> Friendship is Sanctioned
>  by thirdstring_overlord
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED


by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord


-----


CHAPTER ONE

Ponyville
1100 hours (16-hour clock)

        It would have been a sleepy afternoon had it not been for the Cutie Mark Crusaders.  With a buzz that sounded like an enormous wasp, Scootaloo zoomed through the streets of Ponyville on her trademark scooter.  Towed in a wagon behind her, her fellow Crusaders laughed and screamed through the whole trip.  

        To the Crusaders, it wasn't just a wild ride: it was a series of death-defying stunts.  What looked to an outsider like the Crusaders missing a small stack of bricks by a few feet was “missing a huge pile of blocks by an inch!” according to Scootaloo.  She only said this to ponies who wouldn't tell on her, of course.

        Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle had lost count of all the times they “almost flew off a cliff” or “almost smashed into a cart of fireworks and blew up”, and they were having the time of their lives. Still, the fun couldn't last forever.  Eventually, Scootaloo slowed down about a bit.

        “Man, that was awesome.  Wanna take a break soon, guys?” she said, wiping her forehead.

        “Hey, ah jus' had an idea!”  Apple Bloom said as they turned onto the main street.  “How 'bout we go to mah sister's stand and get some apple juice?”

        “Sure!” Sweetie Belle said.

        “Sounds great,” Scootaloo agreed.  Still keeping up a decent speed, she squinted down at the street.  “Where is it, again?”

        “Ah think you just go down this street a lil' bit, then to the left.”  Apple Bloom said.  “No, wait,” she added, scratching her mane.  “Maybe it was to the right, then down that street.  Or maybe--”

        “Make up your mind!”  Scootaloo pleaded, looking back at Apple Bloom. 

“Ah can't help it!”  Apple Bloom said.  “Ah'm not good with mah lefts an' rights today!”

        “Look, maybe we can--” Sweetie Belle started.  Then she screeched, “LOOK OUT!”

        Scootaloo had been too distracted by the argument to notice the huge hay wagon looming in front of her.  She reacted fast enough to avoid hitting it, but not fast enough to stop the scooter.  Wheels squealing, she swerved to the left.  Fortunately, this did not smack her face-first into one of the many buildings on the main street.  Unfortunately, it sent her and her friends zipping through an open doorway into somepony's house.

        The house in question belonged to Windy Reed and her agreeable husband Coin Tosser.  Their son Tough Fluff had just finished setting up another pillow fortress in the living room. 

        “Ha!” he cried. “Try to get past this, icky girls!”

        Icky girls were his eternal enemies.  Especially the ones like Dinky Doo, who was always dropping by with her mom to have some stupid muffins and tea. 

        Suddenly, a wave of force slammed into him.  He didn't even have time to let out a yelp of surprise before he was thrown across the room, and the air was filled with feathers and cries of “Ouch!”  When Tough Fluff shook all the funny stars out of his head, he was greatly annoyed to see three icky girls scattered throughout the room among the ruins of his pillow fortress. 

        “Fluff, the alfalfa alfredo is getting cold!”  Windy Reed said, trotting into the room. “What—oh, my goodness!  What happened here?”

        “I told you they'd do it.”  Tough Fluff said coldly.  “A full-scale invasion.”



Warp's Bane, Vindicator-class freighter
1300 hours, Equestria clock

The Imperials never knew what had hit them.  Dante Ferin and his rebels had stormed the freighter like beasts of legend, laughing at the crew's pitiful attempts at defense.  Within minutes the Warp's Bane belonged to him.

        Ferin couldn't hold back his smile as he sat in the captain's seat.  The bridge of the ship, with its marble floor, murals, and high arched ceiling, was more reminiscent of a palace than a command center.  He would have liked it much more had it not been for the damned Imperial icons in every corner.

        In front of him was an ornate cogitator console, the runes displaying a constant stream of updates about the ship's status.  All systems nominal, he noted.  Yet another stroke of good luck.

        Lilith entered through the door to his right.  She looked up from her data-slate and shot him a playful glance. “Enjoying yourself, 'Captain Ferin'?”

        He returned the look. “I like the sound of that.  But it would be a dishonor to the illustrious forces of the Imperium, now, would it?”

        She smirked as she set her data-slate down. “Fair enough.  Ishmael, the crew is getting restless.  What's our E.T.A to the Clearing?”

        Ishmael sat in the Navigator’s seat on the opposite side of the bridge, not moving an inch as he gazed into the Warp.  “Only five minutes before we exit the Immaterium,” he said quietly.  “Then an hour of sub-light travel.  However, we’re coming up on an unstable corridor.”

“Noted.  Michael?  How fares the Astropath?”

Michael was seated next to the lone Astropath.  The Astropath steadily chanted, his voice so low and inhuman that Dante had almost mistaken it for the sound for a cogitator humming.  Like Ishmael, he was in a state of deep focus.  Sweat had begun to bead on the psyker’s gaunt face.  Letting him live entailed some degree of risk, but it was necessary for the operation to succeed.  Imperial Astropaths were interstellar messengers without parallel, and he needed one in order to maintain contact with the rest of the rebels.

“He is nearing his limit,”  said Michael.  “But I will ensure that he persists.”

        Dante chuckled.  “Your dedication heartens me.”

        Lilith regarded the family crest that was proudly displayed on the room's back wall.  It belonged to House Lumina, a powerful trader dynasty in the Imperium.

        “Before we land, I want to know ... are you sure your contingency plan will work?”

        Dante frowned.  “I won't pretend it's foolproof, but I haven't thought of anything better.”

        “Everything has gone too well,” Lilith said.  “There's got to be a wrinkle somewhere, some sort of--” 

        She was cut off by Ishmael. “Warp fluctuation incoming.  Grab on to something!” he shouted.

        None of them, save for the tormented Astropath, were prepared for what happened next.  The cargo transport shook with a savage force that sent Lilith tumbling across the room, threw Dante and Ishmael off their seats, and smacked Michael into a control console.  When this happened, Michael's psychic stranglehold over the captive Astropath evaporated.

       	The Astropath did not let the distraction go to waste.



Sweet Apple Acres
1301 hours

        Many things were learned that evening.  Scootaloo got a stern talking-to about safety and paying attention to the road.  Apple Bloom learned about not distracting people who are doing important things, and Sweetie Belle learned that if your friends are doing something dangerous, you should stop them.  Coin Tosser was treated to a ten minute speech by Windy Reed about the evils of leaving the front door open.  Lastly, Tough Fluff learned that his defense plans needed a major overhaul if victory was to be his.

        After “a million years” (according to Scootaloo) of scoldings, lectures, and apologies, the fillies were finally free for the rest of the evening.  They spent it at the Apple family's orchard, Apple Bloom leading them to a hill with a good view of the horizon.  The three friends watched the sun set and the stars come out, munching on apples while they talked to each other. 

        One of the things they talked about the most was the talent contest that would be coming next week.  The Crusaders were still thinking that comedy was their best bet at getting cutie marks, and they were brainstorming ideas for a performance. 

        “Maybe we could do a play about the time Spring Twister put a dress on a cactus and danced 
with it.”  Scootaloo suggested.

        “Funny story, but I don't think Rarity would lend me a dress for that.”  Sweetie Belle said.  

        “Hmm.  What about the time Dusty Lemon went to Canterlot and forgot Princess Celestia's name?”  Scootaloo said.

        “Cheerilee said it ain't nice to make fun of him for that.”  Apple Bloom chided. 

        “All right.  Then, maybe the time I knocked over that weird glowing ... no, then we'd get in trouble for setting the stage on fire.”  Scootaloo sighed.  “You know what?  Sometimes, it stinks being a kid.” 

        “But Rarity always says we get to have more fun.” Sweetie Belle said.

        “Yeah, Applejack said that too.” Apple Bloom chimed in, laying down on the crisp grass.

        “I know, I know.  But the grown-ups always get mad whenever we don't listen to them, but they never listen to us.  It's like they think kids never have good ideas.”

        No one could think of a response to that one.  The fillies thought about it in between bites of their apples. 

        A look of thoughtfulness crossed Sweetie Belle's face. “That just gave me an idea!  What if we did a show about a weird world where grown-ups had to listen to kids, and kids didn't need to listen to grown-ups?”

        Scootaloo grinned.  “That sounds really cool! But ... ” her face fell. “I'm not sure how much people would laugh at it, though.  It'd probably get the grown-ups all angry and stuff.”

        Apple Bloom looked up at the stars. “We could still do a show 'bout a weird world, though.” 

        “What do you mean?” Scootaloo asked.

        “Ever looked at all those stars an' thought there's other worlds out there?  Like, what if there's a place where all the ponies look like apple trees, an' all the apple trees look like ponies?”

        “That's crazy!” Sweetie Belle giggled.

        Scootaloo laughed a bit too, but she didn't shoot it down. “Hey, you might be on to something.”



Warp's Bane
1301 hours, Equestria clock

        While Michael and his cohorts reeled about, the Astropath Silas Mercator sprang off his seat and bolted out of the bridge.  An explosive roar rattled the ship, nearly bursting his eardrums.  The air burned with the acrid stench of an electrical fire.  He shut all of his senses out except for his warp-sight, which had replaced his vision long ago. 

        He quickly realized that even his psychic vision was nearly overwhelmed.  Strengthened by the disturbance they had just hit, the Warp tore at his mind like a swarm of vermin.  Shockwaves of anger and surprise emanated from the bridge.  If he didn't find an escape route soon, his captors would have a brutal revenge.

        He considered his options.  His first priority, far more than survival, was to encode and send a distress message.  It would be a lengthy process, and he needed a safe place to do it.  He could risk trying to steal a shuttle, or he could try to find some obscure nook of the ship and hide.  The latter option initially seemed better, since it was possible that the shuttle had been disabled or jettisoned.

        However, he knew that the ship had a bio-scanning system for detecting stowaways.  If his captors knew how to use it, there would be no place to hide.  Silas had learned quite painfully that they were quick learners.

        He made his decision.  Working from a combination of his memory and his psychic perceptions, he threw himself into a maintenance duct that would lead him near the shuttle bay.  He crawled through the cramped passage, desperately trying to sense if there were any enemies who might see him through the vents.  His captors had obviously brought enough allies to form a skeleton crew; otherwise the ship never would have gotten anywhere. 

        There were times when the physical and psychic exertion was so taxing that he had to stop and rest.  When that happened, he couldn't shut out the image of his heat signature on the scanner's monitor, helpfully staying in one place while they hunted him down.  He couldn't tell if that was just an unpleasant thought, or a premonition.

        After a steep incline, the crawlspace branched off to the right.  Three meters around the corner and he knew he was as close as he could get to the shuttle bay. 

        He was just about to kick the vent open when he sensed the presence of two people nearby, one pacing around under the duct.  He froze and listened.  The merchant vessel had not yet left the Warp, but the tumultuous noise had subsided enough for him to hear their conversation.

        “Epsilon Zero, this is Epsilon 15,” the pacing man spoke. “Epsilon Zero, do you copy?  We still have negative contact with the reinforcement team.  Epsilon Zero, come in!” 

        A wave of dread washed over Silas.  Not only was the shuttle bay guarded, but they were about to get reinforcements.  There was only one bit of consolation: if they were guarding the shuttle bay, they likely had not jettisoned the shuttle.  But what if it was a trap?

        It was too late for further consideration, he decided, and carefully opened the vent.  No one noticed.  “Epsilon Zero, your signal is weak.” the guard said.  “Requesting a scan of Deck Two, starboard side.” 

       The man walked underneath the vent again. 

May the Emperor guide me, Silas thought, and dropped out of the duct.  His boots slammed into the man's shoulders.  He heard a grunt of pain as the guard collapsed, spilling him onto the floor.  He rolled with the impact and sprang to his feet.

        “Stop right there!” the other guard shouted. “On the ground or I'll shoot!”

        Silas complied, but gathered his energy as he did so.  The guard clearly didn't know very much about psykers.

        “Stay where you are!  Epsilon Zero, I've captured the Astropath!” 

        Suddenly his shotgun tore free of his grip, suspended in the air like it was held by an invisible man.

        “What the--” The shotgun clubbed him, its heavy wooden stock making an almost comical thud against his forehead.  He crumpled to the floor and joined the other guard in impact-induced sleep. 

        Silas stood up and staggered towards the shuttle airlock.  His powers were considerable, but telekinesis definitely wasn't his specialty.   He fought dizziness as he put his palm to airlock's gene-scanner.  A second later, the door hissed open.

        As he ran inside, he heard footsteps and felt the proximity of more guards.  The reinforcements were close; a mere twenty meters away.  Only after the door slammed shut did Silas allow himself a deep breath.  He sensed the bitter tang of the guards' frustration as they pounded at the door, and a hint of a smile crossed his lips.  He quickly banished it: now wasn't the time for self-congratulation.

        The secondary door unsealed as the airlock completed its cycle.  He exited the chamber and headed to the cockpit.  The shuttle was much like an Arvus Lighter, but its hull was extended to fit an airlock and upgraded shielding systems.  It was heavily cogitator-assisted, and all members of the Bane's crew had basic training on operating it.

        Concentrating with all his might, he tried his best to “see” the control console and the various instruments on it.  It was fuzzy, but between it and the instructions drilled into him, he was able to start the shuttle.  All the while, the clanging and shouts from the other side of the airlock had intensified. 

        “Warning,” the shuttle's cogitator announced. “Primary airlock door breached.  Repairs required immediately.  Override code required to continue sequence.”

        He cursed and frantically punched in the code to override the docking clamps. 

        “Warning: primary airlock door has not been repaired.  Commence launch?”

        Silas gave the confirmation, feeling his temper rising.

        “Warning: freighter must exit Warp travel before shuttle can depart.”
        
        Silas would have detonated the cogitator with a psychic blast had it not abruptly said: “Warp travel has ceased.  Launch sequence may proceed.”

        The Astropath flicked the last few switches and felt the shuttle lift off the docking bay.  He directed his craft to continue on a straight path away from the Warp's Bane.  It was a miracle that the pirates hadn't changed the shuttle's access codes. 

        He let out a deep sigh of relief and walked out of the cockpit.  Taking a long drink from the shuttle's water dispenser, Silas began to mentally encode the distress message.  He didn't know what they had done to the Bane's original crew, but he assumed the worst.  One couldn't expect mercy from pirates. 

        But there were many strange things about the ones who now held the Warp's Bane.  They didn't seem to worship the Ruinous Powers, but they clearly were no friends of the Imperium.  Where had they came from?  The Warp's Bane had been traveling through a secure sector when they’d ambushed.  

        And what did they want with the Clearing, anyway?  When Michael forced him to help them in their journey to the Clearing, he sensed that it was some sort of solar system accessible only within the Warp.  Perhaps they wanted to use it as a hidden base for future raids. 

        There were other mysteries, too.  What cargo was the Warp's Bane carrying?  On many voyages, including the most recent one, the cargo was classified.  It often delivered strategically important supplies and weapons.  What role, if any, did the cargo play in the pirates' plans? 

        Silas was tempted to follow them to their destination.  But for now, he had to wait.  Attracting any more attention would be counterproductive.  If the Imperium sent someone to investigate, it would be best if the pirates were as complacent as possible.  

        He scanned this new area, this “Clearing”, and found that the closest celestial bodies were a sun, a terrestrial planet, and a large moon. 

        Spectral measurements showed that the planet, randomly christened “Graneus Prime” by the cogitator, was an inhabited world.  The Warp's Bane was heading towards it.

        The cogitator then reported that it had scanned the stars and located the Orion constellation.  And Sagittarius.  And a host of other familiar star patterns, with their positions indicating that the Clearing was in the exact same place as Holy Terra's solar system. 

        Silas' breath halted in his throat.  Either the cogitator was malfunctioning, or there was much more to the Clearing than he'd thought.  His mind racing, he worked with renewed vigor on encoding the message, giving as much information as possible about the fate of the Warp's Bane and the Clearing.

        By the time he had finished the process, the freighter had entered Graneus Prime's orbit.  He sent the message, praying to the Emperor that it would reach someone soon.   Almost instantly afterward, exhaustion hit him full force.  He had performed many psychic feats that day, many of which he was ill-suited for.  He collapsed to the floor and drifted to a world of troubled dreams.



Vanguard-class landing vessel
1405 hours, Equestria clock

        “How's our approach vector?”  Dante called to Lilith.

        Lilith studied the control console.  “Still going fine.  We're in for a smooth landing.”

        “Are there any updates on the Astropath's shuttle?”  Michael asked.

        “You need to calm down.  The mission is still viable.” Dante said.

        “I let him get away.  If he hasn't already, he's probably sending a distress call as we speak.  We risked enough by stealing this ship, but now the Imperials will have intel on our location and strength.  I should bear the burden of--”

        “There's nothing we can do,” Dante said.  “And consider this: what if his message never reaches them?  Even if it does, it won't change much.  We've prepared for this.”

        “They'll never let this act go unpunished.”  Michael said, shaking his head.  “Not with what we have on board.”

        “There’s no point in dwelling on it.”  Lilith said.  “Forgive yourself.  There's no other option, short of hopping in a shuttle and crashing into him.”

        Michael was silent.

        Dante sighed.  “It was my fault, too.  I should have given the engineers more time to change the codes for the shuttle.  Instead, they spent all their time working in the cargo hold.”

        Michael still didn't say anything.  Sensing the tension, Lilith spoke again.

        “Listen to me.” she said.  “If you want to make up for what happened, you can't be weighed down with regrets.  We need you at your best if this mission is going to succeed.”

        This seemed to satisfy Michael.  “Very well.”  he said.  “But a review of the contingency plan is in order.  I must make some modifications.”



Ponyville
1409 hours

        Later that night, shortly after all the fillies had gone to sleep, a searingly bright streak tore across the night sky.  Had the Cutie Mark Crusaders been awake, they would have called it the most amazing shooting star they had ever seen.

        But it wasn't a shooting star.

> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED


by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord


-----


CHAPTER TWO


Herald of Terra
Zephyr-class scout vessel


        I'll never get used to Warp travel, Tybalt Macer thought as he stared up at the rusty ceiling.  With the exception of Chaplain Bardrik, the rest of the team seemed to put up with it fine.  Then again, Space Marines weren't known for being expressive.

        His train of thought was derailed when someone knocked on the door to his quarters.  He couldn't remember the last time any of the Marines had knocked before entering, so that left Inquisitor Valesius.

        “Come in, inquisitor.”  Macer called.  The heavy metal hatch squealed open, and the inquisitor strode in.  

        “Good morning.  How have you fared?”  said Valesius.  

        “Well enough,” Macer said cautiously.  He had the strange feeling he was about to ask for a favor.

"May I ask you a favor?"

He mentally sighed. "Of course, inquisitor."

        “I'm almost finished preparing the final briefing.  The ship's vox system is offline, so I need you to gather the team.  All mission personnel must be in the meeting room by 0900 hours.”  Macer wanted to come up with an excuse not to, but he noticed that Valesius was faintly smiling.   He only wore that expression when he expected total compliance.  Given his position, this happened often.

        “I will do it gladly,”  Macer lied.

        The inquisitor nodded in appreciation and left to prepare the briefing.  Steeling himself, Macer walked out of his quarters and into the hall.  Rousing the Marines from their cabins would have relatively been easy if it wasn't for Chaplain Gottfrid Bardrik.

Worst first, he thought.  He made the thought a mantra as he forced himself to march over to Bardrik's room.  Worst first.  Worst first.  Worst--

        Heavy footsteps shook the floor.  “I would not disturb him, if I were you,” a deep voice said from behind.  Suppressing a yelp of surprise, Macer turned to face the speaker.  He was a towering man clad in matte-black powered armor, with a bulky servo-arm mounted on his back.  Contrasted with his unnaturally dark skin and armor, his normal eye seemed as bright as his glowing augmetic one.

        “Ah.  Thanks for the warning ... Techmarine Dac'an.”  Macer still had trouble addressing Marines with anything other than “my lord.”  Still, Valesius had insisted that such formalities were to be dropped. 

“Might I ask why?” he asked Dac'an.

        “The Brother-Chaplain is in the middle of the Litany of Righteous Bloodshed.  I suspect he is still bitter about the events of our last mission.”

        “I see.  In that case, could you please relay a message to him?”

        “Have you mistaken me for your personal courier, Scribe Macer?”

        Even for a Space Marine, Dac'an's sense of humor was drier than century-old jerky on a desert world.  Often, the only sign that he was joking was an ever-so-slight twist to the left corner of his lip.  Macer hesitated, then spotted it.

        “In all seriousness, please inform him that all squad members are to convene in the meeting room by 0900 hours.  From there, we will be given our briefing.”

        The twist in Dac'an's lip receded.  “I will relay the message.  Hopefully, the Brother-Chaplain will be in a more agreeable mood this time.”

        Macer winced at the memory.  “Much appreciated, Techmarine Dac'an.”

        Feeling much less tense now that he didn't need to deal with Bardrik, Macer proceeded down the hall to Njord Vallin's quarters.  He rapped on the metal hatch, but there was no answer or even any sound of movement.  Odd, although not surprising.  The Scout-Sergeant hated staying in one place for long.  He went to Captain Albus's quarters, and knocked.

        “Come in,” the Space Marine said flatly.  Macer opened the door but didn't step inside.  Unlike the other Marines, Captain Albus was in a rather opulent cabin.  Soothing Imperial hymns were drifting from an elegantly designed vox-speaker by the bed.  On the back wall hung an extravagant oil painting.  It depicted a woman clad in golden armor flanked by reverent Guardsmen, triumphantly raising her sword as a Chaos tank burned in the background.  He could practically hear the cheers of the soldiers, smell the burning promethium-

        The voice of Captain Albus brought him back to reality.  “Yes, Macer?”  

        The Ultramarine Captain was adjusting a targeting scope, his bolter stripped and laid out on the desk in front of him.  His jaw was set, and his prominent brow was tight with concentration. Combined with his heavy powered armor, he looked for a moment like a gorilla playing with a telescope.

        Perhaps the sleep deprivation was getting to him, because the image seemed irresistibly funny.  He faked a small coughing fit and continued.  “Pardon the interruption, Captain, but would you happen to know where the Scout-Sergeant is?”

        Captain Albus didn't look up from examining his bolter.  “Check the bilge.  He told me he intended to spend some time down there.”

        “Thank you, Captain.”

        “Go along, now.”

So spoke the insufferable blue gorilla, Macer said to himself after he closed the door.  Perhaps that was a bit unfair; only his left pauldron was blue.

        He left the hallway and descended the corkscrew staircase to the bilge, wondering what the Space Wolf was up to.  A bizarre series of noises was emanating from below.  As he got closer, he realized that much of the noises were clips from marching tunes.  Some were played painfully loud, others were so quiet that he almost thought he was imagining them.  Whatever their volume, the songs would always end in a resounding smash and the crackle of short-circuiting electronics.   Several seconds of silence would ensue, then the pattern would repeat.

        Curious, Macer peered over the railing of the staircase.  Scout-Sergeant Njord Vallin was below, dressed in his usual carapace armor and wearing a blindfold over his eyes.  He was in a combat stance, his right hand wrapped around his signature short-handled axe.  Scattered around him and about the bilge were dozens of battered vox-casters, many of which were in pieces.  In a distant corner, a servitor manned a small control console.

        “Scout-Sergeant?”

        From six meters behind Vallin, the opening bars of Ah, Ye Hallowed Bridge of Kovoria began to play.  Macer took special satisfaction in seeing the Space Wolf cleave the offending vox-caster in two.  After prying his weapon from the caster's smoldering remains, Vallin pulled his blindfold off and looked up at Macer. 

        “You called for me?”

        “The briefing is soon.  We must be in the meeting room by 0900 hours.”

        “I shall finish soon, then.”  He pulled his blindfold back on and started to turn away.

        “Oh, and Scout-Sergeant?  Could you tell me why you were running about the bilge chopping up vox-casters?”

        Vallin grinned up at him.  “Because the bilge has more space than the chapel.”

        “That's not what I--”  Macer said.

        “I know what you meant.  If you are still curious, I will just say this: a wolf that hunts by sight never lasts the night.”

        “Ah, then.  Makes sense.”  Macer said, not entirely sure if it did.  He walked back up the stairs, all the while wondering how he had managed to scrounge up all those vox-casters.  He decided to file that question away as yet another one of the little mysteries of Vallin.  

        He made his way to the conference room and took a seat in a high-backed chair, periodically checking his chronometer.  Twenty minutes.  Fifteen.  Ten.  Five.  Inquisitor Valesius entered, giving a silent nod of greeting and organizing his data-slates.  The inquisitor wasn't the formal commander of the Kill-team, but he often presented part of the briefing.  Macer often suspected Valesius had much more authority over the team than he was supposed to have.

        Captain Albus came in next.  He took one look at the fragile wooden chairs surrounding the table, and decided to stand instead.  Dac'an and Vallin arrived soon after, and a minute before the start of the briefing, Bardrik entered.  

        Chaplain Gottfrid Bardrik of the Black Templars was as friendly and approachable as a coffin filled with bloody nails.  His constantly scowling face was crisscrossed by countless battle scars.  He never walked anywhere; he stomped.  He had only two moods: silent anger and loud anger.  Fortunately, his current mood seemed to be the former.

        Inquisitor Valesius studied the group.  “Good.  Now that we're all present, I shall begin.”

