiful marksmanship.         Bam!         A hot dagger of agony stabbed into his forehead. He dropped his rifle, not caring as he heard it slide out of the shuttle. His hands flew to his face, clutching madly at it as though his pain could be grabbed and strangled.         Sirnath! Oh, Sirnath, it hurts! His vision was gone, clouded over by a thick crimson haze. Wailing and sobbing, he staggered blindly about the shuttle, trying to feel his way into the cockpit.         His sight was just starting to return when he felt his right foot slip off the edge of the shuttle's deck plating. He tried to shift his weight, flailing his arms frantically.         Then the shuttle shifted ever so slightly. Howling like a madman, Goliat Arkada plummeted off the edge.         He was the first Exathelite who would never return to the base. He would not be the last.         Cloudsdale         0855 hours The sheer speed of the charge stretched Dash's mouth into a lip-flapping grimace. Not nearly enough to break into Rainboom territory, but more than enough to send the bucket of bolts headfirst into the wall.         Or so she thought. Her forehooves hit the robot like a pair of freight trains, throwing it off balance. But it took the blow like a prizefighter, rolling with the hit to rob it of its energy. Her hooves smarted from hitting the machine, and she knew her attack had probably hurt her more than the target.         In a moment of pure panic she realized that she was still shooting forward, heading straight for the wall she had hoped to smash the machine into pieces against.         With a deft swish of her wings, she wheeled herself to face the wall back-hoof-first. Spreading her wings with all her might against the rushing air, she puffed them into makeshift drag-chutes.         As soon as her hooves touched the wall, she let her knees bend inward, taking the rest of the energy out of the impact. As she craned her neck to look behind her, time seemed to pass by slower than Tank. The robot was slowly turning to face her, its flaming sword a shower of sparks suspended in midair. Bits of plaster and marble rained down from the shattered ceiling like hail, plinking and planking off the machine's polished metal frame.         Explosively she sprung off the wall, thanking the Wonderbolts for the muscle she'd built from the takeoff drills. The robot hadn't brought its sword around to meet her, so she had decided to take a gamble: if blind brute force wasn't the answer, then she needed controlled brute force.         She was going a lot slower for this attack, but now she had much better control. She went lower this time, aiming for the machine's legs.         It slashed with its sword, and Dash winced from the blinding light and the heat. Luckily for her it had aimed too high, and it only managed to singe a few feathers.         Impact. Dash slammed into the robot's left knee joint, and the machine made a pitiful mewling sound as it lost its balance. Something heavy and blunt smacked into her forehead, too fast for her to even have a single thought of fear. Her world went white for a few moments, and when she came to she barely had any idea what had just happened.         She was tangled in a heap with the machine, which was desperately trying to dislodge her and reignite its damaged sword. To her satisfaction, she saw that somehow the robot's left arm had gotten caught beneath a heavy chunk of rubble.         But the fight was far from over. The machine's thrashing limbs jammed into her sides, knocking the air out of her. Wheezing from the hit, she snatched its sword arm between her two hooves and twisted as hard as she could. Its motors whined in protest, and she felt as much as heard the sputter of its sword as it began to shoot out sparks again. A small but intense flame burst to life from the hilt, more than hot enough to leave black scorch marks on the marble floor. For now the flame was facing the opposite direction, but she could feel the rising resistance in its arm as it fought to turn the sword towards her.         Its spindly arms had a nightmarish strength to them, and as she panted for air, she knew she couldn't win a hoof-wrestling game with the machine.         “Submit,” the machine said simply, its voice flat and soulless.         No, wrestling wouldn't work. So Rainbow Dash decided to play a different game.         She squirmed her body so that her head was right next to the machine's insectile face. Carefully spending the last of her energy to move the squealing arm to where she wanted it, she suddenly let go. Like a spring-loaded toy the robot snapped its arm forwards, eager to plunge its fiery blade into her face.         But just at the last second, she jolted out of the way. The machine stabbed its blade straight into its own head, shrieking horribly in a way that sounded far too organic.         Something in the machine's head detonated with a startling pow. Dash rolled off the machine just in time to watch it jitter back and forth like a demented puppet, spewing sparks left and right.         With a sobering whine the machine finally laid still, thick oily smoke spewing from its ruined head.         The smoke's stench sent her into a coughing fit, and the acrid fumes made her eyes water. She stumbled away from the wreck, relishing the cleaner air. After checking the room to make sure nopony was still inside the courthouse, she made her way towards the door.         She gave one last look at the smoking form at the center of the room, already beginning to feel the aches and pains from the fight.         Man. It's not even lunchtime, and I'm already putting up with this? she thought to herself.         “Hey!”         Dash almost jumped through the roof from sheer surprise. She whirled around to face the new threat. Like a cauldron being emptied of boiling water, the tension drained away when she saw who it was.         “Sorry it took me so long,” said Macer, staring at the machine with a look of quiet confusion. “What's that?”         “Eh, nothing worth worrying about,” said Dash, casually brushing the ashes off her fur. “Did everyone get out?”         Macer nodded. “I believe so.”         “Right,” Dash grunted, stretching her wings and her limbs. “Let's make sure these bozos leave Cloudsdale for good.”         “There was a shuttle trying to stop the others from escaping. I managed to take out the gunner, but I suspect it won't be long until they bring in reinforcements.”         Dash frowned. “I'm really hoping the Royal Guard comes soon.” Her frown changed into a cocky smile. “Not that the bad guys have a chance against this much awesome.”         Macer rolled his eyes, but it was not an unfriendly gesture. “Somehow I think I'm going to get tired of that word.”