        “Five standard days ago, the Warp's Bane, a freighter, was hijacked by rebels.  An Astropath named Silas Mercator managed to escape from their clutches.  He told us that the rebels traveled to a xeno world his cogitator designated 'Graneus Prime'.  It is located in a realspace 'pocket' deep within the Immaterium.”

        “And his story was accepted without question?” Bardrik said.  “It could easily be Chaos trickery.”

        “Your concerns would be valid, Chaplain, if our information came solely from the Astropath.  But there was another message.  It came through the Emperor's Tarot, two standard days before our psykers received Mercator's distress call.”

        Bardrik had no reply.  In a way, the Chaplain succeeded in bringing out Macer's religious side: he thanked the Emperor every time Bardrik shut his mouth.

        “The Tarot readings told of a xenos-inhabited planet hidden in the Warp.”  Inquisitor Valesius said.  “It was divined that Chaos fears something on this world, something called the 'Six Blessings.'  The Tarot also warned that if these Six Blessings are not found and safeguarded soon, they will be lost forever.  We suspect the rebels are searching for them as well.”

        “I take it, Inquisitor, that this is why we had so little time to prepare?” asked Dac'an.

        “Exactly.  An Explorator flotilla is expected to arrive in three weeks, but the threat the rebels pose needs to be eliminated well in advance.  It is most fortuitous I was able to requisition this vessel in such short order.  Few vessels possess a Geller field emitter powerful enough for a voyage through these regions of the Warp.”

        He passed out data-slates to the squad members.  “Watch-Commander Metallus has given us two major goals.  The Captain shall detail these.”

        Albus stepped forward.   “Our primary objective is to recapture the Warp's Bane, taking as many prisoners as possible.  Our secondary objective is to land on Graneus Prime, and search for any sign of the Six Blessings until the Explorator fleet arrives.  Should we encounter any sentient xeno species, we are to observe them and avoid hostile contact.”

        “Showing mercy to heretics and aliens?” Bardrik said, staring incredulously at Albus.  “With all due respect, Brother-Captain, these are strange things to ask of a Kill-team, are they not?”

        Captain Albus met his gaze without hesitation.  “I know that you are a recent addition to the team, Brother-Chaplain, so I will explain.  Information is scarce for this operation, so any captives we take could provide valuable intelligence.  We hope to discover where these rebels came from, and how they were able to carry out such a well-coordinated act of piracy.  They might even know something about the Six Blessings.   As for the xenos, the cost of sparking a pointless conflict would far outweigh--”

        The ship bucked like a gigantic steed trying to shake off its rider.  The Marines around Macer staggered and dug their gauntlets into any handhold they could find.  Before he even had time to scream, he was torn out of his seat and hurled into the air.

        His back slammed into the bulkhead.  Tears of pain beaded in his eyes.  He couldn't move, or breathe: an invisible force was keeping him flattened against the wall.

This is why I hate Warp travel, he thought.  It was the last thing that crossed his mind before he blacked out.




Ponyville, Equestria
1100 hours

        Pinkie Pie was having another twitch attack. 

        Twilight Sparkle stood nearby and watched, surprised and a bit concerned.  The latest round of jitters had seized her friend for a record time.

        “Uh, Pinkie?  Are you okay?”

        “Twitcha-twitch!  Twitcha twitchy-twitch!”  Pinkie Pie exclaimed.  She bounced wildly around the room three times, the last bounce landing her directly in front of Twilight.  Suddenly she froze, her eyes crossed.

        “Pinkie?” Twilight asked.

        Her eyes uncrossed, and she grinned at the baffled unicorn.  “Done!” the pink pony said.

        “Whew.  You had me worried, there.”

        “No time for worrying!”  Pinkie Pie chirped.  “Some new folks are coming to town!  We've got to get ready!” she said, bouncing into the kitchen.

        “You want to throw them a welcome party?” Twilight said, following her.

        “Yessiree!”  

        As the two ponies set to work on getting the cake pans and decorations out, Twilight couldn’t shake a feeling of unease about the “new folks.”
                
        “Is there anything else you know about these ponies?”  Twilight asked. 

        “Nope, but that’s part of the fun!”  Pinkie Pie said, pulling out a box of confetti.  Her smile faded slightly.  “I don’t think they’re ponies, though.  They’re ... something else.”

Twilight was unsettled by this, but soon she had all but forgotten her worries.  Pinkie had a way of sweeping a pony’s troubles away with a wave of jokes and stories.  In two hours, the room was festooned with brightly colored ribbons, streamers, and balloons galore.  Several plates of generously frosted cupcakes sat on the center table.  

Once they’d finished, Pinkie Pie launched into a ditty about how her unicorn friend was “fantastiwondulous” for spending the evening helping her.

“You don’t need to thank me, Pinkie.  I had a great time.”  Twilight said.

“You’re still fantastiwondulous!”  Pinkie Pie said, hugging her.

        Later, as she walked home, Twilight realized how quickly time had passed.  It seemed like it had been morning only a minute ago, and now the sky was about to become Luna's domain.

        Her day had been a blur of activity.  She'd helped Applejack fix the fences, had lunch with Rainbow Dash, seen a play with Rarity, and stayed at Sugarcube Corner for the rest of day.  Not a moment of it was spent studying.

        A year ago, the idea of a day without hitting the books had been unthinkable.  She smiled to herself.  It was amazing how much had changed in a year.  She was still a diligent student, but now she had friends.  Friends she wouldn't trade for anything.

        Suddenly, a strange shape flew by.   She would have dismissed it as a bat or some other familiar creature had it not been for the sharp buzz it made as it zipped past.  It sounded nothing like any animal she'd ever heard.  

        She looked behind.  There it was: a roughly spherical object sailing through the air.  The setting sun glinted off of it as it flew towards Sugarcube Corner.
  



        
Servo-Skull ES-9q scanned the building.  Had it still contained a human brain, it might have marveled at the way the house was decorated to look like it was made of sweets.  As it was, it simply looked for a way inside the “xeno hab structure.”

        (Potential access point located.  Attempting entry.  Entry successful.)

        Pinkie Pie watched in bemusement as the weird floating thing drifted through her window.   She almost felt scared for a second, but she pushed the feeling away.  The closer she looked at it, it seemed less scary and more silly.  Especially after it veered into a small plate of cupcakes.

        (Minor collision.  Damage assessment: negligible.)

        It backed up from the plate, now sporting a mustache of frosting.  Pinkie Pie giggled.  

        (Xeno lifeform sighted.  Potential target match.  Initiating pict/auspex scan.  ERROR: Pict/auspex scan interrupted.  [CAUSE: Xeno lifeform has left scanning field.]  Attempting to reposition.  ERROR: Servo-skull mobility inhibited.  [CAUSE: Servo-skull is tethered. {Likelihood: 99.2%}] Attempting to break tether.  Attempt unsuccessful.)

        (Target has re-entered scanning field.  Initiating pict/auspex scan.  ERROR: Pict/auspex scan interrupted.  [CAUSE: Scanning device obscured.])                                   




        
In the end, Twilight Sparkle's curiosity got the best of her.  She galloped back to Sugarcube Corner, where the buzzing noise seemed to now be coming from.  When she came inside, Mrs. Cake was getting ready to close up the shop.

        “Mrs. Cake?” Twilight called.  “Pardon me, but did you see anything ... strange come inside?”

        Mrs. Cake shook her head.  “No, I didn't.  Does this have something to do with that sound upstairs?”

        “Yes.  I'll explain more later, but first I need to check on Pinkie.”

        “Go right ahead.”

        Twilight hurried up to her friends room and knocked on the door.  Much to her relief, she heard Pinkie say, “Come on in!”

        Twilight entered, then promptly froze in her tracks.  Pinkie Pie was sitting right next to a floating skull, smiling as though she’d just figured out a new game.

        “Hi, Twilight!  Back so soon?” Pinkie said.

        Twilight's throat went dry as she stared at the grim object.  The skull was either badly misshapen, or it had belonged to a creature she'd never heard of.  Its jaw was missing, and an assortment of strange machine parts were fused to its left side.  Thankfully, some of its features were covered up by an oversized party hat.

Wait, what?  Twilight thought.  As if that wasn’t weird enough, the skull was leashed to a stool by a hastily-tied string, making it look like some sort of gruesome balloon.

        “Pinkie!  What the heck is that?” Twilight said.

        “This is Mister Floats!  I think he's the first of the new folks.”  Pinkie Pie drew close to Twilight, leaning in to whisper to her.  “He tried to gobble up the cupcakes, so I had to tie him up.”

        The skull turned downwards, like a man bowing his head in shame.  When it came upright, the party hat had tumbled off.  A lens protruded from a newly exposed eye socket.  

        Suddenly, the lens began to glow red.  Twilight and Pinkie Pie flinched in alarm as a vertical line of crimson light raced across them.

        (Scan successful.  Confirmed target match.)  

> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED





by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord





-----




CHAPTER THREE




New Exathel
1349 hours

If there ever was a room that exemplified Exathelite practicality, it was the command center.  It had been set up in only hours, and it looked like the part.  Its lighting was provided by the flat glow of lumen-strips, and its plasteel walls bore no decorations.  A vid-monitor bank had been hastily mounted in the corner, and it was here that Lilith was in the process of getting a severe case of eyestrain.  

“Units 24 through 28 were able to identify their targets undetected. Unit 29 identified two at once, but the locals captured it,” Lilith said.  Michael sat next to her, examining a tactical map.

“I'm sure they’ll be merciless,” Dante said, sifting through the picts taken by the skull drones. “Is this one trying to feed it a cupcake?”

No one laughed.

“I know it's difficult to take them seriously,” Ishmael admitted. “However, I have seen them in my visions. I have reason to believe they will play an important part in things to come.”

“Oh? Please enlighten me, kulnane,” Dante said, enjoying the way Ishmael subtly winced at the word. It never hurt to remind the Navigator of his continued status as a kulnane, a man with no Exathelite blood.

“There isn't much more to say, my Steward. But only a fool expects certainty when gazing into the Warp,” Ishmael said, pacing across the room. His staff clacked a hypnotic rhythm against the floor, and Dante could almost feel the terrible gaze of the third eye hidden under his golden headpiece.

“One must sort through countless pathways into the future. Some pathways are true, and others are illusions. However, the path these creatures occupy is growing in prominence. The same goes for the possibility of an Imperial invasion.”

“You sound like a spook-crazed warp-dabbler,” Dante scoffed. “Michael has already seen to it to revisit the invasion response plan. But now you want him to take these creatures into account?”

This time, it was Michael who bristled. “Do not be so quick to dismiss his words. I am not nearly as gifted, but I have seen the visions, as well.”

Dante was taken aback. “You must be joking.”

“All I ask,” Ishmael said, “is that you keep an open mind. The path will become clearer as time marches on.”

Dante looked to Lilith for support, but was met with the same expectant stare given to him by Michael and Ishmael.

His pride faltering, Dante conceded. “I will take your advice into consideration.”







Silas Mercator opened eyes that he had lost twenty years ago and gasped. The Astropath knew he was dreaming, but that did nothing to dampen his amazement.

He was lying outside a circle of alabaster pillars. They seemed infinitely tall, stretching off into the majestic purple night.

This is more than a dream, he reflected as he walked into the circle. This is a vision.

He looked up and saw that the pillars framed a strange constellation in the shape of a winged unicorn. Chaotic stars swam around it, trying to break the pattern, but they were could never get through the pillars.

However, the stars seemed to be growing more and more aggressive, and cracks were starting to form in the pillars. How much longer would they last? As alien as the constellation was, he realized that he dreaded the prospect of it being broken. The more he looked at it, the more familiar it seemed. Almost like...

Gazing outside the circle, he noticed another constellation. It resembled the classic Imperial double-headed eagle, so bright and perfectly formed it took the breath away from him.  Unconsciously, he made the sign of the Aquila over his breast.

Dread washed over him as he realized it was in danger, too; its stars were slowly but inexorably drifting apart.  

Do you wish to help me, Silas?

Tears came to his eyes as he heard the fading strength in the voice, and he fell to his knees.  

“My Emperor...” he choked. “I am not worthy...”  He had felt the Emperor’s divine presence before, when he had undergone the ritual of soul-binding.  But this time there was no pain; only an astonishing sense of having finally found a true purpose to his life.   Now he shared a bond with a long line of saints and martyrs, and he felt their spirits place their hopes on the simple messenger before them.

It was as though the galaxy had ceased turning, and each second seemed eternal.  It was both terrifying and wondrous, and he feared his mind would be crushed by the sheer weight of the Emperor's power.

Listen, my child. The final battle against Chaos is drawing near. I am gathering every ally I can find.

Knowledge flooded into Silas's mind.  He was made to realize what the true nature of the pillars were, and what they protected.  He saw the past, present, and future of an alien world, and thousands of years flashed before his eyes.  The cascade seemed endless, and Silas feared that he would drown in its sheer volume.  

As quickly as it began, the transfer of information ceased.   It had been mind-bending beyond all belief, but now he felt better than he had in decades.  He was still a mortal man, but he had been reshaped into a tool of the Emperor’s will.  

Go now, Silas.

Part of him wanted to stay, and learn more from the man who shaped the Imperium, but he knew that doing so would have been a disgrace to his master.  There was little time left, and his soul burned with newfound purpose.

He knew what he had to do...and whom he had to seek.

“I'll stop at nothing to find her, my lord.  And I will defend her to the end.”





Despite being inside a castle she had lived in for thousands of years, Princess Celestia was lost. She didn't know why every room seemed unfamiliar, even if she left them for only a few seconds.

This is more than a dream, she reflected. This is a vision.

She wanted to find help, but she couldn't find any other ponies: only voices. Hollow laughter echoed from rooms she could never seem to get closer to. She heard muffled conversations, but the speakers were always a bit too distant to understand. Every time she called out to them, they would fall silent and start up again farther away.

Eventually, it was all she could do to keep herself from screaming. What was happening to her? She had never felt so frustrated and alone.

She was cut off from her true nature.  The thought was so sudden and vivid, it was hard to distinguish it from a voice.  It was accompanied by a crackling hum, as though the air was electrified.

Where had that came from? Instantly, another foreign thought crossed her mind.

A message, sent by an emissary of Chaos. Her pulse quickened. Had Discord broken loose?

Her frown twisted into a strange smirk as a new thought was forced on her. No, not Discord. A far worthier conduit was speaking, and she would meet him soon. The forces of Chaos had great plans for her, very great plans indeed--

She would never allow it. But all creatures served Chaos one way or another. Perhaps if she simply admitted this, the rebirth of Equestria would be all the easier.

What rebirth? She would find out if she looked outside.

She found herself walking towards a large oak door, and the second she looked at it she knew something utterly horrible was lying beyond it. But a strange, trance-like state of curiosity had taken over her, and she couldn't stop her progress.

She reached out with her magic and threw the door open. Outside was an ornate balcony that offered a spectacular view of Equestria. She wanted to draw some reassurance from the sight, but the feeling of dread didn't leave.

And neither did the mental invasions of the emissary. Soon, she would be gifted with a vision from the future. The beautiful, inevitable future.

Two armies of strange, bipedal creatures marched across the land. Though she still stood on the balcony, she saw their bizarre features as clearly as though she walked among them. They were converging on Ponyville, their faces contorted with unfathomable rage.

Ponies fled in terror as the creatures waged a war in the streets.  With each blow they landed on one another, their forms warped into something more bestial and hideous.  A muscled brute tore off the wings of a bird-like monstrosity, and hurled its shrieking form out of a window. Celestia averted her eyes just before the creature hit the ground, feeling her stomach churn. Cruel laughter echoed over the din, the laughter of evil gods who demanded more.

The sun began to drift across the sky on its own accord, and then the moon, too. Their cycles became wild and unpredictable, with days and nights that lasted anywhere from seconds to centuries.

Clouds moved on their own volition, unleashing lightning that burned down villages like kindling wood.

The sky turned a bruised yellow, and she could see the lush vegetation of the landscape giving way to sickening multicolored plants and black deserts.  Spires of jagged rock erupted from the ground, smashing buildings to splinters. The mountains themselves rippled across the land like rogue waves.

A great chasm opened in the earth, and Celestia gasped as Ponyville toppled into its depths. Cloudsdale was torn apart by vast cyclones, and she could hear distant cries of horror and anguish from the inhabitants of both towns.

She wanted desperately to help, but it was pointless. Even if this wasn't a vision, there was no hope when fighting the raw force of change. Why didn't she embrace it?

What if she refused?  She would never wake.  Chaos would tear the soul from her body.  Images coursed through her mind.  

  Luna, weeping over the body of her sister, already beginning to blame herself for what happened.  She would be nothing but a shell.  Twilight Sparkle, a subtle light leaving her eyes when she heard about her mentor’s death.  Her mind would be as broken as her dreams.

She saw ponies gathering around a golden statue forged in her image.  Whatever flaws she had, whatever made her anything like the others--they would be quickly forgotten.  She would be remembered as a deity, an impossible standard that her subjects would forever try to measure up to.

Equestria would become a land of stagnation, ruled by a dead, false god.  The visions faded away, leaving her gazing out into the blasted wasteland once more.  Chaos will triumph regardless.

And what if she accepted?  She would open her eyes to a new Equestria, one of unlimited potential and freedom.  It would be a realm of pure thought, free from the petty bonds of reality.  She would learn the beauty of change.

The landscape beyond shifted.  The spires of rock became magnificent marble towers, and the desert morphed into a thundering ocean.  Ponies walked across the water and flitted through the air.  Their forms were almost unrecognizable, but they were strangely elegant.

If she and her subjects accepted Chaos, this would be their reward.  Equestria would not be consumed...but reborn.

Foreign thoughts crushed down on her, urging her to submit.  She had been gifted with a life that lasted thousands of years.  Refusing the offer would bring that journey to a swift and pitiful end.  So many things would be left undone...

“You’ll never have Equestria.”

The world around her flickered, as if the vision itself was stunned by her rejection.  Absurd. Nothing she could do would--  Now she found the strength to reject the emissary, and she could sense its rage at being denied control of her mind.

“If you think that destroying me will make your invasion any easier, you're gravely mistaken.  Every citizen, from the humblest farmer to the nobles of Canterlot, knows of a power you fear.”

The floor quaked beneath her hooves, and the scenery melted back into a nightmarish wasteland.

“The power of honesty, loyalty and laughter. The power of kindness, generosity, and friendship. The Elements of Harmony are far greater than you can ever hope to be. You just don't want to admit it.”

She turned her back on the desecrated landscape, and started to head back indoors.  “As soon as I’m awake, I’ll warn them.  Then we will see how ‘inevitable’ your future is.”  

A low roar filled the air, and she realized that the roar was from thousands of voices. They growled and laughed and groaned and moaned, eventually coalescing into one.

We will scorch your mind to ashes.

The door leading back inside the palace slammed shut.  Celestia watched with horror as rusty chains materialized and wrapped themselves across her only means of escape.

There was an otherworldly howl of rushing air, and she whirled around to see where it came from.  It was the sun, speeding towards her like a world-ending comet.   It too had undergone a horrific transformation: it was now a pale, lifeless orb from which eight crooked beams radiated.

She cast a beam of telekinetic energy at the corrupted sun, desperately trying to bring it to a stop.  It hit with a deafening blast of concussive force, but it barely slowed the sun at all.  Soon it was close enough for her to see black spots on its surface. They formed strange and awful images of symbols and creatures that stretched her sanity.

A surge of renewed panic shot down her spine.  Gritting her teeth, she pushed her powers beyond their limits, and when that wasn't enough, she pushed them even further.

The sun continued its descent.  It was moving at only a fraction of its initial speed now, but it made no difference.  She had spent every last trace of her magical energy, and there was nothing more she could do. The colors bled from her vision, and she collapsed.

The princess didn't fear death, but the prospect of never seeing Equestria and its citizens again brought tears to her eyes.  For one horrible moment, she wondered if there was any truth behind the visions of what would happen after her death.

The heat from the sun was building to a searing level.

Evil gods laughed, and demanded more.



Herald of Terra
0610 hours, Equestria clock

Captain Josiah Telarius of the Herald of Terra was fighting not only for his life, but his honor. Three decades of a spotless record, and now, when the Inquisition had seen fit to requisition his humble ship, disaster had struck.

Traveling through the warp storms had proved a hellish undertaking.  Around the storms congregated vast and terrible monsters, undoubtedly hoping to prey upon any vessel caught in the tempests.

His neural linkup with the ship's navigator and sensor arrays usually allowed him to avoid these beasts, but there had been far too many of them. Hot agony flooded into his mind as one of their tendrils of energy ensnared his ship like a siren's embrace.

His rage and anguish echoed through the vessel's machine spirit. In the back of his mind, Telarius bitterly realized that this is how the seafarers of Fenris must have felt when their vessels were torn asunder by the fearsome kraken. The Immaterium wasn't just a fierce ocean, it was alive, a conniving and devious force that wanted nothing less than to consume everything it touched.

A searing pain lashed against his right side, alerting him that something was desperately trying to tear down the starboard Geller field.

He redirected all available power—gravity, weapon systems, air recycling, even lighting—and sent it to the Geller fields and the engines. The pain receded, and he felt his vessel tear free of the tendrils of chaotic energy. He thanked the Machine God for blessing his ship with such fortitude.

His navigator gave him a burst of neural feedback. They had deviated from their course, but they needed to translate immediately: more warp beasts would be upon them soon.  He started the translation sequence, and ten nerve-wracking seconds later, the ship left the twisted realm behind.

Just before he could let loose a sigh of relief, warning runes flashed angry red on his console, and his senses were assaulted by another information burst.

They had indeed arrived in the Clearing, but something had gone dreadfully wrong. They had translated directly into the atmosphere of Graneus Prime, traveling far too fast and at far too steep an angle. The hull moaned, as if the ship's machine spirit knew of its coming demise.

It was too late to send the kill-team to the Thunderhawk, and the salvation pods would be useless at this velocity.  His ship was doomed to impact the planet with meteoric force, and nothing would remain of it but a vast crater.

No.

Everything from his instruments to his navigator to his experience told him it was futile, but he tried anyway. Now that the Geller fields were inactive, he used the spare power on the thrusters, even spending the single-use emergency rockets. They flared with holy white fire, as if punishing gravity for its blasphemous attempt to destroy an Imperial ship.

With grudging slowness, the stern of the ship began to rise, allowing him to make the descent at a safer angle.

The machine spirit groaned with the effort, and he felt the blistering heat of the atmosphere wash against its metal skin. The Herald was a beast of fire now, awash with white thruster flames and the red glow of atmospheric entry. Several more warning runes blinked, indicating hull damage.

He paid them little heed, for now he was beginning to regain control of his ship. He was losing altitude fast, however, and time was running out. He checked the long-range auspex and surveyor arrays, searching for a landing site that would give him at least a slight chance of survival.

He cursed. He was above a seemingly endless range of mountains, and their strangely-colored peaks were coming dangerously close to gutting the ship's lower decks. The scanner array sent him another burst: it had detected life signatures in the distance. He would have ignored this advisory had it not also told him that they originated from a valley ahead.

The valley was his only chance. Praying to the Omnissiah, he prepared the ship for emergency landing, barely avoiding a collision with a mountain that seemed to have a castle built into its side.

A forest loomed ahead. He knew it would take a miracle to survive an impact at this speed, but he was no stranger to such things.







Sweet Apple Acres, Equestria
0612 hours

“Would you mind pickin' up the pace a bit?”

“I'm trying, dear, I'm trying,” Rarity murmured, plucking out another silkweed. “Oh! This one is perfect!”

“Well, you ain't tryin' hard enough,” Applejack grumbled. Two hefty canvas bags were slung around her sides, one marked “good” and the other “bad” in fancy black hoofwriting. Rarity sauntered over and dropped the weed inside the “good” bag. It was by far the heaviest of the two, and the imbalanced load threatened to tip her over.

“Ah promised Granny Smith we'd get rid of these here weeds before eight.”

“And we will be done before eight. We have a whole day!”

“Ah meant eight AM,” Applejack said. “C'mon, Rarity. If we don't finish soon, the fritters will be all eaten up.”

“You need to learn to appreciate silkweeds, darling. The exquisite patterns in their leaves...their delightful aroma... even the dainty little sound they make when you pluck them free. Here, listen,” she said, grasping the plant between her teeth and tugging it out.

KAAABOOOOOOM! The sound of the explosion was distant, but still enough to make the ground shake.

“What in tarnation...” gasped Applejack.





With a horrible cacophony of snapping trees and thousands of tons of dirt hurled into the air, the Herald of Terra landed on Equestria.

The Herald's armored prow easily cleaved through wood, soil, and rock alike, and the monstrous din echoed throughout the valley, even reaching Canterlot.

After the noise finally ended, which everypony in the area agreed took far too long, an eerie silence blanketed the land for several minutes. It was broken only by the occasional crack of a weakened trunk, or the chirp of an inquisitive bird.





New Exathel
0626 hours

The first sign of Ishmael's prophecy had arrived in smoke and fire.

“I know where this path leads, Dante,” Ishmael had breathed. His face was slick with sweat, his eyes bloodshot from gazing into the future. “Now is our time to strike.”

As much as it screamed against his nature as the Steward to do so, he allowed Ishmael and Michael to proceed with their plan.

Ishmael and Michael's plan. Hadn't there been a time when he was Michael's closest confidant? When was it that the kulnane had usurped that role?

Still, Michael had been every bit as determined as Ishmael. Perhaps it was right to allow Michael more control of the operation. He had shown true Exathelite honor, trying to take the blame for the escape of the Imperial psyker when it had been Dante's fault.

After the shuttles departed, he retired to his quarters. It was situated at the highest point of the settlement, overlooking a steep ridge. Looking down into the chasm below always brought chills to his spine, but that was good. There was little point in being a leader if he couldn't take a daily dose of fear.

Perhaps, he thought, the words of Sirnath will offer me guidance. He unlocked his storage chest, sifting through what little personal belongings that had survived the Crisis of Faith. There, are the bottom of the chest, was the small black case he had been entrusted with since childhood.

He opened it, revealing the Mandate of Sirnath.  It was a tattered old book, with frost-reed pages that were ragged and torn from hundreds of years of use. Its musty scent brought back memories of burnt offerings on the Day of the Artificers.

He tenderly flipped through the pages until he found Chapter Twelve, which recounted Sirnath's teachings on war and statecraft. There was a lithograph of Sirnath speaking to the Exathelites, his iron wings spread high as he rallied them against the barbarians in the Akkan Valley.  

Pacing to his window, he gazed at the valley beyond.  Disappointingly, there was little resemblance. The flatly-colored pastures somehow looked less realistic than the stylized lithograph.  He still had trouble accepting how foreign this place was. The air was fresh and sweet, and clean water was plentiful, but a man of less faith would have wondered if this world was truly meant for them.

He looked back at the book, turning to the next page.

Some of the Low Ones will wear cloaks of diplomacy, but they still seek only to conquer you. Trust them, and your nation will fall.

The Crisis of Faith had proven that beyond doubt.

They will smile and say they have much in common with you. Some of them may even claim to believe in the Machine God.

As the memories of the Crisis flooded back to him, the hatred did as well. His hands began to shake, and the air seemed hellishly hot.

He wished he could fight alongside his soldiers. He wished he could see the disbelief on imbecilic faces of the Imperials when they realized their Emperor couldn't save them.

There was a weapon in his storage chest that would be perfect for avenging Exathel. It was a powerful gift from Sirnath, and the Imperium’s mightiest warriors would quake before it. But tradition held that it could only be used when the Steward's armies had failed.

He prayed to Sirnath that it would never come to that.  His prayer was not entirely sincere.

> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED


by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord


-----


CHAPTER FOUR




Ponyville, Equestria
0615 hours

        The sound of the distant explosion rattled the windows of Twilight Sparkle's library.

        “Hey, Twilight. Did you hear that?” Spike called. The small mound of tomes in the center of the room made no movement.

        Spike grew even more worried. Something had been wrong with Twilight since last evening: she had hurried inside clutching a shoebox, and then had quickly buried herself under a heap of books. Every question he had asked her had been deflected, but it hadn't taken long for him to start figuring out what was up. The books all had names like “Generally Unusual Creatures of Equestria” and “Creepy Cryptids and You”. It was pretty obvious to Spike that Twilight had brought in a weird animal of some sort, but why didn't she just admit it?

        As the explosion's last echoes faded away, Spike realized just how much he was tired of this.

        “C'mon, Twilight. This is getting old. Could you give me some kind of answer? Please? Just once?”

        Still no response. A horrible thought passed through Spike's mind. Maybe the creature had eaten her, or maybe she had been smothered under the load of books. Without wasting a second more, he leaped into the literary mountain and squirmed his way inside. There was a faint glow seeping in from the spaces between the books, and he crawled towards it. Soon he found out what the source of the glow was.

        “Twilight!”

        She was using an illumination spell to read without having to leave the pile, and it was obvious she had been working all night. Her mane was wild mess. Her eyes were twitching, with pupils like pinpricks. Spike gulped, recognizing it as the dreaded Twilight-Has-Gone-A-Little-Bit-Nuts-Look.

        “I'm so close, Spike! I've almost figured it out!  I kept looking into the cryptozoology books, as if I could find it in there! That was so silly of me, wasn't it, Spike?” she chortled.

        “Uh, I--”

        “WASN'T IT?”

        “Uh, yeah. That was uh, pretty silly,” Spike agreed, and let loose a hollow laugh.

        That seemed to pacify her for the moment. “And then, when I took another look, it hit me. I couldn't figure out what in Equestria it was...but it isn't from Equestria at all! In fact, it isn't even from our dimension! The details...the shadows...they make me sick, Spike! They make me really, really sick!” This last statement was delivered in a tone of voice that could have just as easily announced a birthday party.

        Spike was starting to feel sick, too. He was in the lair of a madmare. He needed to find help before things spiraled out of control. Control. That was what he needed to do. Assert control. He took a deep breath.

        “Twilight, I hate to break it to you, but...I don't really know what you're talking about. Can we just start over? And outside the pile, please? I think we both need some fresh air.”

        Twilight's stomach grumbled noisily. “And some breakfast,” he added. To Spike's overwhelming relief, his friend's pupils returned to more-or-less normal size. She nodded, and they both emerged from the pile.

        “I'm so sorry, Spike,” she said softly. “I just got so carried away, and I--”

        “It's all right, Twi,” he said. She smiled and pulled him into an awkward hug. He returned it, but he couldn't get what Twilight had said out of his head. What exactly was in that box?





Ponyville, Equestria
0621 hours

        Shortly after breakfast, Twilight explained the story of the oddity she had found in Pinkie's room. She told him about the way she had convinced Pinkie she was only borrowing “Mister Floats”, and the way she had smuggled it back home in a shoebox. Eventually, Spike convinced her to let him lift the shoebox's lid and take a quick peek. The skull machine was sickening enough, but there was something else about it that made his breakfast rise in his throat.

        The details...the shadows...

        “Whoa. That's...pretty freaky,” he murmured, closing the lid and pinching himself.  "Ow!  Sorry, just wanted to make sure this isn't a dream."

        "I told you it would give you nightmares," Twilight sighed.

        "Nah, this isn't real nightmare stuff.  It's more like the one where Scootaloo turns into a bird and Derpy is the mayor."

        “Spike, this isn't time for jokes.”

        “I'm serious, though! I really did have a dream where—pph—augh--”

        “Spike! What's wrong?”

        In a fit of undignified hacking noises, he coughed up a letter.

        “Ugh—since when did Celestia get so bad at sending these? It felt like it came in sideways,” Spike wheezed.

        Twilight unfurled the message and began reading it out loud:

        “'Dear Twilight Sparkle,

        We hath learned of a most peculiar event. It would seem that earlier this morn, an unidentified object landed in the Everfree Forest. We are working to ascertain further details on this matter, but as a safety precaution, we hath declared the area off-limits. The Wonderbolts will enforce this until the Royal Guard arrives.

        We request thine presence, as well as the presence of thine companions, in Ponyville Square in half an hour. The Honorable Mayor Mare will be holding a meeting; if thou would be so kind as to attend, it would be most appreciated.

        This brings us to another point. Complicating matters, our fair sister appears to have fallen into a deep slumber of some sort. The Royal Physicians assure me they are hard at work, but until she recovers, we hath reluctantly assumed her governing powers.

        Sincerely,
        Princess Luna'.”

        The unicorn and the baby dragon stared at each other, and somehow they knew that this was one of those days that would just get weirder and weirder.





Ponyville, Equestria
0627 hours

        The impact had thrown Rainbow Dash out of an awesome dream about joining the Wonderbolts, and into a Cloudsdale that buzzed with activity. After managing to calm a neighbor down enough to learn that “a meteor or something” had crashed in the Everfree Forest, she had decided she would join the other pegasi and take a look for herself.

        She hadn't bothered to warm up or get breakfast, and now she was starting to regret it. Her wings felt like bricks. Filled with lead. With dumbbells hanging off of them.

        A thick cloud of smoke marked the crash site, which she was only moments away from being able to see. Pegasi were swarming around it like bees, and she could hear a steady stream of clicks from their cameras.

        It's just a dang meteor. Jeez, she mentally sighed.

        A second later she could see over the pine trees, and then saw what had truly landed in the Everfree Forest.

        An alien spaceship.

        Her jaw dropped. Had it not been for the smoking engines, she would have thought it was a castle. It was at least as large as Cloudsdale, and its dull black hull bristled with countless spires, turrets, and towers.

        It's 20% spaceship, 80% evil castle. What. The. Hay.

        The architecture wasn't the weirdest part, though. She saw pits and nooks and cracks that should have been too small to see from where she hovered. She wanted to brush it off as some kind of illusion, but there was no denying that it looked just plain wrong, especially compared to the bright green trees surrounding it. It had too many shadows playing across it, too many fine details. She had to look away after only a few seconds.

        Her mind raced. If aliens had landed in Equestria, maybe more would come. Maybe they'd blame ponykind for the crash, and Equestria would be swarming with green-skinned pony-eaters before she could say--

        Cut it out. You've been reading waaaay too many of those Freaky Files books, she said to herself.

        The other pegasi, who were still circling the wreck, looked just as dumbstruck as she was.

        Rainbow Dash didn't try to get any closer to the ship, but she couldn't bring herself to leave, either. She wanted to see what would happen next, and maybe find out who these aliens were.

        Then again, I'm not so sure I want to meet them anymore.

        “CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE!”

        The sudden booming voice nearly made Dash's wings seize up. She whirled around to face the loudmouth, ready to kick his rear end to Trottingham.

        She faltered. It was Soarin', flanked by the rest of the Wonderbolts. He had wrapped one hoof around a megaphone, and the other around some notecards he was trying to pretend he wasn't reading from. “BY, UH, ORDER OF PRINCESS CELEST—I MEAN PRINCESS LUNA, THIS AREA IS OFF-LIMITS. PLEASE, UH, RETURN TO YOUR HOMES IMMEDIATELY.”

        “Princess Luna? What happened to Celestia?” a turquoise pegasus asked. Dash recognized him as Discus, a surly pony who lived nearby.

        “UNFORTUNATELY, PRINCESS CELESTIA HAS FALLEN ILL. AS SOON AS SHE RECOVERS, PRINCESS LUNA WILL RELISH HER AUTHORITY. UH, I MEAN, -RELINQUISH- HER AUTHORITY.”

        “I doubt that,” Discus sneered. “So tell me, why exactly is this area 'off-limits?' Last time I checked, the skies belonged to everypony.” This was met with a cheer, but Dash didn't join in. The urge to kick a loudmouth to Trottingham was coming back fast.

         Soarin' shuffled through the notecards. “UNTIL WE CAN ASSERTATE—I MEAN ASCERTAME—OKAY, FIGURE OUT WHAT THIS THING IS, THE PRINCESS HAS DONE THIS TO ENSURE THE SAFET-EEEK!” he yelled as the notecard slipped away. It pitifully plummeted from his grasp like a wounded butterfly, and he gulped audibly. “UH, ANYWAY, IF YOU WANNA TALK ABOUT IT, MAYOR MARE WILL BE HOLDING A MEETING IN THE PONYVILLE TOWN SQUARE IN ABOUT HALF AN HOUR, I THINK.”

        It was quickly becoming too painful for Rainbow Dash to watch.

        “Can you believe this, ladies and gentlecolts?” Discus said, turning to face the crowd. “We're about to see the dawn of a new era in Equestrian history, and Princess Luna decides we can't keep ourselves safe. Oh, and Princess Celestia can't object, because now she's 'sick'. And this is all delivered to us by a bunch of glossy superstars who most certainly weren't paid to do this.”

        No. You did NOT just say that, Rainbow Dash fumed.

        To her disgust, the crowd kept eating his words up. “Hm. Does anypony else smell a...conspiracy?” Discus asked, sniffing theatrically at the air.

        “YES!” the crowd roared, completely under his spell now. Rainbow Dash didn't like Luna's decision, but this smug jerk was making her sick.

        “I know what we can do,” Discus said, ambition flashing in his eyes. “We can make a movement out of this. We'll be the Truth Team.”

        Almost without thinking, Dash snatched up a nearby cloud, wadded it into a ball, and kicked it at him.

        “All in favor of electing me as the head of the Truth Team, say—oof--”

        The cloud ball lodged itself around his head. Grunting in annoyance, he started the difficult task of pulling it off. Gasps of outrage came from the crowd, and Dash felt dozens of furious eyes on her.

        “Sorry to cut you off, but this is no time to have your head in the clouds. What we should really be worried about is down there,” Dash said, pointing at the smoldering wreck in the forest below. “I don't like Luna's decision, but at least she's got her heart in the right place. Maybe this thing's dangerous. Maybe it isn't. But could we at least try to change her mind before we start breaking her laws?”

        Discus finally pulled off the cloud ball. “The girl's got nerve. She attacks me, and then claims I'm being unreasonable!” The crowd booed at her like a choir of ghosts.

        “But I won't stoop to her level,” Discus continued. “I'll go to this meeting. I invite you all to come with me,” he said, “and together, we'll make sure Luna knows who she's dealing with.” With that, he flew off, his fans shooting one last nasty glare at her before they followed him.

        Soarin' and Spitfire flew up to her. “Whoa, you really bailed me out there,” Soarin' said. “Thanks a lot.”

        “You could've just handed the horn to me,” Spitfire sighed. “But really, Dash. Once again, you've done us a valuable service. We won't forget this.”

        “No problem,” Dash said, glowing with pride. “I couldn't let him get away with that garbage he was saying about you.”

        “Say, you'll be at the meeting, right? Because I think they'll need you,” Soarin' said.

        “Yeah, I'll be there,” she said, doing her best to hide her lack of enthusiasm. She hated the idea of spending even a single second arguing with Discus, but there was no backing down now.









        Celestia closed her eyes, knowing that the end would come soon. The false sun sped towards her, and the final spark of her consciousness was about to be absorbed into its hateful flames.

        Suddenly the air was split by a piercing cry, and somehow she found the will to open her eyes again. A two-headed eagle swept in from above, his feathers brilliant with golden light.

        “You will not have her!” Its voice was sharp and authoritative, like the voice of a king or a general. Its second head turned to regard her, meeting her with a razor gaze. “Stand, and send this abomination to oblivion!”

        She had no idea who or what her savior was, but she was more than happy to do so. She felt her strength rush back, gasping at the way every nerve seemed to blaze with power. The heat felt like a mere annoyance now. She unleashed one last blast of magic at the sun, and this time it was enough. The sickening black patterns broke apart like wet paper, and with an infernal howl, the sun imploded.

        There was no time to celebrate, however. As soon as the sun was gone, the clouds overhead boiled and churned. Ashes rained down, and thunder rumbled ominously.

        “Out here, we are easy prey for Chaos. We must seek shelter,” the eagle said. It flew to the chains binding the door shut, and swiftly tore them apart with its beak and claws.

        “Get inside! Now!” the eagle called.

        There was no arguing with that. She galloped back into the palace, slamming the door shut as soon as the eagle joined her. Outside, voices cried out in helpless rage and hunger.

        It took several seconds for Celestia to catch her breath. Her mind was racing so fast now, it seemed ready to spin out of control. “You saved my life. Thank you, but...who are you? And what's going on?”

        The eagle perched on the back of a chair, one head staring at a window. The other head turned to meet her, its emotions unreadable under its aquiline mask. “My master has fought Chaos for thousands of years. I have been sent to ensure your survival. As for your second question, Chaos has sent you into a dream state. You are more vulnerable to their corruption like this...but you are also more powerful. We can use this against them.”

        “In what way?” Celestia asked.

        “To understand my plan, you must first know why Chaos cannot launch a direct attack on your realm,” the eagle said, scrutinizing the room's stone walls.

        Blue runes shimmered into existence on each of the stones. “The inhabitants of your world are governed by fundamental rules that prevent them from falling to Chaos. Hatred, fear, and cruelty have little presence.”

        “That's not entirely true,” Celestia said. “I've seen more than a few monsters in my reign.”

        “I know who you speak of. But consider this: did they send nations into centuries of bloodshed and despair? Did they slaughter their enemies even as they begged for mercy? And how many deaths did their rampages cause? They were either vanquished before they could commit such atrocities, or there existed in them a spark of compassion.”

        A chill shot down Celestia's spine. She had thought she had seen the true face of evil in creatures like Discord and Nightmare Moon. She had never imagined that there could be something far worse.

        “Chaos has found a way around the rules,” the eagle continued. “Two armies have arrived on your world. One of them marches under the blessing of my master. The other serves a false angel that should have long been forgotten. Neither forces are bound by the laws of your reality, and Chaos intends to make use of this.”

        “They want to start a war,” Celestia murmured, thinking back to the vision of destruction she'd seen on the balcony.

        “A bloody and terrible one,” the eagle agreed. “The violence and the misery will break the barrier between your realm and the realm of Chaos.”

        “There must be some way to stop that from happening,” Celestia said.

        “We cannot prevent this war, but there might be a way to prevent the bloodshed. Listen closely, and I will tell you how.”




Ponyville Town Square
0655 hours

        The air was so thick with noise, the only thing Fluttershy could do was whimper and stick her hooves in her ears. She was surrounded by hundreds of upset ponies, all jam-packed into the town square. Taking to the air didn't help: it was filled with a swarm of pegasi who hardly had enough room to flap their wings.

        I don't think this meeting is going to go very well.

        She thought back to the strange things that had happened in the last hour. After the crash, dozens of woodland creatures had flocked to her home for shelter. Just as the poor things were starting to settle down, one of the Wonderbolts had knocked on her door and told her that she needed to “vacate the premises immediately.”

        Despite her pleas, she had been given no other choice. And so she left, bringing with her a menagerie of wildlife and pets. The Wonderbolts had been nice enough to help her move the supplies, and a few kind citizens had volunteered to watch the animals, but it wasn't going to work for long. Doodles the Kangaroo had already kicked over three apple carts, and Coils the Snake kept trying to wrap himself around the barber pole. He'd almost given poor Greenhooves a coronary, for heaven's sake!

        Just then, Fluttershy noticed that Twilight Sparkle was standing close by. She looked terrible: her mane was frazzled, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

        “Twilight!” she called, straining to be heard.

        Miraculously, the unicorn heard her. She turned to look back at Fluttershy, putting on a weak smile.

        “Fluttershy! Good to see you,” Twilight said, as her friend inched towards her through the thick press of ponies.

        “You look exhausted. Are you really sure you should be here?”

        “I can handle it,” Twilight said. The weakness in her voice made Fluttershy think otherwise. “Besides, Mayor Mare might need my help,” she added, eyeing the angry citizens surrounding them.

        Before Fluttershy could say more, the hubbub fell to a much more reasonable level. Mayor Mare had stepped up to the podium.

        “Good morning, citizens! Today marks an exciting new chapter in the history of Equestria. I can confirm that an alien spaceship has landed in the Everfree Forest.”

        Some ponies gasped. Others asked questions. Still others made accusations. All in all, it added up to a tremendous roar that hurt Fluttershy's already ringing ears.

        “Now, I know we're all excited about this, and I'm sure everypony wants to take a look for themselves. But I want to stress that approaching the crash site is strictly forbidden.”

        “On behalf of the common pony, I have a simple question: what's Luna trying to hide?” a pegasus yelled. Fluttershy could see Rainbow Dash glare daggers at him.

        “Princess Luna isn't trying to 'hide' anything,” Mayor Mare said smoothly. “This is a simple safety measure until we know what's inside that ship. But Discus has raised an important point, which is the fact that Princess Celestia is not feeling well right now.”

        “Probably because she's been locked up in the dungeon!” the pegasus said.

        “Or worse!” one of his allies agreed. The crowd gasped.

        “Now, you both know that's completely unfounded--” Mayor Mare started.

        “Until you can come up with a better theory, I believe everypony should be prepared for the worst,” Discus shot back. “My fellows here have come to some remarkable conclusions, and I believe it is their right to share them. Like Crème Brûlée, here.”

        “She poisoned Celestia so she couldn't stop a certain spaceship filled with evil moon-minions!” Crème Brulee cried.

        “This is no time for conspiracy theories,” Mayor Mare said. “If you'd just let me finish--”

        “What's the matter?” Discus said. “Scared that somepony might guess the truth? Mr. Tophat, give us your take.”

        “You're all foals! I saw the crash site,” said Tinfoil Tophat, waving a blurry photograph, “and I can certify it came from underground! This is the price we pay for ignoring the Diamond Dog threat!”

        Fluttershy watched with growing horror as Mayor Mare lost control of the crowd. Rainbow Dash seemed to be trying to help her, but she kept getting shouted down by Discus's friends. Twilight looked like she was almost catatonic.

        “I—I--” Twilight stuttered. Her voice was a mere whisper, and it made Fluttershy's heart sink to her hooves. Dash and Twilight were magnificent speakers, far better than she could ever be. Seeing them brought so low...

        It made her incredibly upset. No, upset wasn't the right word. Disappointed? No...

        Meanwhile, Discus wasn't stopping. “And another question: if Luna's so innocent, why doesn't she have the guts to show up?”

        ...Angry. Her pulse raced, and her throat felt parched and sore. Working with animals had taught her a lot about controlling her temper, but it seemed today was about to become one of the Days She Lost It.

        “I'm sure Princess Luna will be here soon, but--” Mayor Mare began.

        “Mayor Mare, can you confirm the rumors that no investigation will be launched until next month?” Yellow Journal asked.

        “I can assure you, there's no basis--”

        “A month? This can't wait a month!” a gray pegasus bellowed, pounding his hoof on the ground.

        She felt her anger rising, and had the vivid image of a thermometer being tossed into a bonfire. The mercury in the thermometer was shooting to the top, and she knew it was about to burst.

        “Mr. Hawk Wings, please--”

        “We deserve answers!” Crème Brûlée roared.

        “Please, I--”

        “Tell us the truth, before it's too late!” Discus bellowed.

        “I--”

        Fluttershy was almost in tears as the crowd transformed into a mob. The thermometer exploded in a shower of glass, and the image seemed so real that she almost heard it shatter.

        “WILL EVERYPONY PLEASE CALM DOWN!” a voice roared. Fluttershy marveled at how bold and confident it sounded: nothing like hers at all. The crowd's rage faltered.

        “What if the aliens come to town and see us like this? They'll think we're a bunch of vicious barbarians! We're citizens of Equestria, and we're better than this! Do you want to this day to be remembered as the day we stood together, or the day we broke apart?”

        Discus and the other rabble-rousers hung their heads in shame.

        “We can still ask questions. We can still hold suspicions. We can still have our disagreements. But for goodness sake, let's do it in a way we can be proud of. Let's do it in a way Princess Celestia would be proud of.”

        Fluttershy noticed that the crowd was staring at her. And then it hit her: she was the one who'd been speaking. She gulped and started to back up, expecting a wave of rotten tomatoes.

        There was a low rumble. It was the rumble of hundreds of hooves, clapping and stomping the ground in wild approval.

        Fluttershy couldn't believe it. Other ponies liked what she had to say? She was amazed and overjoyed, but what warmed her heart the most was the look of gratitude on Mayor Mare's face.

        “Well said, Fluttershy. I think we can all agree--” the mayor was cut off once again, but this time it wasn't by a conspiracy theorist.

        “Oh, sweet Celestia! They're coming!” an earth pony called, his eyes wide with fear.

        Fluttershy strained her neck to see where he was looking, and her eyes went just as wide. Four flying machines were soaring towards Ponyville. They were sleek and wedge-shaped, and made no sound except for a low hum.

        The crowd was starting to panic again, but this time she didn't try to stop them.

> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED


by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord


-----


CHAPTER FIVE




Herald of Terra
0655 hours, Equestria clock

        Macer was formless, floating through a black void.

        Where am I? Am I dead?

        He stared into the emptiness. This place didn't exactly look like the Golden Throne, so that left one possibility.

        Oh, forn.

        A voice drifted in from the darkness. It was monotone and genderless, and had an unpleasant metallic rasp.

        “You seem to be forgetting our agreement,” the voice droned.

        Another voice came in, sounding far more human but no less cold. “This argument is over. I won't let your petty little games interfere with the mission.”

        There was a pause before the metallic voice responded. “So be it. But know this: you have violated our trust. There will be repercussions.”

        Great. So, hell consists of darkness and dialogue snippets from corny holo-dramas. If Macer could have felt his body, he would have rolled his eyes. As it was, he merely waited for the voices to fade away. They eventually subsided, and soon he couldn't even remember what they had said.

        No matter. I'll just sit here and wait for what fate brings me next. As it turned out, fate brought a boot to his shoulder.

        “Ow!”

        “See?” a familiar voice said. “I told you he wasn't finished.”

        Another light kick brought him out of the darkness, and he slowly opened his eyes to see Inquisitor Valesius staring coldly down at him. Behind the inquisitor stood a quartet of red-robed figures, their features hidden behind white respirator masks. Macer recognized them as guards from House Lumina, the rogue trader dynasty that owned this vessel.

        “What was that for?” Macer mumbled. As he groaned and stood up, the trademark faint smile came to his master's face.

        “Just making sure you were still with us. Can you walk?”

        He stretched and took a few experimental steps forward. His back ached, and his head sported some new lumps, but nothing seemed broken.

        Valesius motioned for Macer to follow him, and he obliged. The House Lumina guards silently parted before him.

        The hallways were dark, lit only by hellish red emergency lighting and the occasional sparking control panel. Every breath brought in a new assault of the burnt-hair stench of electrical fires.

        “What happened while I was out?” Macer asked.

        “Just a minor complication. We arrived on Graneus Prime ahead of schedule.”

        “Forgive me for being blunt, sir,” Macer said, narrowly ducking under a broken pipe, “but how many died in this 'minor complication'?”

        “You'd do well to watch your tone,” Valesius chided. “Every crew member is alive and accounted for. The Emperor has delivered us to safety.”

        A squad of armsmen raced past, each member wearing red armor and a tense expression. They were clutching their boxy shotguns like they were angry squigs trying to squirm out of their hands, and Macer caught one of them saying something about “defensive position tetra.”

        Valesius saw the scribe's raised eyebrow. “Relatively speaking, that is,” he admitted. “Our arrival attracted some unwanted attention.”

        “Who found us?”

        “I'm not sure. Dac'an's been checking the auspex--if I could only find where he went...”

        A voice echoed down the hall, blazing with self-righteous fury. “What happened to my helmet, you imbecile?” There was a reverberating crash of metal and a squeal of fear, followed by rapid footsteps. A plump techpriest fled down the corridor as though he was being chased by a Bloodthirster, which Macer supposed would have been a more reasonable tormentor.

        “Sounds as though we must tend to a certain Black Templar's grievances, first,” Macer said.

        The inquisitor's expression darkened. “As always,” he murmured, just as Chaplain Bardrik stormed into the hallway.

        “That fool,” Bardrik breathed. “That despicable, sniveling fool. Get out of my way, inquisitor. That pathetic excuse for a man has insulted me for the last time.”

        “We have few enough able bodies on this ship as it is, Chaplain Bardrik,” Valesius said flatly.

        “He misplaced a relic five centuries older than him!” Bardrik spat. “He deserves retribution.”

        “Oy,” Njord Vallin called, emerging from a side corridor. In his hands he held a crumpled object. “Take a look at this.”

        “My helmet!” Bardrik snarled. “Who did this?”

        “You did. I reckon its mag-lock came loose in the crash, and then you fell on it.”

        Bardrik's face went through several spectacular shades of scarlet as he realized he had just lost his excuse to hit someone. Before he could make a once-in-a-lifetime apology, though, Captain Albus and Dac'an strode down the hall to meet them.

        “I extend my sympathies, brother-Chaplain,” Dac'an said. “Though if it's any consolation, it seems that a helmet will not be required on this planet.”

        Before Bardrik could grumble a reply, Valesius spoke. “Techmarine Dac'an,” he said, nodding cordially. “Could you repeat what you told me to the rest of the squad?”

        Dac'an's voice was as cool and measured as usual. “Although we experienced no fatalities, our vessel suffered greatly. The Thunderhawk is inoperable, and our sensory augurs were badly damaged. What little we could discover about our location consists of two things: Graneus Prime is a terrestrial world, with a breathable atmosphere, moderate climate, and negligible pathogen risks. The second discovery came when we restarted the short-range auspex array,” he said, producing a small device from his belt.

        He pressed its activation rune, and a murky blue hololith flickered to life. A green square was set in the center of the display, representing the ship's position. Blinking red dots slowly revolved around it like a miniature solar system.

        “This is a live auspex feed,” Dac'an continued. “These aerial signatures appeared in the last half-hour, and have been circling us ever since.”

        “What are they?” Macer asked.

        “It's still unclear. The sensors are so badly damaged, I cannot even confirm if they are organic in nature. They could be anything from wildlife to surveillance drones.”

        “Then I say it's high time we get out of here and do some reconnaissance,” Vallin said. “If the rebels are looking for us, it'd be best if we found them first.”

        “True. But before anything else, there are several matters I must make clear,” Valesius said. “If we do encounter the rebels, they will be nothing like the ragtag mobs we've usually seen. They are well-trained, well-motivated and well-equipped—possibly even with archeotech weaponry.”

        There was a frigid silence before anyone replied. The House Lumina guards tensed, no doubt as shocked as the rest of the team.

        “Is there any reason why I was not told about this earlier?” Dac'an asked. “This is hardly inconsequential.” Dac'an rarely wasted his energy on emotions, but his voice clearly held an edge of anger.

        Macer didn't blame him. Advanced technology from the ages before the Imperium was priceless to the Adeptus Mechanicus, and they were greatly annoyed by anyone withholding information about it. Usually, they expressed their annoyance by burning the offenders at the stake.

        “I take this matter quite seriously, Techmarine,” Valesius said. “Had it not been for the unexpected twist in our journey, I would have mentioned it at briefing.”

Macer knew from years of sting operations and wetwork that Valesius was a skilled liar.  Yet something in the inquisitor’s voice made it obvious that he was holding something back, and barely even trying to hide it.  From Dac’an’s expression, it seemed that he knew something was off, as well.

“Perhaps this is a debate for another time,” Albus suggested.  “Agreed?”

        Dac’an nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

Valesius seemed more than happy to resume.  “Besides, the possibility of archeotech is tenuous, at best. What is far more certain is that the Six Blessings are on this planet. They're our true priority, especially now that we cannot recapture the Warp's Bane. To this end, Captain Albus and I expect that every effort will be made to find their whereabouts.”

        “This includes taking at least one rebel prisoner alive for questioning,” Albus added.

        “I will try,” Bardrik said, with the enthusiasm of a man who had been told that he would live the rest of his days as a cargo servitor.

        “Brother-captain?” Dac'an called. “Our scans just picked up new aerial units.”

        Albus's eyes narrowed as four new icons materialized on the auspex display. They were noticeably larger than the others, and shortly after their arrival the smaller signatures flocked towards them at a lunatic pace.

        “They're holding their positions two kilometers northeast of us,” Dac'an reported. “I believe Telarius recalled spotting a settlement in that area.”

        “I doubt it's a coincidence. Ready your wargear, battle-brothers,” Albus said. “I want a closer look.”



Herald of Terra
0657 hours

        “Not that I'm complaining, sir, but why do you need me to come with?” Macer asked, hurrying after Valesius. They reached a small locker, and Valesius's fingers danced along its keypad. Unseen machinery buzzed and whirred, and the locker slid open, revealing a small rack of weapons and armor.
Valesius removed Macer's signature stub revolver from the locker, and unceremoniously handed it to him.

        “If it's true the rebels have archeotech, I'll need your expertise,” Valesius said. Macer saw him cast a cryptic glance at the House Lumina guards, and he decided to pretend not to notice.

        Macer inspected the firearm for damage, although it was difficult to tell. It was a dirty dog of a gun, lent to him by a hive ganger he'd 'forgotten' to return it to. It was loud, crude, overbuilt, and a terrible choice for a willowy quill-pusher like him. He liked it.

        “Makes sense,” he said, spinning the revolver's cylinder. He flicked his wrist like he'd seen in his favorite holo-serials, and with a satisfying click, the cylinder snapped back into place.

        “Oh, stop that, will you? You'll ruin the loading mechanism,” Valesius scolded. “Anyway, come along. We've wasted enough time as it is.”

        “Which reminds me: how do you expect me to keep up?”

        “With this,” Valesius said, tossing him an auto-injector. Macer clumsily caught it, and read its label:


COMBAT STIMULANT


MK. Vc


This Serum allows Servants of


the Emperor to briefly move with


Furious Speed, and thus more


swiftly Lay Waste to the foul


Enemies of the Holy Imperium


of Mankind.


Non-sanctioned usage is grounds


for Summary Execution.


KNOWN SIDE EFFECTS:


Disturbance of bodily humors,


Excessively high energy,


Repetitive behaviors,


Poor sleep patterns





        Oh, dear forning throne, he thought.



Herald of Terra crash site
0700 hours

        With a metallic screech, one of the Herald's many emergency hatches swung open.

        Nothing could have prepared the team for the sight that lay beyond. The forest around them appeared to be a familiar mix of hardwood and softwood trees, but everything from the sun to the earth seemed flat and simplified, as though they were part of a drawing.

        It was astonishing, even to a group of warriors that had seen the psychocrystalline mind-mazes of Mantalla and the derelict flying pyramids of Indrasil.

        After a few moments of hesitation Vallin leaped out, landing gracefully on the mounds of plowed dirt below. He glanced at himself, relieved to see that he hadn't taken on the strange visual style of his surroundings.

        Holding his bolt pistol ready, he scanned the landscape, tasted the air, and then gave the all-clear to the rest of the team.

        Chaplain Bardrik landed nearby, his eyes quickly adjusting to the light. He took in his surroundings, still repulsed by its detestable pastel colors.

        Thanks to his lost helmet, he had to endure the sights and sounds of this planet unfiltered. Dac'an had repeatedly assured him that any pathogen risks were minimal, but this was still a xeno world. The dewy green ferns, the swaying trees, and the cool air did nothing to hide its taint.

        Suddenly, something resembling a butterfly landed on his nose. It was a grotesque thing, with curly antennae and a body like an overstuffed sausage. Its tiny face beamed at him.

        How in Dorn's name do insects smile?

        With a grunt of contempt, he swatted it away, sending it sailing into the bushes.

        “Already purging xenos, chaplain?”

        This came from Inquisitor Valesius. Bardrik was startled: he hadn't noticed the man leave the ship.

        “You sound displeased,” Bardrik said sourly.

        “I will be watching you closely during this mission, Chaplain Bardrik. Disappoint me, and you can be certain the Watch-Commander will hear of it.” With that, the inquisitor walked away, as though he hadn't just turned his back on an angry priest of the Black Templars.

        Such impudence! He wished he had the power to challenge the haughty mortal to an honor duel.

        Unbeknownst to Bardrik, his hated butterfly foe had already recovered and flown off, but not before blowing him a high-pitched raspberry.



Ponyville, Equestria
0700 hours

        The flying machines hovered over a sea of wide eyes and gaping mouths. One of them was only twenty feet above Twilight Sparkle, and despite the strange things she'd seen in the past few days, she was just as amazed as the other ponies. Even the Wonderbolts had flown in to get a closer look. She wished she had brought Spike along, but the young dragon had insisted he wasn't in the mood for a meeting. He was missing out on so much!

        Each machine was the size of a large shed. Despite their otherworldly appearances, they possessed a strange beauty; constructed with contoured lines and polished metal that faintly gleamed in the sunlight. It was clear that they were the products of a civilization far more advanced than ponykind.

        Not only had the aliens created spaceships, but they had refined them into things of grace and elegance. By contrast, Equestria's history with spacecraft had been a slow and disappointing one. Up until this day, there had been plenty of ponies who claimed traveling to other planets was outright impossible.

        But if they're so ahead of us, why did they stick a bunch of machine parts on a skull and make it fly around? She dismissed the doubtful little voice in her head as quickly as it had arrived. It was hardly fair to judge aliens from another dimension by Equestrian standards.

        The air was thick with anticipation. Countless scholars and sci-fi novelists alike had dreamed of this moment, and here she was, about to witness history unfold right before her eyes. Any second now, she would discover who these aliens were. There would be so much to learn from them, so much to share with them. Maybe they'd even let some ponies visit their homeworld!

        Any second now. The hatches should open right about...now!

        Nothing happened.

        No? How about now?

        Still no movement.

        Okay, now.

        It occurred to her that she had been holding her breath for so long, her chest felt like a vice.

        Oh, just do it already!

        As if the aliens had heard her thoughts, small hatches on the undersides of the machines slid open.

        Whunk! Whunk! The crowd gasped in astonishment as dozens of small cylinders were ejected from the hatches.

        Twilight's heart almost stopped. What was this?

        One of the cylinders landed next to a cross-eyed pegasus standing near Twilight. The pegasus sniffed at it, then suddenly reeled back in terror.

        “Look out!” she cried. “Itsa BOHMB!”

        The scene transformed into utter bedlam. Ponies cried out in terror and tried to escape, but with little success. The crowd was simply too tightly packed together. Frantic pegasi slammed into each other, falling to the ground and adding to the quagmire.

        No, Twilight thought. No. It can't be true. Why would they do this? She wanted to find her friends, but it was all she could do to avoid being trampled.

        With deafening reports, the bombs detonated. The noise and light sent nearly everypony in the crowd to their knees, clutching their ears and shielding their eyes. She expected to be swept up by a wall of fire any second, but it never came.

        What actually came was a thick cloud of noxious smoke. She coughed violently, tears running from her stinging eyes. Other unicorns in the crowd had sense enough to start using smoke-clearing spells, and she cast one of her own.

        Her mouth went dry when she saw what was hiding behind the smoke. Only a few feet in front of her stood a line of alien creatures. Like the skull and the flying machines, they had a vastly different visual quality compared to anything else in Equestria. They didn't seem unreal; they seemed too real.

        They were bipeds, nearly twice as tall as an average pony. They were dressed in suits of gray, streamlined armor, and their faces were hidden behind masks with cold blue goggles.

        Whatever hope Twilight held that the aliens were peaceful vanished when she saw the weapons they were carrying. Wicked-looking batons that sparked with electrical arcs. Heavy cannons and broad shields.

        “Exathel nir sirnata! Stroi vira faln, kurnak-tal!” one of them cried. The language was completely foreign to Twilight, but she had no desire to find out what it meant. Each word sounded so venomous, they seemed like weapons in themselves.

        The aliens raised their shields, and thus began what would later be recorded as the First Battle of Ponyville.



Everfree Forest
0701 hours

        Freedom at last, Vallin thought as Albus ordered the squad to move out. As usual, he was on point, and moved well in advance of the rest of the squad. It was a role many soldiers dreaded, but Vallin was more than a soldier. He could disarm ingenious booby traps with contemptuous ease, and more than a few enemy snipers had been treated to a bolt round to the face just as they were about to pull the trigger.

        He relished being outside again. As strange as Graneus Prime was, it was a welcome change of scenery from the ship's gloomy confines. Not having to put up with any more stale recycled air was a benefit, too. He savored the breeze, and the scent of pine trees it brought with it. Thus reinvigorated, he crept into the shadows of the forest with liquid grace.

        There was no more time to admire the feast for his senses: he had rebels to hunt. He took another whiff of the air. Soil, animal life, and wood. That wasn't exactly a surprise. Ceramite, scented oils, fyceline, and ozone. Obviously from the kill-team. To his irritation, the wind was at his back. Sounds and scents from their destination would be harder to detect. Still, there was no choice but to keep moving and hope that the wind would shift.



Ponyville, Equestria
0701 hours

        “Zu tralnast! Makarn!” The aliens locked their shields into a wedge and charged forward, their heavy boots kicking up thick clouds of dust.

        Rarity watched in horror and disgust as they brutally smashed aside any pony who stood in their path. They showed no mercy to the weak, the old, or the young: in fact, they seemed to make a show out of inflicting pain on them. Elderly mares and young foals were kicked aside like they were pieces of filth.

        Some of the unicorns in the crowd were retaliating, but their bolts of magic had little effect on the heavy metal shields. The aliens were charging straight towards her, and their blue goggles met with her eyes.

        She bunched up her muscles and put on her most vicious scowl.

        “If you ruffians want me,” she called, “you can have me!” She doubted they could understand, but they certainly didn't lose interest in her. She doubted even more that her plan would work, but if it failed, at least she would buy time for the other ponies to get away.

        She released the tension in her muscles in one explosive burst of energy, charging towards the aliens. At the last second she dropped to the ground and skidded, not caring about the havoc she would wreak on her gleaming white coat.

        There was a blur of motion and light. She realized she had slid under the alien's shields and through their legs, and was now right behind them.

        Just as planned!

        The aliens tried to turn and face her, but their heavy shields slowed them down. She took advantage of this as quickly as she could.

        “Hiii-yah!” she cried, kicking her rear legs out with all her strength. Her delicately trimmed hooves smacked into back of their knees, and the two aliens she'd hit collapsed like sacks of flour.

        Suddenly exposed, the third alien raised his foot up, trying to stomp on her. She rolled out of the way just before it slammed down, impacting with a loud thud that made her grateful she'd dodged it. She sprung back to her feet just in time to see the other two aliens start to recover, and she knew she wasn't going to be able to go on much longer.

        But she didn't need to. Seeing one dainty little unicorn stand up against a trio of heavily armed alien soldiers had emboldened the crowd, and soon others were joining in.

        One burly white pegasus crashed into an alien's shield like a freight train, ripping it from his grasp. The alien stared at him in what Rarity guessed was stunned confusion until the pegasus delivered a one-hit knockout blow to his nose.

        “YEEEAAH! GIMME MORE STUFF TO PUNCH!” he cried, quickly deciding that other two aliens were suitably punchable. Between his brute strength and the growing mob of angry ponies, the two aliens were on the ground in seconds.

        “YEEEAAH! WE ROCK!” the pegasus shouted, hoisting Rarity over his shoulders. Cheers rang out, and as much as Rarity enjoyed the attention, she didn't like the way the rest of the aliens seemed to be pointing frightful-looking weapons at her.

        I seem to be quite an easy target up here. She was vindicated when she found herself suddenly engulfed by a sticky net.

        Oh, dear. This will NOT be fun to get out of my mane.

> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED




by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord




-----




CHAPTER SIX




        Ponyville, Equestria
        0702 hours

        Pinkie Pie bounced merrily along, clutching the handle of a basket between her teeth. This was a special occasion, so it deserved some special treats: a ten-pound poundcake, (not the baby pony kind) a lion's share of eclairs (it had been tough to get the lion to share them, though) and a devil's food cake that had come straight from the ovens of Tartarus. (Spicy, but fun!)

        She planned to set up a picnic in the town square; she was sure the new guys would be there soon. It sounded like there was already quite a commotion going on over there. Was she late? She had slept through her alarm clock that morning, so maybe she was.

        Picking up her pace to a slightly more hurried bounce, she turned the final corner and found herself faced with a scene that made her wonder if she was having a really nasty nightmare.

        The newcomers were pretty weird-looking, but that wasn't what made her freeze with fear.  They were surrounding the citizens of Ponyville, tangling them with nets and beating them with clubs and treating them like they were...they were...

Pinkie Pie didn't know what they were treating them like, but one thing was clear.  Her guests were meanies. Major, certified, super-uber, downright, uptight meanies. She felt her hair deflate as this realization sank in, and her eyes began to water. She had wanted so badly for this to be a day of fun and celebration, and now...

        Cold fury overtook her. In an instant the party cannon was by her side, and she stuffed the ten-pound poundcake inside its barrel.

        “You...” she stammered. “You...you party poopers!”

        She fired the cannon, launching the cake at the nearest bad guy. It smashed into him at full force, rocketing him into a vegetable stand. There was a loud crunch as the stand collapsed under his weight, spilling pumpkins everywhere. This caught the attention of two of the other bullies, who broke from the circle and began taking aim at her. She gulped and frantically tried to reload the cannon.

        Before they could fire, they were bowled over by a blue streak that flashed across her vision.

        “Ooh! Nice one, Dash!” Pinkie called, a smile finding its way back onto her face.

        “No...problem,” Rainbow Dash called back, making zigzag trails of light as she zipped towards the bad guys' flying machines. Pinkie noticed how tired Dash sounded, as though she was about to pass out. “I'm gonna give...these jerks...something to shoot at. See if you...can find—oof!” A net wrapped around the pegasus's wings, sending her plummeting into the crowd of ponies.

        Anger flared through her as she heard the bad guys cheer in celebration. “You guys deserve a taste of baked justice!” she announced, loading the cannon and lighting the fuse.

        Scholars later concluded that Pinkie Pie contributed minimally to the First Battle of Ponyville before her swift capture. However, it was regarded as intriguing that she managed to splatter the intruders with two dozen orange jellycakes, four dozen duck-shaped muffins, and six dozen reverse flapjacks, despite not having brought these items or even baked them in the first place.





        Ponyville, Equestria
        0705 hours

        Eventually, Vallin came across another clearing.

        The buildings reminded him of some of the villages he had seen on primitive worlds, built with timber frames and thatched roofs. Once he drew closer, however, the resemblance fell apart. Every wall was carved with heart symbols, and their jettied upper stories stuck out so precariously he expected them to collapse at any second. There was even a house in the distance that had been made to resemble a pastry.

        He stooped down to examine the road more closely. There were tracks in the dirt, each print a slightly oblong circle.

        What kind of odd creatures made these?

        Then the wind shifted, bringing in a chorus of terrified shrieks.

        “Talon to Aegis,” he spoke into the vox. “Heard some screams. Sounded roughly two hundred meters northbound.”

        ++Copy that.++ Albus voxed back.

        ++It matches with the auspex.++ Dac'an noted. ++Latest readings show that the aerial units are still holding their positions.++

        The hairs on the back of Vallin's neck prickled. As absurd as the houses looked, every window could have hidden an enemy observer or a sniper. There was too much open ground in this town, and no back alleys to speak of. They had little more chance of making a stealthy entrance than a drunken marching band. Still, he had been through far less forgiving environments, and at least the early morning sun provided plentiful shadows to hide in.

         He half-expected to run into an ambush or a minefield at any moment, but his sense of unease only grew when no such thing came. It didn't help that he would sometimes catch glimpses of movement out of the corner of his eye, and fleeting whiffs of a bizarre scent that reminded him of horses.

        What the hell is going on?



        Ponyville, Equestria
        0705 hours

        Applejack had gotten herself into a dang fine mess this time. Making her way through the crowd of panicked ponies was like trying to wrestle a pig in a tub of molasses: you had to fight to make a single move.

        She hardly even knew what was going on. She and Rarity had arrived at the meeting late, and before you could say Zapapple they were getting attacked by a gang of monsters with fancy flying contraptions and not a lot of courtesy.

        They were a mean bunch, those monsters. They had already trapped Rarity, Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie Pie with some sort of net cannon, and they were looking to do the same to her.

        Good luck with that, she thought, bucking her hooves into the belly of one of her would-be ponysnatchers. Hitting its metal armor hurt like heck, but it was clear the monster was in worse shape.

        “Gasht! Zu kurnak!” it cried, doubling over in pain.

        “Yeah, well, 'kurnak' yerself!” she shot back, kicking it again. This time she struck the monster in the face, instantly knocking it out cold.

        “Applejack!” a pony shouted.

        She felt a swell of hope when she heard that voice. It was Twilight Sparkle! If anypony knew what was going on—and how to stop these things—it was her.

        “Twilight! Are you okay?”

        “Just—oof –fine. I'm—ow–trying to—ouch!–find an opening!” Applejack could see her now, but only barely. The crowd was way too thick to see much more than just a few flashes of the unicorn's purple mane.

        “Jus' stay where you are! Ah'm comin' to get ya!”

        “Don't! Just run, okay—ow—RUN! Run and find help!”

        “Ya know ah ain't gonna do that, Twi! Use one of yer spells and skedaddle outta here!”

        “I can't—too many obstacles—can't concentrate—ergh!”

        “Try, Twilight! Give it everythin' ya got!”

        A purple glow began to wrap around the unicorn as she started the teleportation spell, growing brighter each second.

        “Almost there—just one more--” Just then, a hysterical pony's hoof slammed into Twilight's forehead. She crumpled to the ground.

        “No!” Applejack cried, anger and despair welling up in her like magma in a volcano. She fought her way through the crowd to Twilight, trying to protect the unconscious unicorn from being trampled. She didn't hear the renewed cries of fear as the monsters began to charge again.

        By the time she noticed, it was far too late. She turned around just in time to be greeted by a wedge of hardened metal shields, and then everything went black.




        
Ponyville, Equestria
        0706 hours

        The team had taken cover on the bank of the creek surrounding the town square. Peering at the scene before him, Macer blinked and wondered what the combat drugs had done to his mind.

        A panicked crowd of small, brightly-colored equinoid aliens were surrounded by a circle of thirty soldiers, who were using webbers and suppression shields to keep them penned in. Occasionally a squad of three rebels would charge into the crowd with their shields raised, spreading havoc and pain as they went. They would then grab a seemingly random xeno from the crowd, shove a bag around its head, and drag it outside the perimeter. Just as he watched, the soldiers violently hurled a yellow equinoid with wings into a cage. It let out a piteous cry of pain as it slammed against the steel bars, and he couldn't help but wince.

        Four shuttles hovered closely overhead, their hulls sleek and forked like the tongues of serpents. They were being swarmed by winged equinoids, yet the aircraft made no attempt at defense aside from firing more webber cannons.

        At first Macer assumed the soldiers were rounding up some sort of strange indigenous livestock, but it soon became clear that these aliens were far from dumb beasts. Some of them wore hats and jackets and even dresses. A few babbled in a hauntingly familiar language, and screamed and sobbed with uncannily human-like voices. Others appeared to be trying to coordinate a defense, and at one point even succeeded in breaking a hole in the circle large enough for a xeno to escape.

        Macer blinked again. The escaping equinoid was pushing a baby carriage, somehow managing to keep a tight grip on the handlebar with its forehooves.

        “Throne! So these are the villagers?” Macer murmured. “What the hell do they want from them?”

        “I'll venture a guess and say it's nothing good,” Valesius said before glancing at Albus. “These soldiers match the descriptions of the pirates, captain. I'd advise that we make use of this distraction and press our attack.”

        Briefly Macer wondered where the pirates' “descriptions” had come from if their only witness was a blind man. Once again, it seemed that Valesius knew more than he was letting in on. None of the Marines brought this up, however, so Macer concluded that either they were too focused on the mission to complain or it was just himself that had been left in the dark.

        Albus nodded and said, “Talon, this is Aegis. Any signs of rebel activity outside the encirclement?”

        ++Affirmative,++ Vallin's voice crackled over the vox. He had sneaked along the edge of the stream to cover another approach to the town square, hiding himself in a cluster of bushes to the northeast. ++But it seems they only have four sentries posted. Quite sloppy, if you ask me.++

        “This isn't right,” Bardrik growled. “There is no way they could be this foolish and steal a heavily guarded freighter.”

        “It is often difficult to distinguish been foolishness and desperation,” Dac'an said.

        “And why, pray tell, would a pack of xeno scum warrant more attention than a crash landing?” Bardrik said. It was clear from his voice that he felt greatly insulted by that prospect.

        “Perhaps these aliens know something about the Six Blessings,” Valesius observed. “A slim possibility, but an important one nonetheless. I suggest we limit our fire to the rebels. If we can appear as saviors, we might be able to use it to our advantage.”

        “Are you suggesting that we try to earn the trust of these miserable xenos? Have you gone mad?” Bardrik hissed.

        “We've already discussed this. We are the scalpel of the Imperium, not the meat grinder. If you cannot accept this, you should have never joined the Deathwatch.”

        “Your plan is...unconventional, inquisitor, but not without precedent,” Albus said. Macer concurred. Temporary alliances between Imperials and aliens were rare, but the Deathwatch was far from above making use of xenos assets if it suited its needs. “Perhaps it is worth attempting.”

        Bardrik gave him a glare that could have melted through adamantium, but said no more.

        ++Doesn't matter much to me,++ Vallin voxed. ++Sighted a possible priority target by the fencepost thirty degrees to your left. Seems to be their commander.++

        The soldier Vallin had commented on was standing apart from the rest of the soldiers. He had a hand pressed against the side of his helmet, apparently operating a vox link.

        “Copy that,” Albus said. “On my signal, take him down. You're clear to engage any other targets you deem necessary. With luck, we might get them to break contact with the xenos.”

        He turned to address the squad. “The rest of us will hold our fire. But as soon as they try to attack Vallin's position, all weapons are free. Dac'an? Get on the bank with me. Chaplain, I'll trust you with guarding our left flank. Inquisitor? Cover the right. And Macer?”

        Macer could only barely hear him. Blood roared in his ears as a cocktail of pre-battle adrenaline and combat drugs flowed through his veins. His muscles felt like taut steel cables, and the cheerful morning sunlight seemed as bright as a magnesium flare.

        “Yes, captain?” he asked. His own voice sounded slow and strange, like a distant moan.

        “Keep your head down, and kill any rebel who gets too close.”

        “Understood.” Macer nodded and gripped his revolver tighter, the checkered grip leaving painful red marks on his hands. He had never relished combat, especially now that Apothecary Remus wasn't with them. As devious as that Blood Raven scoundrel was, he'd never allowed a single team member to die, Space Marine or otherwise.

        “If this turns out to be a trap, we'll break contact and fall back to Waypoint Alpha,” Albus said. “Talon, do you have a shot?”

        ++Affirmative,++ Vallin voxed.

        “Fire when ready.”

        There was a torturous pause. Suddenly, the commander and two nearby soldiers toppled to the ground. No gunshots could be heard: Vallin's stalker-pattern bolter had struck again. Noticing their fallen comrades, the troopers began to respond.

        “Dulne nir kast?”

         A squad of soldiers detached from the encirclement, darting behind cover and desperately searching for the interloper.

        Two more went down, clean headshots on both of them.

        “Malnaa!” one of the survivors cried in anguish as he saw them fall. “Mir! Vo mir!” he roared, pointing towards Vallin's position. He was shot seconds later, but the damage had been done. A sizable chunk of the soldiers drew their autoguns and unleashed a deafening fusillade of firepower in Vallin's direction. To Macer's astonishment, their weapons were a far cry from the one-mag-and-chuck-it junk that rebels usually carried. They fired faster than storm bolters, and yet somehow barely produced any recoil.

        However, the aliens immediately took advantage of their disarray. The encirclement had weakened, and it was breaking on the right side. Numerous xenos were already escaping, but the troopers were in no position to intervene save for firing a few haphazard shots with their webbers.

        Despite the chaos, some of the soldiers were getting dangerously close to Vallin's position, and it was only a matter of time before he would be overrun.

        “Weapons free!” Albus called. He and Dac'an opened fire, the heavy weapons barking like the hounds of hell as they mowed a squad down. The rebels died strangely clean deaths, spilling armor fragments across the grass but shedding no blood.

        This barely registered with Macer. Now that the fight had begun, his attention was now solely focused on winning it. He drew a bead on the nearest heretic and squeezed his handgun's trigger. It bucked indignantly in his hands, its report lost amidst the roar of the bolters. His target staggered, but quickly recovered and brought his autogun to bear. Now Macer could see that the rebel had a grenade launcher mounted underneath his rifle, and was seconds away from pummeling the kill-team with a frag blast.

        The sounds of the battle grew distant, and he found himself gripped by an unfamiliar rage. His field of vision narrowed to a red, pulsing tunnel, obscuring everything but the enemy soldier. He felt like a freight train, and this clueless little man refused to get off the tracks.

        The rebel flinched once, twice, and then a third time, looking like he was doing some sort of spastic dance. Feeling mocked, Macer grew even angrier. As if to taunt him further, the rebel dropped his weapon and started reeling backwards.

        Now he wanted to tear this imbecile limb from limb. If only I could get closer—damn robes got hitched on some forning--...

        The anger abruptly subsided, and Macer saw that it was Valesius who was holding him back. Baffled, he looked back at the enemy soldier, who was now crumpled in a heap. Every remaining round in the revolver's cylinder had been emptied into the heretic's torso.

        “Macer!” Albus shouted as he slapped home a new magazine. “Have you lost your mind? I ordered you to stay in cover!”

Macer sank to his knees, his muscles twitching violently.  Sorry, can't talk, Macer thought. I'm having a lovely little fit of convulsions right now.

        “He's just suffering a minor reaction to the combat stimms. He'll be fine in a minute or two.” Valesius said.

        Albus looked like he was about to say something, but he was interrupted by a horrific cry of rage. It had the signature distortion of a helmet speaker, but was far too shrill and piercing to be from one of the Marines. Suddenly a rebel soldier bolted from underneath the bridge on their left, a wicked sickle-shaped sword clutched in his hands.

        Bardrik's response was so fast and casual that it was almost comical. He reached out and grabbed the charging man by the neck, turning his battle cry into a choked squawk. Without a second's delay, he then hurled him against the bridge. The finely-carved wood cracked from the impact, and the rebel's body flopped into the stream with a loud splash.

        For the second time that day, Macer somehow found the strength to get back on his feet. He risked a peek at the town square. Despite their initial advantage of numbers, the rebels were clearly losing this battle. They had already lost one third of their men and the survivors were rapidly losing ground.

        Soon they were retreating to the shuttles, scaling the rappelling ropes with compact winches that rocketed them skyward. Before Macer could celebrate, however, one of the shuttles dropped a plasteel crate onto the ground below.

What the...

        The crate blew open, revealing a strange quadrupedal machine that had been packed inside. It looked vaguely insectile, with four thin legs joining with a polished metal hub that served as its thorax. A reinforced meter-tall stalk protruded from the top of the thorax, bearing four cameras facing in the cardinal directions. But what worried Macer the most was its armaments: as he watched it, a ring bearing four autoguns smoothly traveled up the stalk like an elevator. The machine's slender legs gracefully extended outward, finding purchase on the soft grass below, and it stood up to its full height.

        All the while, the kill-team concentrated their fire on this new threat. The bolt rounds blew armor fragments off of it like chaff, but it showed no signs of serious damage. The autoguns and the cameras were sealed in armored casings, making them no softer targets than the rest of the vehicle.

        Macer's heartbeat galloped as he fumbled with the speed-loader on his revolver. It was idiotic, of course: if a machine like that had been able to withstand a volley of Astartes bolter fire, a few stub rounds would be utterly useless.

        Better to die a defiant fool than a submissive one, he thought, thumbing the hammer back and loosing a few ineffectual, yet satisfying rounds.

        The walker drew closer. Now the ring of autoguns had reached the top of its stalk, right underneath its cameras. The added elevation had given the guns a clear shot over the kill-team's cover. One of them seemed to be pointing directly between Macer's eyes, and the scribe looked down its barrel in mesmerized horror.

        “Cover your eyes!” Dac'an called.

        Macer reacted too late. There was a fierce howl of rushing, superheated air. A blinding blue light scorched his retinae, causing him to curse and screw his eyelids shut. As the afterimage pulsed in his vision, he could hear something heavy collapse to the ground, and caught the smell of white-hot metal.

        When he finally opened his eyes he saw that the walker had been transformed into a smoldering lump of molten metal, small flames flickering in the grass surrounding it. Dac'an had incinerated the machine with a blast from his combi-meltagun.

        Macer could hear what sounded like cheers coming from the xenos, most of whom had wisely fallen back to avoid the gunfire. The few who remained in the fray were the winged ones, who were still doing their best to keep the shuttles occupied.

        Bardrik's frown deepened. “These degenerate beasts seem to think we are helping them.”

        “Then the plan is working,” Albus said. “Now let's finish these heretics off.”

        Three more crates came crashing to the ground, bursting open to reveal that many quadruped walkers.

        “Throne,” Valesius uttered, ducking just in time to avoid a scything torrent of heavy autogun fire.

        “Any chance you have more charges in that melta?” Macer called to Dac'an, already fearing his answer.

        “Negative,” the Techmarine said with uncanny calmness. “It is a single-shot weapon. Reloading it is impractical under battlefield conditions.”

        “It matters not,” Albus said. “I have a workable substitute.” With that, he pulled a krak grenade from his belt, primed it, and lobbed it at the nearest walker.

        Whump! A perfectly placed bullet from the autoguns detonated the grenade midway through its trajectory, nearly bursting Macer's eardrums.

        ++That looked unpleasant,++ Vallin voxed. ++Trying to draw their fire, but not much luck. Damn things have a 360 degree firing arc.++

        This is a stupid way to die, Macer thought. Death by giant enemy crab machines.

There was a thunderous boom of displaced air, and a strange beam of purple energy shot towards the walkers. Whirling around, he could see its source: it was another one of the winged xenos, weaving erratic patterns in the air to dodge the retaliatory gunfire. It was noticeably larger than the other aliens, its coat a rich midnight blue. A horn on its head projected the energy beam, focusing on the closest walker.

        For a moment, nothing seemed to happen to the machine, and Macer's newfound sense of hope faltered. Then bright blue electrical arcs started to shoot from its joints. Smoke billowing from its overloaded generator, the walker shuddered to a halt. Within ten seconds, the xeno had disabled the other two walkers as well.

        “The heretics are escaping!” Bardrik roared. Indeed, while the kill-team had been pinned down by the walkers, the rebels had finished boarding the shuttles. The transports silently glided away, ignoring what few bolter or plasma shots the kill-team managed to hit them with. Soon they were completely out of sight.

        “Search the area. See if they left any wounded behind,” Albus ordered.

        ++Already on it. So far, it seems they took all their casualties with them.++ Vallin said.

        “It appears so,” Bardrik said, staring in bafflement at the space under the bridge. The body he had left there was gone, too.

        “Disappointing, but at least we made it clear that the servants of the Emperor are not to be trifled with,” Valesius said. “I'll order the House Lumina guards forward. We'll need their help in securing this location.”

        “And what of the xenos?” Albus asked. The aliens who hadn't fled back into their homes were slowly regrouping in the town square, untangling their comrades from the web nets and freeing others from their cages. They kept their distance from the Marines, whispering to each other and pointing at them with their hooves. Their large eyes were bulging with terror, and Macer suddenly knew how a Necron felt.

        “Macer and I will see if we can establish some form of communication with them,” Valesius replied. “Stay close, if you will—I'd like to have you around if something goes wrong.”

        Albus nodded. “Very well. Dac'an, Bardrik--sweep the area. I don't want any more surprises.”

        Meanwhile, the large xeno with the dark coat had landed. It regarded the three Imperials with cautious interest, its eyes narrowed.

        Exchanging a glance with Valesius, Macer stepped forward.





        Ponyville, Equestria
        0711 hours

        Twilight Sparkle slowly opened her eyes. Her head throbbed; it felt worse than the time a piano had fallen on it.

        Everything was blurry, but she could see that she was in a cage. The steel bars pressed uncomfortably against her skin.

        What happened? Somepony kicked me, and then--

        There was a light jingle as the cage's lock was opened. The door swung open, and she could see that her liberator was Lockpick, a unicorn known for his obvious talent.

        “What happened?” Twilight groaned. “Did we fight off the aliens?”

        “Seems so. You're friends are safe; they're just waking up now. Gotta say, my respect for Luna went up a couple notches. She came in at the last minute, but if hadn't been for her...”

        “She saved us?”

        Lockpick shook his head. “No. She saved them,” he said, glancing to his left.

        She followed his gaze and gasped. Two aliens clad in ornate robes were standing nearby, their stances tense.

        “Who are they?” Twilight asked.

        “Not sure. All I know is that they helped us fight off the other aliens.”

        Twilight blinked away the blurriness, and then quickly regretted it. A common theory among ponies--particularly the more ignorant ones--was that if space aliens existed, they would look a lot like normal ponies. Twilight had always been annoyed by that theory, but now she wished it was true.

        The aliens were even more horrible without their masks. Their eyes were beady, bloodshot marbles set underneath bony, sharp brows. They had no muzzles: their noses protruded only slightly from their faces, giving them a disturbingly smashed-in appearance.

        They possessed short necks and thick, broad chests. The otherworldly appearance of the aliens was enhanced further by their height: they were easily head and shoulders above Twilight if she had been standing on her hind legs.

        Monsters, a small voice in the back of her head cried. In spite of years of rational thinking, she felt a deep, primitive fear welling within her.

        It didn't help that Luna seemed to be fighting panic, too.

        “DROP THINE WEAPONS AND STAND DOWN!” Luna bellowed. “APPROACH NO CLOSER, OR WOE BETIDE THEE!”

        Dark violet energy wreathed Luna's horn, emitting a threatening hum as the magical forces charged up. The squadron of royal guards flanking the princess were frozen in defensive positions, their faces set in baleful glares.

        The aliens hesitated, and a third one stepped into view. This creature was even larger and more intimidating, dressed in a ridiculously thick suit of black armor that made it look like a colossal statue. Two grim red eyes glared from its helmet, conveying nothing but menace. It was clutching a bulky weapon in its huge armored gauntlets, and it was looking increasingly eager to use it.

        “Luna!” Twilight cried. “Enough with the Royal Canterlot Voice!”

        “HUSH, TWILIGHT SPARKLE. LEAVE THIS MATTER TO US.”

        As Luna was speaking, Twilight could see the giant raise its weapon to its shoulder. She had little understanding of how the aliens' weapons worked, but she felt safe assuming that it wasn't a good sign.

        It occurred to Twilight that unless she did something, this was only going to result in another horrendous battle. These aliens seemed different than the ones before; maybe this was a chance to start over. Maybe there was a chance for peace.

        A chance for peace. That was a thought that jump-started her exhausted muscles and sent her mind racing for a solution. In an instant, she thought of one. Perhaps it wasn't the best idea, but it was better than standing back and watching as Luna unwittingly started another fight.

        “Wait!” Twilight said, dashing in front of Luna. The aliens tensed, but didn't attack. “It doesn't have to be like this! We don't want to hurt you.”

        The aliens seemed to notice the pleading tone in her voice, because she saw the tension in their body language slowly recede.

“My name is Twilight Sparkle. Ponykind welcomes you to Equestria,” she said, bowing her head.

        The two aliens in front looked at each other, and their posture relaxed some more. The giant standing behind them didn't lower its weapon, but it seemed less anxious.

        Suddenly joyful music began to play, and Twilight looked behind her to see that not only had Pinkie Pie gotten free, but she had more than enough energy to do her usual welcoming routine.

        “WELCOME, WELCOME, WELCOME--” she began to sing, to the accompaniment of blaring horns and confetti poppers. An expression that looked like utter confusion spread across the aliens' faces.

        “Pinkie, is now the time?”

        The party pony looked thoughtful, and then shrugged. “Maybe not.”




> Chapter 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED

by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord

-----

CHAPTER SEVEN



New Exathel
0711 hours

Dante did not take the news well.

When Michael had opened the door to his quarters, Dante had not turned to face him.  He stood unmoving in front of the window, a silhouette against a backdrop of white mountains that rose into the sky like the wings of angels.

“This is most disappointing, Michael.  Didn't you say that we would face hardly any resistance?  That the Imperials would take much longer to organize?”

“This is not what the visions told me.  Your kind cannot understand--”

Dante visibly tensed.  Michael's words died an ignoble death in his throat.

“And what,” Dante said, “do you mean by 'your kind'?”  His voice was like steam hissing from a volcanic vent.

An old wound had been opened, and Michael knew that to open it any wider would spell the end of his service.  “My steward,” he implored, “I meant no offense.  I only intended to say that the warp is a fickle mistress.”

“Do you know why I forgave you for the escape of the psyker, Michael?”  

Michael swallowed.  “Why?”

“You stepped forward and took responsibility for it.  That took bravery and honor.  But now I fear you are becoming like Ishmael, cloaking your mistakes with talk of the warp.”

Michael bowed his head.  “You misunderstand me.  If there is one man who can be blamed for what happened today, it is me.”

“Indeed,” Dante said coldly.  “It is you.”

A nerve-wracking silence ensued.  For the first time in years, Michael had no idea what Dante was going to do next.  

“This reminds me of a certain section of The Mandate of Sirnath.  Chapter five, verse thirteen.  Do you remember it?”

Michael paused, and for one horrible second he feared he had forgotten it.

“Do you?”

Suddenly it came rushing back into his head, but his relief was to be short-lived.  “'The first time a commander fails, punish him.  The second time, destroy him utterly.'”

Dante allowed a few more seconds of excruciating silence before he spoke again.

“But..I shall make an exception.  We have all made a new start on this world; it is only fitting that I shall consider this your first failure.”

Michael breathed a faint sigh of relief.  If Dante noticed it, he gave no sign.

He bowed deeply to Dante.  “Your mercy is astonishing, my Steward.”

“Relish it.  You will not receive it again.”

Michael nodded slowly.  “Do you wish for me to make a second attack?  The Malakin troops will be eager for revenge.”

“Come now, Michael,” said Dante.  “How would it be punishment if I gave you exactly the task you wanted?”

Michael gave no response.

“Rest assured, you'll see combat soon enough,” Dante said smoothly.  “But you will not be leading the main attack.”

“What do you mean?” Michael asked.

“I've formulated a battle plan of my own.  Summon the seraf katar,” Dante said, smiling.  “I imagine they'll find it quite interesting.”





Ponyville, Equestria
0712 hours

The next few minutes spent in the xenos' presence was uneventful, but only in regard to combat.    Macer decided to use the relative peace to get a better look at the xenos.

The alien that had destroyed the walker drones was a leader of some sort.  Even if it hadn't been wearing a tiara, it radiated a presence of authority, standing head and shoulders above the rest of the villagers.  But its most striking feature was its mane: it was like a window into a clear night sky, glittering with countless specks of starlight.  Macer found it fascinating and also a bit unnerving.   

Currently, it was silently regarding the Imperials with an incendiary expression.  It looked like a Planetary Governor watching while his palace was stormed by drunken revelers.  

The rest of the villagers seemed to be divided into three subspecies, with the first group marked by elegantly feathered wings.  A single horn sprouted out of the foreheads of each member of the second group.  The third group looked the most like Terran horses, but they still shared the same odd proportions of the other subspecies: large heads, thick legs, short muzzles, and wide, emotive eyes. 

The aliens' ability to be so expressive was unsettling to the Imperials, chiefly because it seemed so human.  A common point of Imperial dogma was that the mind of any alien was utterly inscrutable.  But Macer could see these creatures' fear and suspicion as clearly as if they were material objects.

While the rebels had knocked dozens of xenos unconscious or forced them to the ground with their webber nets, they had only brought six small cages for their prisoners.   Six xenos had been put in the cages; two from each subspecies.

Were they trying to breed them or something?

Whatever the case, these six xenos had been so important to the rebels that they had deployed a platoon-strength force specifically to capture them.  That was more than enough to warrant Valesius's interest, and by extension Macer's.

Two of the prisoners were already free: a purple, horned specimen and a pink-coated one.  The purple one kept peering at him with a look of cautious interest that seemed oddly scholarly, and it seemed to be trying to coordinate the efforts to communicate with them.

The main item of uncertainty was the pink xeno.  It was a ball of unbridled energy, histrionically bouncing around the square like a jester.  At one point it almost wrapped Captain Albus's leg in a warm hug.  Such an action would have probably ended in bloodshed, so Macer stepped in and distracted it by offering it a handshake.

The alien took to his gesture with gusto, somehow grasping his hand with its hoof despite having no fingers.  Peculiar texture, Macer thought idly.  It felt soft and spongy, much more like a pillow or a marshmallow than anything else.

While this simple action probably went a long way towards improving the xenos' disposition towards their Imperial visitors, Macer soon suffered for it.  The pink xeno spent the next few minutes assaulting him with a ceaseless torrent of high-pitched speech and songs.  It was maddening and yet in a strange way endearing, with “strange” being the operative word.  Most aliens Macer had seen were much more interested in murdering or torturing humans than trying to entertain them.

Suddenly the alien nudged him.  It held out a delectable-looking iced pastry, and the pink equinoid's expression reminded him of a whelp begging its master to let it go out and play.

Macer looked helplessly over at Valesius, who gave him a nod and a faint smile.  Throne damn him.

Macer sighed, pulling out his microaugur.  He ran a quick scan of the toroidal pastry before deciding it was reasonably edible enough for him to proceed.

He took a bite, and his tastebuds were met with an explosion of flavor.  It was rich and fluffy, bringing back fond memories of foamcake breakfasts on his homeworld of Nova Atlantys. 

“Mm,” the scribe said, chewing thoughtfully.  “Not bad at all.”

Despite the language barrier, the xeno seemed to know it had been complimented.  It grinned jubilantly, and its stream of speech somehow became even more hyperactive.

As the other four xenos were freed, Macer made a mental note of how each of them reacted to their human guests.  The third prisoner, a winged equinoid with a rainbow mane, responded with a glare and a combat-ready stance.  The yellow-furred fourth prisoner had a timid demeanor, backing away in fear from the humans.  The fifth was a horned equinoid with a pearlescent white coat, and it almost fainted again when it saw its mysterious allies.  Eventually the final prisoner left its cage, sporting a curious wide-brimmed hat that reminded Macer of the style popular on frontier worlds.  It opened its eyes, blinking to let in the light, then blinking again as it registered the humans.  Its mouth twisted into a scowl, eyes narrowing to slits.  

Not the warmest reception, Macer thought.  He wondered if Valesius had made the right choice.  In stark contrast to the enthusiastic pink equinoid that was still literally bouncing all over the place, it seemed that many of the xenos had no interest in trusting the humans.

Hardly any of the aliens remained in the town square now, with most of the fearful citizens having gone off to find shelter.  Aside from a few stragglers, the only ones that remained were the six former captives, as well as the strange midnight-hued xeno and its eight guards.

Macer was just about to worry about how they were outnumbered by at least five to one when a vox transmission cut in.  ++Talon to Mercury,++ Vallin said. ++Visual on the guards.  They brought the servitor.++ 

“Most excellent,” Valesius replied.  “I see them coming in now.”

Macer turned to the woods.  A party of ten red-robed guards was crossing the bridge into the town square, lasguns held ready.  They were led by an gaunt man clad in ornate carapace armor.  His face was sharp and sculpted, with an aquiline nose and a jutting chin.  Macer recognized him as Tariq Hasim, the master of arms of the Herald of Terra.  A small servo-skull fitted with arcane electronics and vox-speakers hovered closely by his side.

“As per your request,” said Hasim, “one Ecanthos-pattern lingua-vox servitor.  Magos Tringathar suggests that you handle it with care.”

“I will use it as I see fit,” Valesius said flatly.

Hasim's jaw stiffened.  He looked like he was ready to break something very important in the inquisitor's body.

Abruptly he plastered a deferential smile on his face.  “Of course, inquisitor.”

“Good.  Tell the Magos that his support is most appreciated,” said Valesius, in a tone that suggested quite the opposite.

“He'll be delighted to hear it,” Hasim replied.  His voice dripped with subtle but potent venom.

Macer hated moments like these.  He was adept at deciphering hidden emotions and hints in Valesius's voice, but often he ended up having to sit back and listen to passive-aggressive exchanges that made no sense without precious context.  

“Now, then.  Care to explain to me how to use it?” Valesius asked, examining the floating skull.  It reared back slightly, like a skittish animal.

Hasim seemed to relish the opportunity to show his knowledge on the subject.  “Its machine-spirit is a very old and wise example of its kind.  It listens to the unknown language, devises a translation algorithm from a complex mixture of auditory and contextual analyses, and then actively broadcasts the translated speech to the receiving individuals via vox transmission.  For individuals without vox receivers, it uses a parabolic speaker array to--”

Valesius coughed.  “I need you to be succinct on this.  We have only so much time.”

A tiny scowl flashed across Hasim's stately features, but he obeyed.  “The machine should have already begun generating the algorithm.  You'll just need to make sure the aliens keep speaking...although I doubt that will be too difficult,” he said, eyeing the pink xeno.  It was now in the middle of a song-and-dance that for some reason needed to be performed while wearing a lamb costume.





“So don't be feeling sheepish, or angry, scared or weep-ish...” Pinkie Pie caterwauled, kicking her hooves into the air.

Despite everything Twilight had done, Pinkie was irrepressible.  To the aliens' credit, they didn't seem to be particularly annoyed by Pinkie's antics.  Mostly just perplexed.

When her other friends had been freed, she had found herself besieged by a barrage of questions.  She was having to play the role of the diplomat to both parties, switching between trying to communicate with the aliens and trying to placate her friends.  It didn't help that every time Luna tried to lend a hoof, her intimidating demeanor just made things worse.

She wished Mayor Mare was with her.  She knew much more about the political game than Twilight, but the poor mayor had taken a hefty blow to the head in the attack, and had been rushed off by Nurse Redheart.

Still, there wasn't much else that she could do.  She sighed, trying her best to keep taking mental notes about the aliens.  The two smaller ones seemed much less aggressive than the larger, armor-wearing specimens.  Their voices were higher, too.  Briefly she wondered if they were the females of the species.  

Don't jump to conclusions, she reminded herself.  It was highly unscientific to resort to such arbitrary criteria for gender determination.   Besides, maybe the aliens didn't even have genders.  Or maybe they had more than two genders.  And come to think of it, how did she know that the large ones were even part of the same species?  There were so many questions, it made her head spin!

Then she saw that they had brought along another one of the machine-skulls.  It glided gently towards her, strange displays and lights flashing on its machinery.

Twilight held her breath, expecting some grand new revelation about the aliens.  Perhaps this was some sort of communication device, or a gift, or--

Nothing happened.  The skull simply floated impassively in the air, and when she looked to the aliens they just stared back at her.

“Oooh!  Is this Mister Floats' buddy?  I bet he needs some company!” Pinkie Pie chirped.

“Wait, Pinkie, don't do anything with that!”

“'Course I won't, silly!  I just wanna go get Mister Floats!”

Something clicked into place within the erratic clockwork of Twilight's anxious, confused mind.  Get Mister Floats.  Of course!   The aliens were trying to find where the other machine went!

“Pinkie!  Stay here and keep them occupied!”

“But you said--”

“No time!  I need to find Mister Flo—I mean, the—ergh!  Look, just stay here!” Twilight Sparkle said, racing off into the distance.

As the dust settled, Pinkie Pie cocked an eyebrow.  “Geez, Twilight.  It was just a suggestion.”





Meanwhile, Spike had discovered the power within himself.  His destiny awaited him in the Castle of Gloomdoom, and he would let none stand in his way.  Spreading his house-sized wings, he took to the skies, savoring the taste of the wind.

He could see the massive fortress looming in the horizon.  The heart-wrenching cries of a damsel in distress echoed from its tallest tower.

Righteous rage smouldered in him.  King Gloomdoom would pay!

Suddenly, a shadow swept over him.  Craning his tree-trunk neck, he saw that it was none other than  Gloomdoom's evil Clockwork Dragon!  The beast swept down at him like bird of prey, and Spike realized with a thrill of horror that its face was a strange-looking skull fused with machine parts.  

It shot towards him with a speed impossible to dodge.  Within seconds it had latched on to him, and the two dragons fought each other tooth and nail.  Spike soon found himself plummeting to the ground, locked in a desperate struggle with the mechanical monstrosity.

They crashed into the earth with the force of an earthquake, plowing up a massive stretch of trees as they skidded to a halt.

The Clockwork Dragon looked at him beseechingly.  “Sorry, Spike, but I need you to get off!” it said, gently but swiftly picking him up.

Spike blinked.  “Wha--?”

The dream fell away from him like scales.  He had somehow fallen asleep on top of the box with the skull in it, and Twilight had woken him up to retrieve it.

“Wait—what's going on?”

“No time to explain!” Twilight blurted.  “Just stay here!  Don't answer the door for anypony but me!”  She snatched up the box, using a spare cord to strap it around her back.

“But Twilight--”

“Stay here and everything will be fine!”

The door slammed shut.  

Spike simply stared at the door for several seconds, his mind filled with a thousand questions.

“Hoo-hoo!  Hoo-hoo!” Owlowiscious remarked.  To Spike's confused and angry mind, it sounded an awful lot like mocking laughter.  

“I don't care what Twilight says,” Spike muttered as he stormed to the door.  “I'm gonna help her—whether she likes it or not!”

“Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo!” Owlowiscious warned as Spike threw the door open and stomped outside.

“And I don't care what you say, either!” Spike snapped, slamming the door shut behind him.  He paused, then opened it slightly to add, “Especially not you!”

Slam!  There, now it felt right.





Tariq Hasim assessed the xenos with a typical blend of suspicion and contempt.  He had asked for permission to chase down the purple equinoid when it had galloped off, but Valesius hadn't let him.  Damn that man!  He was giving the aliens far too many chances to relay intel and set up ambushes.  Didn't he have a modicum of common sense?

At least Captain Albus seemed aware of the risks.  The Ultramarine kept a firm grip on his bolter, and Hasim knew that he could bring it up and spit out death in less than a second's notice.  That was something of a comfort.  

Still, it wouldn't help much if he kept bowing to the orders of that arrogant fool.  The way he saw it, inquisitors like Valesius had a habit of acting like everything was going to be fine. But when things went downhill, they'd blame everyone but themselves and run off to their cozy safehouses to drink fine amasec and “entertain” some lovely curvaceous--

Suddenly someone was speaking to him.  

“Hey, Mister Alien?  You came ta halp us, right?” It was a young girl's voice, hopeful yet anxious.  Despite its foreign drawl, it sounded distinctly human.  For a moment Hasim thought his auditory implants had gone haywire.

The voice came back, still nervous but now with a tone of insistence.  “Mah sister says y'all ain't nothin' but bad news.  Tell 'er she's wrong!”

Puzzled, Hasim looked to see where the voice was coming from.  There was a small xeno staring up at him with those ridiculously wide eyes, probably one of their young ones.

Its face lit up.  “You can understand me?”

Hasim blinked, then looked down at his dataslate to see the progress on the servitor's translation algorithm.  It had completed the operation in less than ten minutes.  That was completely unprecedented.

“Apple Bloom!  What're you doin'!” a young woman's voice cut in.  Hasim was too absorbed in examining the infofeed to bother to find out what was going on.

“See, sis?  He didn't try ta hurt me!” the younger voice retorted.

“Ah don't care!  Now get back over here!”

“Ow!  Let go!”

Sifting through the heaps of superfluous data, Hasim finally found the analysis of the aliens' language structure.  His eyes widened. 

“Throne on Terra,” he whispered.





The crowd of equinoids parted before the two Space Marines as though magnetically repelled.  The outer reaches of the town seemed to have largely the same strange architecture they had seen on the way in, with ungainly houses that Dac'an deemed structurally unsound in at least forty-three different aspects.

He switched his augmetic eye to auspex mode, and immediately his surroundings were rendered in green wireframes upon a pitch black background.  Living beings were represented by blurry red shapes accompanied by runes denoting their vital readings and distance measurements.  

Almost all of the buildings were packed with more of the equinoids.  He noticed with wry amusement that they all seemed to be trying to watch the Space Marines through cracks and shuttered windows even as they cowered in their homes.

Dac'an didn't blame them.  Space Marines were a sight that brought awe and terror across nearly all sentient species.  If he had not been wearing his helmet, he suspected they would have been even more shocked.

His body had gone through a series of transfigurations in his career as a member of the Salamanders chapter.  The first change had come from the gene-seed of Vulkan, the Primarch of the Salamanders.  It had gifted him with superhuman strength and stature, turning his skin as black as coal and altering his eyes to glow like red-hot steel.  

The second change had come upon his entry into the ranks of the Techmarines, when the blessed implants and augmetics of the Machine God had been joined with his flesh.  The surgeries had been agonizing, but he had emerged as something greater than either man or machine.

The most recent changes had come during the Liberation of Jakav, when he had suffered deep physical and mental scars.  It had been on Jakav that he had attracted the interest of the Deathwatch, and he had joined them with great enthusiasm.  

Dac'an bore no resemblance to the slight youth he had once been so long ago.  But he still remembered the day he and his family had stared in amazement at the massive armored warriors who had saved them in the Time of Trial.  

That was what made it so shocking when he saw one of the xenos looking up at him with the same expression.  It was one the horned equinoids, with a light green coat and a cyan mane.  He briefly met its gaze, and though its comrades shrank back, the xeno's strange look of wonder did not subside.  Curious.  He filed that odd encounter away in the labyrinthine depths of his memory implants.

“The wretched things are going to be the death of us,” Chaplain Bardrik muttered.

“Why?  Do you worry that these creatures can best you, Brother-Chaplain?” asked Dac'an.

He detected a flush of elevated temperature on Bardrik's face.  “That is not what I meant,” he  retorted clumsily.

Dac'an smiled inwardly.  There was much sport to be had from toying with the Chaplain, but it made him feel faintly guilty.  Not so much because of Bardrik's rank, but because it was too easy.

Chiding himself for losing focus, Dac'an performed a final check for targets.  Nothing but the slowly-becoming-familiar shapes of the equinoids met his gaze.

“Mercury, this is Crucible.  Sweep is almost complete, still no hostile contacts,” he spoke into the vox.

++Copy that, Crucible,++ Valesius replied.  ++We've completed the translation algorithm.++

Dac'an frowned.  “In ten minutes?  How is that even possible?”

Valesius's flustered tone was detectable even through the static-polluted signal.  ++I'll explain it later.  In the meantime, do pick up the pace, will you?  I may need your help soon.++

A small, carefully hidden part of Dac'an wanted to roll his remaining eye.  Inquisitor Valesius was a valuable counter to the more hidebound Marines, but he had a way of reminding one why he was so unpopular with his colleagues.  

“Have you attempted to speak with the xenos?” Dac'an asked.

Valesius chuckled enigmatically.  ++Of course not.  We can make ourselves understood at any time, but I'll wait until you arrive to open up communications.++

Dac'an nodded.  “You wish to make more commanding impression, I assume.”

++Indeed.  That, and I'll admit I have a penchant for eavesdropping.++





As soon as the lingua-vox servitor began broadcasting the alien's translated speech into the team's microbeads, Macer had learned much about who these creatures were.

For one, the six captives were all females, judging by the pronouns they used on each other. Their names were presumably the result of imperfect translations, with odd monikers such as “Twilight Sparkle” or “Rainbow Dash”.  The former belonged to the purple xeno who had bolted off earlier, and the latter belonged to the rainbow-maned one who had set out to find her.

Neither had yet returned.  The four remaining ex-captives were growing increasingly worried, and they were trying to convince the starry-maned one they called “Princess Luna” to send some of her guards after them.

“WE WILL SEND TWO GUARDS,” Princess Luna boomed, speaking to the orange xeno who wore a hat. She briefly gestured at two of her guards, and their bat-like wings boosted them into the air. “BUT TO SEND ANY MORE IS A RISK WE CANNOT AFFORD.  WE DO NOT KNOW WHAT DEGREE OF THREAT THESE CREATURES POSE.  UNTIL CELESTIA'S TROOPS ARRIVE, WE MUST STAND READY FOR THE WORST.”

“But they're not meanies!” the spastic pink equinoid pleaded.  Apparently, this one was named “Pinkie Pie”.  Just then, Techmarine Dac'an and Chaplain Bardrik emerged back into the town square.  Pinkie Pie gawped at Bardrik's scarred visage, her eyes widening.  “See, look at that one!  I bet that deep down he just needs a great big super duper hug!” she added.

Judging by his lack of a reaction, the Chaplain was either out of the servitor's vox range or had suddenly mastered his emotions.  It wasn't hard for Macer to guess which was more likely.

Princess Luna tensed.  “BELAY THAT ORDER,” she said to the two flying guards.  They looked mildly annoyed before settling back on the ground.

“With all due respect, inquisitor, can we get on with this?” Macer asked Valesius.

The inquisitor nodded to Hasim.  “Enable two way-communication.”

Hasim fiddled with the controls on a remote that looked heavy enough to slaughter a grox.  “Done.”

“Greetings,” Valesius proclaimed, stepping forward and raising his voice.  The xenos watched him with transfixed stares, no doubt spellbound by the weight this historic message carried.  “I am Percival Valesius, inquisitor of the Imperium of Mankind.  We understand that you have come under attack by members of our race.  

“We do not come to make apologies for these men, nor dissuade you from retaliation.  We have come for a simple purpose: to destroy them.”  Many of the xenos seemed taken aback by the phrase destroy them.

“I have seen you fight against these wretches, and I know you have courage and valor,” Valesius continued.  His voice and expression were expertly forged alloys of seriousness and compassion. Impressive, Macer thought.  If he hadn't known anything about Valesius, he would have believed he meant every word.  

“I believe that if we cooperate, we can bring this threat to a swift and lasting end.  Will you stand with us?”

Princess Luna's expression was unreadable.  Just as she began to reply, a slightly manic-sounding voice rang out.

“I have it!  I have what you want!”





“Wait, Twilight!  Let me help!” Rainbow Dash cried.  Twilight Sparkle didn't even notice her. 

The machine skull had gone crazy while Twilight carried it back to the square, and it kept trying to break out of the box that she had strapped to her back.  Its motion made her sway back and forth like she had spent too much time around a saltlick, and every few steps threatened to send her careening into a wall.  But now the town square was in sight, and she could see that the aliens had regrouped.

“I have what you want!” she repeated, much more for herself than for the aliens.  

That was why she skidded to a startled halt when one of them replied.

“What do you speak of, xeno?” the alien in the center of the group asked, its dark mane flecked with streaks of gray.  Its voice was crisp and clear, sounding like it could have come from a middle-aged stallion.  As such, Twilight decided to assume that the alien was male.

“Wait—how did you just do that?” Dash stammered, echoing Twilight's thoughts.

The alien gestured nonchalantly to the other machine skull, still floating by his side.  “Thanks to this translation engine, we may now speak relatively naturally.  Now, what were you saying?”

A plethora of emotions raced through Twilight Sparkle's mind.    The aliens were willing to talk.  That brought a surge of relief.  But what had she missed while she was gone?  What unforgettable moments had passed her by?  What--

Twilight felt the box on her back lurch again, and finally it tore open.  She gasped as the machine skull burst out like some horrible wind-up toy.

The aliens scowled, swiftly bringing their weapons up as the device slowly floated towards them.

“What in Dorn's name is this?” one of the armored aliens rumbled, a giant with a golden staff and a battle-worn face. His voice was like a dog growling with a mouthful of gravel.  

“Wait.  Hold your fire,” said the alien in the center.  The skull had stopped moving forward.  It began to rise into the air, more strange lights blinking across its surface.

There was a low buzz, and the ghostly image of another alien materialized in a square of light. Fascinating, Twilight thought.  It seemed that these creatures had technology that could mimic advanced illusion and light spells. 

The man's face was smooth and symmetrical, with sharp green eyes and a mane of raven-black hair.  An indulgent smirk played across his face, as though he was listening to a friend's joke and waiting for the punchline. 

“Greetings,” he purred.  “I am Dante Ferin, Steward of Exathel.  You Imperials have a habit of ignoring any helpful advice, so I'll waste few words on warning you: you have trespassed on my domain.  Leave now, or suffer a slow and painful death.”

“You are in no position to make threats, heretic,” the gravel-voiced alien snarled.  “We just routed thirty of your soldiers.”

The man chuckled.  It was a cold and mocking sound, bringing back ugly memories of Discord.  “And yet, you failed to score a single fatality.  If this is what I should expect from the Emperor's avenging angels, I am greatly disappointed.”

“We will drag you out of whatever hole you're hiding in,” another one of the armored aliens vowed.  His voice sounded proud and commanding, like the voice of a noble.  “And when we do, you will beg for our forgiveness.”

The man laughed again.  “You remind me of a scorpion, Imperial.  So fierce...and yet, you can be crushed with a single step.”  

He leaned closer and grinned, flashing a set of gleaming white teeth.  “Ready yourselves, insects.  I am about to bring my boot down.”  The image flickered out.

Twilight was about to remark that scorpions technically weren't insects, but she quickly thought better of it.  

“Okay...just what the hay is going on?” Dash asked, dumbfounded.

Before the alien named Valesius could reply, an answer flashed in Twilight's mind.  It was jarring and unpleasant, like a static shock.

Something we cannot stop.
> Chapter 8
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED

by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord



-----



CHAPTER EIGHT


You cannot stop it, the eagle said.

Celestia had discovered what the wicked ones were about to accomplish.  She had seen their coming crimes flash before her eyes, and knew that the spell wouldn't stop them.

The ruins...the flames...her sister in pain...

They came from a dying galaxy ruled by war and evil gods.  But there was no curse fueling their deeds.  No dark spells or twisted artifacts.

The eagle had told her that there was no way to comprehend the cruelty of his foes.  But now that she had seen their souls, she began to understand.  They were driven by nothing but hatred.  Hatred that they would forever cling to, even as it seared their fingers to the bone.  She had never seen anything like it.  Not even Nightmare Moon had sunk to such depths of anger and bitterness.

You cannot stop it, he repeated.

Princess Celestia glared at the twin-headed eagle in the corner of the room.  Six glowing orbs drifted through the air, slowly orbiting around her like planets.  Blue spirals of coruscating energy flowed from her horn into each of the orbs, and they crackled with barely-contained power.

“That's not for you to say,” she said.

They will endure.  I am certain of it.

“Are you?” The accusation was acidic and raw in her voice.

Do you think that this is easy for me, alien?  Do you think I relish seeing a future I cannot prevent?  That I wish to stand back and let this come to pass? 

“Why am I supposed to believe you?  How do I know you're not just keeping me trapped?”

I am keeping you free! the creature raged.  Celestia faltered.

Chaos devours us from within, starting with the subconscious.  Only by remaining in the realm of sleep can we contain the infection.  I cannot stop you from waking if you so choose, but if you do, the coming horrors will only be magnified a thousandfold.

Celestia sighed, the waves in her luminous mane rippling faster as she slowly shook her head.

“I can't do this much longer.”

The two-headed eagle waited several moments before speaking.  There was no readable emotion on either of its faces, but its tone carried compassion.

I know how you feel.



Ponyville, Equestria
0723 hours


Its message finished, the machine skull wavered in midair for a moment before clattering to the ground.   Pinkie Pie gave a small gasp of dismay, but Twilight stopped her from running up to it.

“Our foe has made his face known,” said Valesius.  “Like many of his kind, his arrogance knows no bounds.”  

Princess Luna's stoic expression finally subsided, replaced by a look of concern.  “'TIS CLEAR THAT WE REMAIN IN GREAT PERIL,” she thundered, the lingua-vox servitor seamlessly translating her speech into stilted High Gothic.  “BUT WE CANNOT FULLY CONSENT TO THIS ALLIANCE.”

“Why not?” Valesius asked, his tone neutral.  

Macer could see movement at the corner of his vision, and saw that more of the winged equinoids had arrived.   Their pristine coats of white fur shone like alabaster in the morning sunlight, and they were armored with ornate golden breastplates and helms topped with feather plumes.  They quietly landed near their dark-furred counterparts, bolstering their numbers.

“WE FACE A THREAT ENTIRELY BEYOND OUR REALM OF EXPERIENCE.  WE KNOW SO LITTLE ABOUT THIS DANGER...AND WHAT OTHER FACES IT MIGHT WEAR,” she said, emphasizing the last few words.

“HOWEVER, WE CANNOT DISMISS THINE OFFER, EITHER.   PERHAPS IN THE DAYS TO COME,  YOUR AID WILL BE NEEDED.  HENCE, WE WILL ALLOW THEE TO REMAIN IN PONYVILLE...BUT ONLY ON ONE CONDITION.”

“Which is?” asked Valesius.

“THAT THOU WILL SUBMIT TO BEING ESCORTED AND MONITORED BY THE ROYAL GUARD.”

Valesius paused, no doubt mulling over the options.

++An outrageous request,++ Bardrik disgustedly subvocalized into the vox network.  To an outside observer, his lips barely moved. 

++It makes no difference.  We already possess the means to evade their surveillance,++ said Albus.

++Like what?++ Bardrik scoffed.

++We are using it right now.++ cut in Dac'an.

++...Ah.++

++Regardless, I will defer to your judgment, Mercury.++ said Albus.  

The inquisitor acknowledged his transmission with a subtle nod of his head.  

“A reasonable compromise,” Valesius said, turning his attention back to Princess Luna.  “We agree to your terms.”

The vox crackled with a wordless groan from Bardrik.

A hint of relief flashed on Luna's face before she began calling to her followers.  “VERY WELL, THEN.  MESSENGERS!  GO FORTH AND RELAY THIS WELCOME NEWS TO THE CITIZENRY. AND TWILIGHT SPARKLE?  PERHAPS THOU COULD OFFER THE GOOD INQUISITOR AND HIS COHORTS A TOUR OF PONYVILLE?”

“Sure!  I'd...be happy to,” said Twilight Sparkle.  Macer could tell by the strain in her voice that she was nowhere near as skilled a liar as Valesius.

“A gracious offer,” said Valesius, in the same blandly polite tone as before.  “But first, I suppose I should introduce my companions.”

Macer knew it wasn't just a gesture of formality.  The inquisitor was taking a significant risk by allowing the xenos to lead them around, so he was making it clear that he had a loyal band of warriors at his beck and call.

“I bring with me four warriors of the finest degree.  They are the Emperor's Space Marines, and they will stop at nothing to bring our enemies to justice.”

“Chaplain Gottfrid Bardrik of the Black Templars,” Valesius said, gesturing towards the scowling Chaplain.  So this is how Space Marines sulk, Macer realized.

“Techmarine Orde Dac'an of the Salamanders.”  Dac'an nodded subtly, his expression hidden behind his baroque helmet.

“Captain Korbin Albus of the Ultramarines.”  Albus betrayed no emotion but his usual determined stoicism, standing tall and ready for any threat.

“Scout-Sergeant Njord Vallin of the Space Wolves.”  Valesius nodded in Vallin's direction, prompting him to emerge from the bushes.  He plodded slowly towards the squad, each step oozing the vicious certainty of an alpha wolf.  The equinoids watched the newcomer fearfully.  Although Vallin lacked the raw bulk of his more heavily armored squadmates, he made up for it with his bestial yellow eyes and his fanged grin.  Macer noticed Luna leaning over to whisper something to her guards.

“There are also my associates; Tariq Hasim, Master of Arms. And Tybalt Macer, fellow inquisitor.”  Macer's breath halted.  Since when had he become a bloody inquisitor?  He hadn't even wanted to ascend the ranks of the Inquisition.  Then it occurred to him: it's all about impressions.

“So,” Valesius said, donning a practiced smile.  “Lead us on.”  



Ponyville, Equestria
0738 hours

“And right over there...” Pinkie Pie exclaimed,  “...is my home, Sugarcube Corner!  Best place in Ponyville to satisfy a sweet tooth!”

The shop loomed ahead of Twilight and her friends, bedecked with plaster icing and wooden ginger bread.  It was a sight to behold, but Twilight was far more interested in reading the faces of the aliens.  The two smaller ones—Valesius and Macer—seemed vaguely intrigued, but the Space Marines simply stood there impassively, as if waiting for the tour to just come to an end already.  Although reserved, their presence was impossible to ignore.  They loomed over the ponies like thunderheads, brimming with menace and power.  Every glimpse of them made the fur on the back of her neck stand on end.

All of her friends except Pinkie Pie looked just as uneasy.  Out of concern for her they had all agreed to go along with the tour, but Twilight knew they had other things they needed to get around to doing, as well.  The invasion had brought a wave of fear to Ponyville, and preparations needed to be made.

“Sounds delightful,” Valesius remarked.  “Although I'm afraid I'm not feeling particularly peckish.”

“Oh...” Pinkie said, her hair deflating slightly.  “I just thought you'd wanna see the place where Mister Floats--”

“'Mister Floats?'” inquired the inquisitor.

“You know, the floaty-skully-thingy.  Couldn't get enough of the vanilla--”

“Wait,” chimed in Dac'an.  “Are you saying the servo-skull visited you?”

“Yeah!  He went up to me and Twilight last night and did this really weird red glowy thing.  You shoulda seen it!”

“So it scanned you.  Interesting,”  Valesius said.  “It seems our enemies had designs on you from the start.”  He regarded the other four ponies.  “Did anyone else see anything...unusual before the attack?”  

“Nothing I remember,” said Rainbow Dash, while the others shook their heads.

Valesius frowned.  “Even so, I think my hypothesis still holds.  Is there any reason why you six were the targets of this raid?  Your connections to the Princess, perhaps?”

Finally Rarity spoke up, the slight quaver in her voice telling Twilight that she was having trouble staying around the aliens.  “Well, I suppose there is the matter of the Elements of Harmony.”

Something unpleasant gleamed in Valesius's eyes.  It was the look of a dragon who had just stumbled into a cave of diamonds.

“Oh?  Elaborate,”  he said. 

Twilight shifted on her hooves uncomfortably.  “It's a complicated story.  Maybe we could talk about it later,” she said.

Valesius stopped in his tracks and looked down.

“I am an inquisitor,” he smiled.  “I'm quite used to complicated stories.  Now, I'm going to ask again.  What are these 'Elements of Harmony'?”

“You have no right to demand that information,” growled the lead royal guard.

Valesius paused for a moment before nodding his head contritely.  “Aye, I overstep my bounds as a guest.  My apologies,” he said, walking onward.

“No!  It's okay,” Twilight Sparkle assured him.  “It's just something that takes time to explain.”

Suddenly a wave of dizziness passed over her.  Her exhaustion was starting to catch up with her now that the adrenaline had worn off.  Worst of all, though, was the thirst.  Her throat felt raw and parched.  The sun beat down heavily on her fur, filling her mind with images of tall glasses of iced tea and mugs of cider.  

“Hey,” she called, desperately trying to keep herself from toppling over.  “Maybe we should find a place to sit down somewhere.”

“Sugarcube Corner!  Sugarcube Corner!”  Pinkie Pie called.  Twilight let out a forced laugh, her cheeks turning red.

“Well, maybe not there.  How about--” Twilight started to say.

“Oh no.  Your friend's enthusiasm is infectious,” Valesius said.  “Besides, I'd like to visit the place where this all began.”



Ponyville, Equestria
0739 hours

++The Royal Guard has allowed us to proceed with fortifying the town's defenses.  We're moving the sensors and gun-servitors to key positions.++ Hasim's voice crackled on the vox.

++Acknowledged.++ Albus voxed back.

This is a place that strains belief, he reflected yet again.  Only one month ago he had been leading his team into the bowels of the Larshelm underhive, tracking a possible genestealer infestation.  Now he was being led to a pastry shop by colorful horse-like creatures who assumed that he genuinely wanted to help them.  Clearly, fate had a strange sense of humor.

“Mrs. Cake?  Mr. Cake?  Are you there?” the alien named Twilight Sparkle called. There was no answer from behind the locked door.

She looked to the rest of the group, frowning uncertainly.  “I guess they haven't gotten back yet.”

The one named Pinkie Pie seemed greatly distressed by this.  “Oh no, oh no, oh no!  What if they tried to come back, but then they got snatched and carried off to Bad Guy Land!” she yelled, rearing up on her back legs.  

Before she could burst through the door, Valesius stopped her.  “Wait,” he said.  “We don't know what's in there.  Let us handle this.  Macer?  If you wouldn't mind.”

With a sigh he thought was inaudible, Macer strode up to the door and kicked it open, his revolver held at ready.

Several things happened at once.  A bucket of silty water toppled onto the scribe's head, drenching his robe and granting him a peculiar new helmet.  Immediately a plump equinoid sprang from the shop's gloomy interior, wielding a broom like a polearm.

“Yaaah!” the alien roared, bashing the reeling scribe with laudable courage but little skill.  “Take that, you hooligan!  And that! And that and that and...”

Before the first cry of “take that”, Albus had snapped his bolter up to his shoulder.  The only thing preventing him from gunning down the xeno was the risk of shooting Macer as well.  Dimly he realized that his quick-draw had not gone unnoticed: judging by their bulging eyes and gaping mouths, the other xenos realized the imminent danger their comrade was in.

“Mrs. Cake!  These are our friends!” Twilight cried.  The broom-brandishing xeno halted mid-swing, her eyes wide with panic and confusion.

“Your friends?” she asked incredulously.

“Yes!  They saved us from the invaders!” said Twilight.

“You can trust 'em!” Pinkie added.  “They've got the Pinkie seal of approval!”  

Mrs. Cake lowered her broom but did not drop it.  She turned her head to look back inside the shop.

“Honey!  I think you can come out now.”

Another equinoid trotted up to the doorway, an awkward-looking creature wearing an equally awkward-looking striped uniform.  

“Uh...Hey!  Sorry about the little mishap with the trap and all.  Just got a little carried away with protectin' the homestead!” he said, laughing nervously while Macer pulled the bucket off his head.  

Pinkie Pie was the only one who returned the laugh.  

Mrs. Cake cast her eyes downward.  “We let you down, Pinkie.  We wanted to stay with you, but we got so worried about the foals...”

“No apologies necessary!” Pinkie Pie chirped, bouncing inside the shop.  “Now let's let bygones be bygones, and get this party started!”

“For the third time, Pinkie, this isn't a party!” said Twilight Sparkle.

“Oh? What is it?” she asked, sounding honestly curious.

“An...emergency meeting...thing.”



Ponyville, Equestria
0740 hours

Several royal guards followed the six xenos, marching off to the sides of the room to watch their human guests from a distance.  Macer and Valesius entered after them.  Dac'an, Bardrik, and Vallin had chosen to remain outside by the entrance, accompanied by their own escort of royal guards.  

Captain Albus, however, had decided to follow Valesius.  It soon proved to be a claustrophobic experience.  With a wince-worthy crunch, Sugar Cube Corner finally admitted its first Space Marine guest. Ceramite boots that had crushed dozens of Tyranid skulls thudded heavily against the wood flooring, stamping in permanent tread-prints.  

“My apologies,” Albus said curtly as he glanced back at the splintered door frame.  The statement was nothing but a formality.

Mr. Cake gulped.  “Don't worry about it.”

Albus ignored him and surveyed the room, the ceiling squealing in protest as his armored, hunched shoulders scraped it.  Although the furnishings were clearly built for creatures half the size of humans, it resembled many of the confectionery shops seen on wealthier hive-worlds.  A polished counter sat on the far side of the room, flanked by a glass display case that flaunted  a row of decadent pastries.  Numerous simple tables and stools were arranged around the room, and Valesius was doing his best to look dignified while sitting by one of the larger tables.  The effect was much like an adult trying to balance on a child's chair.

Twilight Sparkle and her friends sat across from him, also looking rather uncomfortable.  

“I better get you guys some refreshments,” Mr. Cake said nervously, and quickly disappeared into a back room with his spouse.  Albus's auto-senses picked up snatches of the couple's whispered conversation, relaying them to the servitor for translation and broadcast.

alien invasion--

oh no oh no what are we going to do--

sure she has it under control--

how could you possibly call this control this is--

“So, what can you tell me about yourselves?” Valesius said, smiling faintly at the six creatures gathered before him.

Applejack blinked.  “'Pardon?”

“You've given us a splendid tour of this place, this...Ponyville.  But I confess that what I want to learn more about is, well, you.”

“What are you saying?” Twilight Sparkle said.

Valesius's smile deepened.  “I want to learn more about you six.  If these 'Elements of Harmony' are a sensitive subject,” he said, glancing at the guards standing by the door, “then so be it.  But I'm starting to believe that there is something very important about you.  In fact, I suspect that our meeting was not a random one.”

“You have a Pinkie Sense, too?” Pinkie Pie said breathlessly.

Valesius chuckled as the other xenos blushed.  “Not quite.  To be direct, I believe that a higher power has guided us to you.”

Twilight Sparkle seemed both transfixed and disturbed.  “What led you to think that?”

“We crash-landed only a few kilometers away from your village.  Just close enough for us to arrive in the middle of the attack; the perfect time to intervene.  Then, after the victory, we discovered that your race speaks in a tongue used by our ancient ancestors.”

Pinkie Pie lolled her tongue out, staring at it in wonder.

“There are even more oddities,” Valesius continued, “but most convincing of all is the fact that we were led here by a prophecy.  A prophecy telling of a world bearing six mystical blessings.”

“Like I said, it's a long story,” Twilight said guardedly.  

Although many lesser servants of the Imperium would have resorted to threats and torture by now, Albus knew just as well as Valesius that such actions would have simply given them another foe to deal with.  Valesius was adept at a different kind of battle than Albus.  It was fought with words rather than bolter shells, but it was a battle nonetheless.  The inquisitor's feigned politeness was a covert strike, wearing down his opponents' defenses.  His apologies were tactical retreats; his changes of subjects flanking maneuvers.

Mr. Cake emerged from the back room, clutching a tray between his teeth that carried several glasses of lemonade and a bowl of sweet-smelling biscuits.  “Here you go,” he said, setting it down on the table before quietly trotting off to a staircase on the left.

Twilight thanked him tersely before an undulating purple aura suffused one of the glasses, with the same glow also surrounding her horn.  There was the sound of distant chimes and low humming, and the glass gently lifted off the table and up to Twilight's lips.  Albus had seen similar effects when the horned xenos fought the rebels, but hadn't given much thought to it until now.

“Fascinating.  Are psychic powers common in your race?” asked Valesius.

Albus's lips curled in repulsion.  Aliens and psykers were rightfully distrusted by most Imperial warriors, and alien psykers doubly so.  He wondered how Valesius was able to hide his contempt so well.

“That's one way to put it,” said Twilight, chuckling awkwardly as she took another sip of her drink.  “Mostly we just call it 'magic'.  But yeah, all unicorns can use it.”

“And the others cannot?” Valesius asked.

“Nope.  Doesn't make being an earth pony any less fun, though!” Pinkie Pie said jovially, poking her head down from above.  Before Albus could figure out how she had gotten up there, she was back in her seat, grabbing one of the biscuits and tossing it into her mouth.  He suddenly felt a profound urge to scratch his scalp.

From outside there was an abrupt cry of pure, unmitigated outrage.  There was only one man in his squad capable of such a vocalization.

Chaplain Gottfrid Bardrik.



Sugarcube Corner, upstairs nursery
One minute earlier

Pumpkin Cake was bored, bored, bored.  The tiny foal and her brother Pound Cake had been woken up by a loud boom an hour earlier, and hadn't been able to go back to sleep.  Mommy and Daddy kept checking on them, like they were really scared about something.  

Silly Mommy and Daddy! She and her brother were just fine.  

For the umpteenth time that morning, the tiny light-yellow unicorn stood up on her wobbly legs, bracing herself on the side of the crib.  She reached out with her magic and tried to grab one of her favorite stuffed animals: Mister Monkey.

Sparks of magical energy jumped from the toy's fake blue fur, but nothing else happened.

“Uuuh,” she whimpered, tears beading in her eyes.  Pound Cake sympathized with her, jumping up and down and stomping on the crib's sheets in frustration.  

Just in the middle of the third stomp, Pound Cake caught a glimpse of something outside the window.

“Myah!” he exclaimed.

“Goo?” asked Pumpkin Cake.  She leaned over to the other side of the crib, craning her neck to peer over the windowsill.  Pound Cake boosted her up to get a better look.

On the street below, the silliest creature Pumpkin Cake had ever seen was strolling around.  He was tall and bulky, with a big bald rubbery head like a hardboiled egg.  There were a few others that looked like him standing nearby, and he was talking to them with an Angry Face.  Her beady eyes twinkled with delight, a giggle escaping her lips.  She decided to call him Mister Angry Egg Head.

“Boogah uu!” said Pumpkin Cake, explaining her plan.  She reached out with her magic again, somehow undoing locks on a window that had been guaranteed to be child-proof.  The window swung open, letting in the cool morning air and the sound of Mister Angry Egg Head talking in an Extra Angry Voice.

Pound Cake squeaked with approval, boosting her up further to perch on top of the windowsill.  The goofy creature had paced over to the front door of Sugarcube Corner, just below the window.  

There was a frantic patter of hooves.  “Don't!” shouted Daddy's voice from a short distance behind.  Neither of the siblings noticed.

Pumpkin Cake grinned.  Now this was going to be fun.  With one final “Uuuh!”, she sprang out of the window, Pound Cake jumping shortly after her.  After all, the the best way to get a chance to poke Mister Angry Egg Head's face would be to land on his shoulders.  

Time went by in slow motion.  Suddenly the giant moved ever so slightly out of the way, leaving them to land on nothing but bare ground.  The wind rushing against her tiny face, Pumpkin Cake gathered her magical reserves, trying to control her fall.  

Nothing happened.

“Wuuuh!” she squealed in terror.  Pound Cake cried out, too; his wings weren't slowing him down enough!  The two were headed for a Big Squish on the ground below!



++Which is precisely why I loathe them so!++ Bardrik spat over the comm-link.  

Dac'an tilted his head.  Bardrik could easily imagine the Salamander's reprimanding gaze beneath his helmet, and it made him clench his teeth.  

++You let your wrath control you, Brother-Chaplain.  Great responsibility has been put into our hands.  Ignore it, and we will all suffer the consequences.++

The argument was interrupted by a sudden shrill cry. 

“Wuuuh!”  

Bardrik glanced upwards, seeing two blurred shapes plummeting from above.  Reflexes bred over hundreds of endless training exercises kicked in, and his hands shot upwards, catching them in mid-fall.

“Angy!” one of the objects squealed.  Baffled, he lowered his hands to gaze at what he had caught.  A tiny yellow equinoid stared up at him.  It was easily small enough to fit in his palm, its bright blue eyes wide with wonder.  “Angy eggy hed!” it squeaked, reaching its contemptible little hooves towards his face.  A cream-colored xeno sat in his other hand, the same look of awe written on its features.  

“Angy!” it chirped, echoing its companion.

If the Chaplain had frowned any deeper, it would have split his jaw from his face.  He cried out in disgust, ready to hurl these hellions into the upper atmosphere.

“You saved them!” a voice cried.  “Oh, thank you!”

He whirled around to see a pudgy blue equinoid trotting out of the shop, beaming up at him in gratitude.  Macer, Valesius, Albus, and the six xenos followed closely behind.

“I knew it!” the despicable little ball of fluff named Pinkie Pie exclaimed.  “He's a hero!”

Rage burned in his mind.  To be seen as some sort of protector to these aliens was infuriating enough.  But to be hailed as their hero...

It made him want to take the fire burning in his mind and release it outwards, expressing it through nothing but bashes of his crozius and incendiary bolts from his plasma pistol.  It made him want to become an elemental force of anger, scouring the taint from these lands until all was pure ash.

But he couldn't move.  Many eyes were upon him.  Some of belonged to the foul aliens, looking at him with their eyes filled with detestable admiration.  But what gave him pause were the eyes of his fellow Astartes.   What had they seen over the years that had led them to such unorthodoxy?

Surely their souls remained pure.  There was Dac'an, who--despite his many peculiarities--was an admirable warrior. Vallin, whose sharp mind had saved his life too many times to count.  Albus, with a record of stalwart service he could ever match.  And other eyes watched him still.  He could not bear to bring further dishonor to Rogal Dorn, his sacred liege.  And certainly the Emperor was judging his every action.

Suddenly he no longer felt the xeno younglings in his hands.   Instead, he felt the terrible weight of responsibility.  If he let his anger out, whatever gratification he would feel would be promptly drowned out by his failure.  He would prove exactly what he knew his squadmates feared about him: that he was a spiteful ogre of a man, hiding his ignorance under a veneer of faith.

As much as he hated it, he could not vent his rage.  Instead, he kneeled down and set the two little xenos on the ground.  They continued to stare up at him in wonder, and he reminded himself again that they had no impact on his decision.  

“Do not mistake me for a hero, alien,” he said to Pinkie Pie as he stood up.  “I simply acted on my reflexes.”  Out of the corner of his eye he caught an approving nod from Captain Albus, dampening his anger further.

“Reflexes, schmeflexes!” said Pinkie Pie while Mrs. Cake scooped up the young ones.  “Why don't you come on inside?  We've got enough cookies to make your head spin!” she said, doing exactly that.  

Bardrik cocked his eyebrow.  Was she some sort of witch?  She certainly had the strangeness of a warp-dabbler.  Silently he followed the Imperials and the equinoids inside, with Vallin and Dac'an opting to still remain outside. 

This xeno needs to be watched, he resolved, doing his best to dislike the odor of the freshly baked confections lying on the table before him.  
> Chapter 9
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED



by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord


-----


CHAPTER NINE


Ponyville, Equestria
0750 hours

The guards led Albus and his team onward, the sunlight gleaming off their polished breastplates.  The buildings began to thin out as they approached the edge of the town, and the musty odor of wet, fallen leaves hung heavily in the air.  The forest spread out before them, its foliage rich with hues of ocher and crimson.   They were nearing the same woods they had cut through to enter Ponyville; the “Everfree Forest," from what Albus had overheard.

Twilight and her friends seemed just as bemused as Albus's team.  

“So already you wish to us to leave?” quipped Vallin.

A white-coated equinoid named High Noon, the lead guard, shook his head humorlessly.  “No.  Princess Luna wanted to give you a chance to see the boundaries of Ponyville.  She believes you might be able to help with preparing our defenses.”

Vallin eyed the terrain before him with an expert's gaze.  ++Talon to Hasim.  What can your forces spare for defending the town?++ 

++We're gathering up everything we can, but it'll take time to treat the wounded and repair damaged matériel.   As of now we can deploy twenty-three men, including myself.  There's also twenty auspex scanners, ten gun-servitors, six Tarantula turrets, a Rapier destroyer, and a dozen Fire Wasp drones.  The other assets will take much longer to return to working condition.++

++Can the Thunderhawk be salvaged?++ asked Albus.

++We did a second assessment,++ said Hasim, his tone faintly apologetic,  ++but sadly, no luck.  It's permanently out of commission.++

Albus cursed under his breath. The loss of the Thunderhawk Fist of Polaris was no small setback.  Far from just a dropship, the Thunderhawk held a spiritual value for the team, and its destruction left him with a strange feeling of emptiness.

Techmarine Dac'an was surely hit even harder by the loss, which made his calm response a surprise.

++How many are staying to defend the crash site?++

++That brings up another point,++ said Hasim.  ++Magos Tringathar just informed me that he discovered some severe damage in the reactor's containment rings.  It's looking rather grim, so we've begun to relocate all of our equipment and personnel.  No one is staying behind at the wreck, my lord. We're scuttling it.++

++You would detonate the reactors this close to us?  Are you insane?++  said Bardrik.

++Don't worry.  The scuttling ritual will vent radiation into the hull, but it won't level the countryside.++

Although they could not eavesdrop on their conversation, it was plain that the guards knew there was something that the Marines weren't sharing.  They shifted on their hooves uneasily, and Albus could have sworn he saw one of them rolling his eyes.  

“Have you gathered your thoughts on the defense plan?” asked High Noon, trying valiantly to keep the impatience out of his voice.

“Give me a map,” Vallin said quickly.

The guard blinked.  “I don't have--”

“Right here!” Pinkie declared, springing in front of Vallin with a parchment map in hand.  Albus was about to ask the xeno how she had gotten it, but better judgment prevailed.  

Vallin snatched the map with an unceremonious swipe of his hand, unfurling it and studying it for several moments. When he looked up, his expression was darker than a Fenrisian winter night.



Ponyville, Equestria
0804 hours

Shooting Star came to a precise landing in front of Luna, tucking his bat-like wings with courtly grace.  He gave her a crisp salute.

“They will return shortly, milady.”

“You have my thanks, Shooting Star,” she said.  “You are dismissed.”

The messenger looked slightly quizzical about her soft tone, but he nodded and trotted off.

Luna smiled softly.  Now that the adrenaline rush had worn off, she found that it was much easier to speak without the Royal Canterlot Voice.  It had a way of resurfacing whenever tensions ran high; an excellent tool to intimidate wrongdoers, but not a sound strategy when facing creatures who regularly traveled with eight-foot giants.

“Space Marines," the alien named Tariq Hasim had called them.  Apparently they were distinct from “humans," the word he had used to describe members of his own race.  He had been cryptic when she asked him what the Space Marines exactly were, saying something about “gene-stock” and “blood of the Emperor."  There had been precious little else that Luna had learned about the humans' “Emperor” before Tariq steered the conversation back towards the subject of fortifying the town.

As tempting as it was to further indulge her curiosity, Luna understood the dire importance of the matter at hoof.  Hence, she had allowed Tariq's troops to bring in his equipment and supplies without interference.  She watched Hasim as he shouted orders and curses in equal number, directing his men as they heaved bulky crates of equipment into Ponyville.  Some of them looked even stranger than Hasim. She saw red-cloaked figures walking on piston-powered legs, glaring at her under their red hoods with glowing lenses for eyes and grilles for mouths.

Although both the humans and the Space Marines were disturbing to behold, she nurtured a hope that they would prove to be as reasonable as they claimed.  But if not...

Luna pondered what she would do if the humans betrayed her.  The tour of Ponyville had partly been a move to buy her time.  Now she was running out of it.

Sister, if only you were with me...  Celestia's sickness was a dark cloud that never entirely left her thoughts.  When would she finally wake up?  Would she ever wake up?  She tried to push away the latter thought, but it stuck to her mind like tar.  Life without her sister would...

It would shatter her.  

She only barely heard the heavy stomp of boots when Inquisitor Valesius and his warriors arrived.  Taking a deep breath, she turned to face them.

A new twinge of worry coursed through her when she noticed the grim expressions on both the Marines and Twilight's group.  She greeted them with forced self-assurance.

“I trust that your journey was fruitful?” she asked.

“I'm afraid we have some unpleasant news,” said Valesius.  Albus thudded up to Luna, a sheet of paper clutched in his massive fist.  He held it in front of her, showing her that it was a simple map of Ponyville.  Charcoal lines had been drawn on the map, forming a roughly circular shape around the town's borders.  

“We can form a perimeter around only this area.  No more, no less,” Albus said flatly.

Luna caught a pleading look from Applejack and realized how small of an area the perimeter surrounded.  It left several areas on the outskirts of the town unprotected, and Sweet Apple Acres was completely out of the boundaries.

“This cannot be right.  Surely we can defend more than this.”

“If we extend the perimeter any further, the enemy will slip through,” snapped Albus.  “This place is difficult to defend.  Too many broken lines of sight, too many vulnerable structures, and far too many entrances.”

“But mah family's out in Sweet Apple Acres!  We can't jus' leave 'em out there!” protested Applejack. 

“And what about Cloudsdale?” added Rainbow Dash, her brow tight with anger.

“And...what about Zecora?  What about everyone else in the forest?”  Fluttershy whimpered.

Valesius held his palm up, silencing Albus before he could make a reply.  

“We can spare some of our forces to conduct an evacuation.”  He cast his gaze at Luna, his face stern and uncompromising.  “But we will need your trust and cooperation for this to work.  We do not know how long this siege will last, and any mistrust will doom us all.  We will allow your guards to continue monitoring us, but know this: this is not a war that you can win alone.”

“An' how exactly would you know?” demanded Applejack.

“Because I know what type of men we are dealing with.  They have clearly gone to great lengths to establish a foothold on this world, so why would they back down?  You have seen the way they exploited your panic, using it to scatter and confuse you.  I doubt that next time they will be as merciful.”

“If you must send someone outside the perimeter,” Valesius continued, “then so be it.  But let us go with them.  If there's the slightest chance our foes are still hiding out there, we must take the necessary precautions.”

Luna swallowed, weighing her options.  “Your words are admirable, inquisitor.  But you must understand my reservations.  What are you hoping to achieve through all this?  Are you truly here to help us?  Or is there something else you seek?”

Valesius stared straight at Luna, and though his face conveyed honesty and determination, it looked more unnerving than usual.  It seemed mechanical, as though it could be pried off to reveal a set of gears and wheels churning underneath.  She pushed the disturbing image aside, trying to persuade herself that she was just reading too heavily into his expressions.  He was an alien being, after all.

Actually, that is not particularly reassuring, she realized.

What he said next caught her by surprise.  Rather than insisting that he was only here to fight off his enemies, he launched into strange tale of prophecy and divinations.  He explained that he and his men had come to find artifacts called the “Six Blessings."

“The Blessings are said to hold great power,” concluded Valesius. “Our attackers likely wish to use them for their own evil ends.”

“Why did you not mention this before?” Luna asked, as confused as she was intrigued.

“I was unsure as to what role your race played in this.  But when I heard that Twilight and her friends had a connection to the 'Elements of Harmony,' I began to suspect that they bore a special importance to our quest.”

Luna's unease gnawed at her even worse.  “The Elements are no small matter.  They are not something we can give to you, nor are they something you can take.”

Valesius's eyes went wide with shock, and he stepped back.  There was no hint of anger or defiance in his expression; only genuine dismay.  

“We come only as pilgrims,” said Valesius, his voice much softer than before.  “We just wish to see these artifacts, and learn how you have used them against chaos.”

Suddenly Luna felt like she had accused a new neighbor of burglary. Her suspicion twisted inward, turning into shame.  

“I do not expect this favor to be granted quickly or unconditionally,” said Valesius, some of his confidence returning to his voice.   “All I ask is that you allow us to prove our honor.  Please, let us assist in the evacuation.  I promise that you will not regret it.”

Luna still had her doubts, but now a new emotion began to color her judgment.  What gave her the right to be so narrow-minded about these beings?  She had spent over one thousand years as Nightmare Moon, the cruel tyrant of the night.  Where would she be if Celestia had never trusted her with any power again?  

Valesius and his soldiers had done no harm to Equestria or its citizens.  The same could not be said for her.  And if she never gave the humans a chance to prove themselves, any alliance would quickly fall apart.  

“I will hold you to your promise, Valesius.  And perhaps, once our foes are defeated, I will allow you to learn more about the Elements.”

Valesius bowed his head.  “You have my utmost gratitude.”  He turned to regard his warriors, and though he spoke no words, there were signs of communication between the humans' group.  Albus nodded his head, as though agreeing with some unsaid statement.  The bald-headed giant named Bardrik suddenly looked even angrier than usual, but gave a miniscule nod.  Luna wondered if the humans and Space Marines were using a telepathy spell, but sensed no magic flowing between them.  Strange, she thought.

After a few more seconds of this awkward silence, Valesius spoke up again.  “We have come to a decision.  Scout-Sergeant Vallin will accompany...Fluttershy,” Valesius said, strangely hesitating before he said her name. “Techmarine Dac'an will accompany Applejack, and Captain Albus will accompany...Rainbow Dash.  As a show of good faith, I will remain in your presence.  That way, should any wrong be dealt to your subjects, I will answer for it.”

“Uh, about the whole 'accompanying me' thing?”  said Rainbow Dash.  “That's...not gonna work.”

“I doubt you will last long alone,” said Albus.  He pointed towards the still-smoking wrecks of the spiderlike machines Luna had destroyed earlier.

“That's not it.  What I'm saying is, you gotta have these,” Dash said, pointing at her wings, “to get around in Cloudsdale.”

“I could cast a cloudwalking spell on you, though,” Twilight added helpfully, glancing up at Albus.  He jolted backwards slightly at the suggestion, as though it was a physical blow.

“That won't be necessary.  I suppose the Royal Guards will have to suffice as escorts,” said Albus. 

Twilight seemed just as confused as Luna about his sudden hesitation.   Did the Space Marines have some sort of phobia towards magic?  

Valesius angrily locked eyes with Albus.  There was another pause, and once again Luna had the odd suspicion that they were somehow speaking to each other.

This time it was the wiry human named Macer who broke the silence.  He gazed at Luna with fierce determination.  “I'll go with her.  If we're going to be fighting alongside your race, we need to make sure your magic won't harm us.  I volunteer myself.”

Even the Marines appeared to be taken aback.  “Are you certain about this, Macer?” asked Valesius.

Macer nodded.  “I've got nothing better to do.  Besides, someone needs to act as a delegate to Cloud's Veil.”

“Cloudsdale,” Rainbow Dash said sharply.  “And there's another thing.  Unless you have a balloon or something like that, you can't actually get to Cloudsdale.  It's way up in the sky.”

“A sky-city?  Ordinarily that would beggar belief,” said Macer, casting a sideways glance at his surroundings, “but I'll take your word for it.” 

“Look, do you really need to come along?  It's just a quick trip,” pleaded Rainbow Dash.

“A 'quick trip' is all our enemies need for an ambush,” said Valesius.  “I don't think you realize the gravity of--”

“Wait, that's it!” cried Macer.  “Hasim, do we have any grav-chutes?”

Hasim looked up from the tablet he had been idly jotting something down on.  “We do.  Why do you ask?”  



Ponyville, Equestria
0810 hours

Macer winced as Hasim tightened the final strap on his grav-chute's harness.  

“Ow!  Easy, there.”

“If I make it any looser, the chute will fall off mid-flight,” said Hasim.  “And if that happens, we'll never recover the bloody thing.  Also you'd probably die, but that's less of a concern.”

“You were one of those lads who went to the Schola Progenium, were you?”

“And why would you think that?” asked Hasim as he rummaged through a canvas bag by his feet.

“Because you're an insufferable ass.”

Hasim looked up at him sharply, but saw the humor on Macer's features.

“I suppose I am,” he said, plucking a circular device from the bag.  “But at least I'm a competent one.” He passed the device to Macer.

“What is it?” Macer asked.  It was a smooth bronze disk roughly the size of a coin.  Two small earbuds hung from it, connected to the device by thin copper wires.

“It's the key to every bloody Adeptus Mechanicus vault in the galaxy,” said Hasim.  When he saw Macer's shocked look, it was Hasim's turn to smirk.  “No, really.  It's an auto-translator.  Clip it on  your collar, put on those earbuds, and you'll have two-way translation without needing to be near the lingua-vox.  That button in the center is the on/off switch.”

Macer fumbled with the translator, trying to hook it onto his collar. “So was Valesius telling the truth?  Do these...equinoids actually speak a human language?”

Hasim nodded.  “He was telling the truth, as unusual as that is. Strange, isn't it?  Perhaps there truly are higher powers at work. Or perhaps mankind has been here in the past.  Whatever the case, it made the lingua-vox's job a lot easier, and that's good enough for me.”

“Fair enough.  But if you have these auto-translator things,” Macer said, finally hooking the device to his collar, “why did you need the lingua-vox in the first place?”

“Because 'these things' can't generate new algorithms, you simpleton.  So if it turns out they speak yet another language in Cloud's Tail or whatever the hell that place is, you're gakked.”

“How reassuring.”  

“You're the one who's going to experiment with xeno magic.  I figured you wouldn't be worried,” said Hasim.

“Are you ready?” Twilight Sparkle called.

“Ah, look, an excuse to get away from you,” said Macer.  “I think I'll be off.”

“Yeah, gak you, too.”

“The spell should last about five hours,” said Twilight as Macer walked up to her.  “I'm guessing you won't need that long, but it never hurts to be careful.”

“All right, then.  Go ahead.”

Twilight Sparkle closed her eyes, and the same strange hum he had heard earlier emanated from her horn.  Soon it was wreathed in purplish-pink energy that shimmered like the air over a hot stove, and Macer suddenly had the image of the energy scorching his flesh to cinders.

“Wait!” he cried.  “Is there some way you could focus the spell on my boots?”

“Why?” Twilight asked, perplexed.

“I just want to take this one step at a time.  No pun intended.”

“I could use a clothing enchantment.  But if that's what you want, don't try to sit or lie down once you're in Cloudsdale, okay?  The effects are...a little weird.”

“You have my word,” said Macer.

Twilight leaned down and touched her horn to the toes of Macer's boots.  His feet faintly tingled, like they had fallen asleep.  Soon the sensation faded to nothing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Am I good to go?” he asked.

“Good to go.”

“Thank you,” he said, turning to face Rainbow Dash.  She sat impatiently on a nearby log.  “I'm ready.”

Enthused to finally be on her way, she gracefully leapt into the air. She fluttered up to him and hooked her thick hooves through the cord loops on the top of his backpack.  Gravity dictated that there was no way she would have been able to lift him off the ground...but that's why he was wearing a device that could tell gravity where to stick it.  He flipped the switch on his grav-chute, instantly making his weight negligible.

“Don't move around too much,” Dash said as she lifted him up.  “This is gonna be hard enough as it is.”

They rose above the treeline, slowly building up speed.  As they did so, Macer found it easy to hold still: he was paralyzed with fear.



Everfree Forest
0811 hours

When Gunthir Erodim smiled, it was a stomach-churning sight.  His dry lips cracked and twisted, pulling ravaged skin taut across a skull that had been fractured and rebuilt countless times.  His face was a warzone, with sores like craters and stitches like trench lines.

As his face would attest to, Gunthir Erodim thrived in war.  His Exathelite masters had taken many things away from him after his capture and repurposing, but they had left his love for bloodshed.

He smiled because he knew he would find combat soon.  He gazed approvingly at his fellow warriors as they crept through the woods.  Every trooper was dressed in camouflaged fatigues; all the better to stalk their prey with.  They carried a motley array of scavenged autoguns; all the better to outlast their foes with.  Vicious monomolecular daggers and swords hung by their hips; all the better to hack down the survivors with.

Imperial ashes would taste sweet on his tongue.  The thought made him pick up the pace, but not everyone was so driven.  His comrade Kalvik Shaloveen rested against a tree, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“Move along, Kalvik,” he grunted, the morbid grin still fixed to his face.  “Now.”

“Give me a moment...I need to rest...”

Gunthir clapped his hand on Kalvik's shoulder, hard enough to make him grimace.

“Now,” he repeated.  His smile disappeared, but he became no less horrible in appearance.

Kalvik took a deep breath and nodded, standing up straight again and trudging onward.  They entered a grove of tall dark trees, their branches forming arches high overhead.  Numerous shafts of light filtered through the colorful leaves, making it very much like walking through a cathedral.

Cathedral.  The word brought memories, and memories brought suffering if he dwelt on them.  The implants in his brain fired a few jolts of warning-pain, making him shudder.  There had been a time when this would have angered him, but he had long since let go of his resentment.  Rebellious thoughts caused pain, too.

Gunthir let the smile creep back onto his face as he tramped through the forest underbrush, barely feeling it when a dead branch sliced into the back of his right hand.  He glanced at the wound.  It was minor, barely distinguishable from the mess of scars that were already there.  The burn marks formed the pictographs for “seraf” and “katar,” the only two Exathelite words he had been allowed to learn. “Burned man”, or “man who starts fires”.  He wiped his cut on the bandolier of incendiary grenades strapped around his chest.  

Seraf katar.   There was no other way to describe men like him.
> Chapter 10
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED




by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord



-----



CHAPTER TEN


        Ponyville town square
        0830 hours
        
        Ponies, Hasim thought. He had refused to think too hard about that term earlier, but it was now starting to annoy him. These creatures just plain called themselves ponies.


        That was the best you could do, translator?


        Hasim was literally surrounded by...ponies. He had been ordered to protect ponies. Against other humans. He was no slave to Imperial dogma, but the irony irked him. It itched at the back of his mind, making every problem more infuriating.

        After a short discussion with Valesius, the decision was made to set up a command center in the town square. Supposedly it gave them a “central location” and “easy access to the main streets.” Hasim hated everything about the idea, but Valesius was not a man to take “no” for an answer. Sometimes Hasim wondered if he would take “no, and if you keep pushing me I'm going to take a lascutter to your balls” for an answer, but perhaps he would save that for when he had better armor implants.

        Valesius had also claimed that the town square lent them “plentiful space for the encampment”, which was a great testament to his twisted sense of humor. Moving the equipment around was harder than giving a Ripper swarm a bath, and it didn't help that Valesius just stood by and talked with that “Twilight Sparkle” alien while Hasim and his boys sweated away.

        Halfway through a cogitator's lengthy Ritual of Appeasement After Relocation, his adjutant Idra Kez gakked things up in a most spectacular fashion.

        All it took was one mistake. The cogitator tore loose from its support frame, crashing to the ground and erupting with broken circuit boards and flailing wires.

        “No, no! Wrong socket, you idiot!” Hasim roared, his throat raw and sore.

        “With all due respect, sir,” snapped Kez, “I did exactly what you told me to.”

        She looked up from the wrecked machine to glare poisonously at him. Despite her ludicrously thick spectacles, she managed to look quite menacing.

        “Look, just go back to working on the emplacements. I should have called in a servitor,” sighed Hasim.

        Kez nodded curtly before snatching up a lascannon, her scrawny frame belying her strength. She strolled out of Hasim's sight, and he heard a loud thud followed by an “oh throne my toes!”

        Just then a servitor lumbered past, carrying some sort of heavy table-like object in its hydraulic claws.

        “My piano!” one of the xenos wailed, fighting to get past the dark-furred royal guards.

        “Oh, you've got to be gakking kidding me!” Hasim moaned. “Put that down, you oaf! Put it down!”

        The cyborg swiveled to look at him, looking distinctly pitiful and confused. After a bit more cursing and coaxing from Hasim, it dropped the instrument and began to walk around in little circles for the next ten minutes.

        I could have been on shore leave, thought Hasim, shaking his aching head.
        
        Heavy footsteps sounded from behind him. He looked over to see that it was Captain Albus, still wearing that damn helmet like it was a good luck charm.

         There was once a time when the Captain had scared Hasim, but now...ah, who am I kidding, he thought. Albus still scared the gak out of him, but he had quickly learned to hide it.

        “What progress has been made?” asked Albus.

        Hasim sighed again, sweeping his hand out at the circus of follies before him. “Take a look for yourself, my lord. My crew usually does at least a passable job, but now...not a single thing is going right.”

        Captain Albus silently regarded the chaos, giving Hasim no clues as to how he felt about all this.

        “What has been causing you trouble?” Albus asked.

        Hasim gestured at the crowds of xenos around them. “Them. They're the biggest distraction to plague my men since that slamball bet.”

        Like the tides of an ocean, the aliens were slowly drawing closer to the Imperials. They gawped at the humans and the Astartes openly now, snapping pictographs with cameras mounted on ungainly shoulder braces.

        The Princess and her guards kept the crowd mostly at bay, promising a full press conference later on. While this gave the Imperials much more freedom to finish setting up the camp, Hasim knew it was only a finger in a dam. Fear was transforming into curiosity, and it wouldn't be long before these xenos did something foolish.

        “So I see,” said Albus. “And do you have a solution?”

        “Barring some heavy flamers and a thick rockcrete wall, not really.”

        Suddenly a tent toppled over, eliciting a gasp from his crewmen and the poni—no, equinoids! One of the unicorns—Twilight, if Hasim recalled correctly--rushed over to see what was going on.

        “Excuse me for a moment, my lord. I have some more idiocy to deal with,” said Hasim before he jogged over to the collapsed tent. Someone was trapped under the canvas, thrashing wildly around.

        “What the hell did you just do, trooper?” Hasim barked, reaching under the fabric to drag the perpetrator out. After a struggle his hands finally found something warm and fuzzy, probably Yeece with that stupid overcoat of his. He tugged again and suddenly his soon-to-be victim was free. This sent him off balance, and he plummeted arse-first onto the dirt.

        Since when did Yeece lose so much weight?

        Fortunately for Yeece, it was someone else entirely. In his hands he held a gray pony with a pale yellow mane. It was one of the winged types: a “pegasus,” from what he had overheard. Its bright eyes were wide with fear and regret.

        “Gee, sorry, Mr. Human. I didn't look where I was going,” it explained. Its voice was slow and slurred, but oddly earnest-sounding.

        “And where exactly were you going?” he said flatly, setting it on the ground and dusting himself off. As if I give a damn.

        “To a different place, of course!” it chirped. Hasim realized that its eyes were crossed, a feature he chalked up to a concussion from the crash. “This is a different place, right?” it asked, its expression saddening slightly. “They told me I couldn't bring Spike to the clinic. I had to go to a different place.”

        “Wait—Spike?” asked Twilight, her eyes widening.

        Clearly this isn't my problem anymore, thought Hasim as he walked back over to the tent to try and fix it. But for some reason, he couldn't help but spare a few occasional glances at the drama unfolding before him.

        “Yeah, Spike. He got bumped on his head so they told me take him to the picnic. Is he on my back? He should be on my back, I think.”

        Just then there was a groan from the collapsed tent. A small lump stirred under the sheets.

        Twilight rushed up to the tent and slid underneath. A second later she stumbled out, one foreleg cradling a small reptilian beast.
        
        “Spike! What happened to you?” said Twilight.

        The reptile groaned. “Just a few steps out the door...then, wham...stepped on a rake. Wanted to help you...” His eyes closed, and he laid still.

        “Spike!” Twilight cried.

        One of Spike's eyes shot open. “Hey, don't worry, all right? I'm just...kinda...tired,” he yawned, slumping over again. Seconds later he was snoring peacefully.

        Twilight shook her head morosely. “This is all my fault. I never should have left Spike alone like that! I just got so distracted that I...I...”

        The white unicorn named Rarity trotted up to her, patting her on the shoulder. “There, there. With all that's happened this morning, such a mistake is understandable, really.”

        She peered down at Spike's swollen forehead, giving it a gentle peck. “Aww. Poor Spikey-Wikey! This must have been so dreadful for him. Say, ah, what was your name again?” she asked the wall-eyed pegasus.

        “My friends call me Derpy Hooves!” the pegasus said cheerfully.

        “Yes, well, it's a delight to meet you. You did say that the clinic was full, right? Is that true? Then where were you taking Spike?”

        Derpy looked thoughtful for a moment. “Oh! They told me to take him to Cloudsdale instead! Except I kinda forgot where that is...and then I found a bee...and then a flower...then I kinda forgot what I was doing.”

        “Cloudsdale?” said Twilight, aghast. “They can't be serious. That's too far away!”

        Derpy nodded sadly. “I think some other ponies said something like that. They wouldn't listen.”

        All this time Inquisitor Valesius was watching their conversation with interest, leaning casually against a nearby tree. “Might I suggest establishing a triage system?” he offered.

        “I beg your pardon?” said Rarity.

        “Sort the wounded into categories based on their injuries. From there, you prioritize treatment according to how serious a patient's wounds are.”

        Hasim rolled his eyes as he snapped the tent's canvas back into place. Perhaps you could teach them how to build Baneblades while you're at it?
        
        “We've been considering such a system,” said one of the bat-winged royal guards, another one stepping in to take his place in the cordon. “But we need another place to treat the wounded. A place for minor injuries, like Spike's.”

        “You're welcome to use Carousel Boutique,” said Rarity.

        “You're sure about that?” asked the guard, arching his eyebrows in surprise.

        Rarity smiled gently. “Absolutely. I can afford to close down operations for a little while. Besides, it has quite a surplus of clean fabric should you run short on bandages. Just don't use the--” Rarity started, then caught herself. “Oh, it doesn't matter. Use whatever you need.”

        The guard nodded, impressed. “Thank you, miss. We can compensate you for this, if you'd like.”

        “Oh, how very kind of you! But it won't be necessary. There's only one thing I ask in return...”

        “And that would be?”

        Rarity's face suddenly lost much of the elegant glee that had been dancing across it. In its place was a look of worry that Hasim had seen so many times before, on hive-worlds devastated by war or disasters. It was more than slightly disconcerting to see it on the face of a xeno.

        “Have you received any word about what has happened to the other cities? My family was on a train to Canterlot before the attack started. I don't think they know what's going on...I want to know if they'll be safe.”

        The guard nodded sympathetically. “I've got family down there, too. But from what I've heard, Ponyville is the only place that's been attacked. Rest assured, miss, we’ll weather this storm.”

        Rarity smiled again. “Thank you. That's all I needed to know.”

        Hasim watched all of this with growing disorientation. The bizarre familiarity of these aliens was starting to truly sink in.

        Their expressions, their gestures, their desires, their fears... Hell, even their idioms and cliches translated readily into Low Gothic. What were the odds?

        Suddenly his vox bead blasted him with a static squeal. He muttered something mildly blasphemous under his breath.

        ++What is it?++ he snapped.

        ++...arrived in Cloudsdale...my current plan is to...++ It was Macer's voice coming through, but the interference was atrocious.

        ++Your signal is breaking up. Repeat your message,++ said Valesius.

        ++...the situation is evolving...++ voxed Macer. ++I'll...++


        The signal died abruptly.
     



        One kilometer from Cloudsdale
        Ten minutes earlier


        “We're almost there,” shouted Rainbow Dash, struggling to make herself heard over the howling wind. Tybalt Macer was happy to hear the news. One could only dangle hundreds of meters in the air for so long before it started to grow tiresome.

        Although the grav-chute made his weight negligible, he still made Dash's flight much clumsier. It occurred to Macer that the two of them looked rather ridiculous right now, like a pigeon carrying a shark. Rainbow Dash must have realized it, too: at one point he heard her muttering something like, “they're gonna laugh so hard”.

        His eyes watered as the wind whipped at his face. It was almost impossible to see. “Where is it?” he called.

        “Up ahead!”

        At first nothing but thick cottony clouds met his gaze. “I don't see anything,” protested Macer, but then the clouds began to part. What he saw stole the air out of his lungs.

        Throne on Terra...

        A city floated in the sky, borne aloft by nothing more than a cloud.

        Each time he thought he had finally taken the scene in, new wonders met his eyes. Soft cloudbanks bore buildings like they weighed less than a feather.

        Every structure was like a palace. From the rolling white hills rose graceful colonnades, their slender columns supporting marble domes shrouded in vapor. Elegant porticoes emerged from steep peaks of mist, beckoning him to the heart of the city. At the tallest summit a rainbow waterfall cascaded down, eventually gushing off the edge of the cloud to the ground far below.

        I had no idea...

        Dash glanced down at him, a tiny smug grin lighting up her features when she saw how amazed he looked.

        “Pretty awesome, isn't it?” she said.

        Macer slowly nodded, trying to keep his jaw from dropping. “It might be worth including in my report.”

        There was an awkward pause, with neither of them knowing what to say next. “So...” said Dash, forcing out her words like they were caught in her teeth. “Your name's Tybalt Macer?”

        “That's correct.”

        “And your boss is called Valecious, right?”

        “Valesius. But you're close.”

        “No offense, but you guys have some weird names,” mumbled Rainbow Dash.

        You're one to talk, thought Macer. “And I suppose you could come up with better ones?”

        Dash gave him a cocky grin. “You bet I could! I'm, like, the queen of awesome nicknames!”

        “Oh? And what moniker would you bestow upon me?” asked Macer, not entirely hiding his amusement.

        The xeno looked thoughtful for a moment. “What about 'Twolegs?'”

        “Rather drab.”

        “'Flatface?'”

        “Sounds more like a slur.”

        “'E.P.C?'”

        “What's that?”

        Dash blushed slightly. “'Extra Planetary Creature.' It's a book I read a while back. There was this filly who finds an alien in her backyard,” she said, growing more animated, “so she has to hide it from—ah, never mind. It's just a dumb story.”
        
        “Not at all,” Macer said amicably. “You've piqued my interest. Do elaborate: I'd like to know more about your race's attitudes towards aliens.”

        Dash seemed uncertain, but she continued. “Well...there's these ponies who want to take the E.P.C away, so they can experiment on it and all sorts of nasty stuff.”

        “I hope that isn't normal in your culture,” said Macer. The irony of his own statement bit at him, and he felt a strange pang of worry about what would happen to the xenos when the Adeptus Mechanicus arrived.

        “No way! Well, we haven't really met aliens before, but still! So anyway, she has to keep the E.P.C safe from these evil scientist guys, but then she figures out that the E.P.C just wants to go home. So she helps him back to his ship, and he flies off.”

        “And that's it?” asked Macer. “He just buggers off, just like that? What an arsehole.”

        “It's not like that. There's this really sad goodbye moment and...ah, crud. I stink at this.”

        “I suppose it's a matter of...” started Macer. He trailed off as an unpleasant memory floated up from the depths of his subconscious. It was a memory from a lifetime ago, back on Nova Atlantys.

        “This is the price we pay for joining the Imperium,” said Administrator Nept, wincing as the black-robed guards clapped iron cuffs around Macer's wrists. “They need men like you.”

        “Are you okay?” asked Dash, looking concerned. “You kinda spaced out there for a moment.”

        “It's nothing. Just lost my focus for a moment. What were we talking about, again?”

        “Never mind,” sighed Dash. “Geez, I got sidetracked. Alright, back to nicknames. What about--”

        Suddenly a winged xeno burst out from a nearby cloud bank, his pale wings flapping frantically. “Dash!” he called. “Thank goodness you're here! Cloudsdale's on the verge of—wait, what the hay?” he shrieked, recoiling in horror when he finally noticed Macer.

        “Easy, Soarin',” soothed Rainbow Dash. “He's on our side.”

        “But Dash, he's an alien!” he babbled, pointing at the scribe hanging limply from Dash's hooves.

        “Yeah, so what?”

        “Y-you can't bring aliens into Cloudsdale! Not with what's happening right now!”

        “Why not?”

        Soarin' took a few deep breaths, somewhat regaining his composure. “The whole town's on the verge of a full-blown riot. Discus and his cronies are trying to rally a mob into attacking the aliens.”

        “You mean the bad aliens, or the good ones?” asked Dash.

        “He doesn't care! They're all the same to him. He thinks the whole attack was some sort of trick to get ponykind to trust you guys.”

        “That is...problematic,” said Macer. “But I won't be turned back. The citizens need to know that my people are reasonable.”

        “Are you nuts? They'll trample you!” said Soarin'. “Leave this to us. We'll meet up with the other Wonderbolts. Besides, Dash knows how to make Discus put his hoof in his mouth.”

        “I only want to help!” snapped Macer. “I know how demagogues work. They play with people's imaginations, making them see daemons in every shadow. We need the citizens of Cloudsdale to look into the shadows and see there's nothing there. That's why I need to be with you.”

        “Look,” pleaded Soarin', “we'll compromise. If you want to follow us, you'll need to stay out of sight until the time's right. We'll need to talk to them first, and see if there's any hope of reasoning with them. Otherwise they're just gonna panic.”

        Macer nodded. “Fair enough.”

        Concealing themselves by flying through some nimbus clouds, the trio soared to Cloudsdale. Angry shouts and vicious cheers rose from the center of the town, punctuated by the crash of glass shattering.

        “You still wanna do this?” asked Rainbow Dash.

        “I'm not afraid,” Macer lied.

        Finally they reached their destination. Macer watched nervously as Dash set him down on the misty surface below, expecting his grav-chute to be the only thing keeping him aloft—a disturbing prospect, given its rapidly depleting charge. Instead his feet found purchase on a material unlike anything he had experienced before. As he took a few awkward steps forward, he decided that the closest comparison was walking on water using some sort of super-buoyant shoes. Each step sent the cloud gently wobbling below him, and he had to fight to keep his balance.

        “Stick to the shadows,” urged Soarin'. “See that narrow street over there? It should lead you to a back alley. From there, you should be able to get to the center of town. Dash and I are gonna go find the other Wonderbolts. Remember, don't walk out unless we give you a whistle!”

        Macer nodded. “As you wish.”

        Shortly afterward the two xenos zoomed off, leaving the scribe behind.

        Right, Macer thought. After voxing a quick warning to Valesius about the situation in Cloudsdale, he began his clumsy journey to the center of the city.

        The way he saw it, a mob of angry equinoids didn't stand a chance against the elite warriors of the Deathwatch. What worried him more was the fact that such a conflict would end any hope for an alliance. Perhaps they could manage to find the Six Blessings without the aliens' help, but the prospect made him feel bitter and depressed. It would be like burning down an ancient library just to find a fireproof book.

        He clung to the hope that the story of the Six Blessings would play out differently.





        Sweet Apple Acres
        0832 hours


        Applejack did her best to trudge down the road like she wasn't being followed by a giant alien monster. This Dac'an feller wasn't the talkative type, but like Big Mac, he could say a lot of things without making a sound. He leaned impatiently against a tree when she stopped to take a breather, and cocked his head to the side when he got confused.

        Finally they could see Sweet Apple Acres in the valley up ahead. She jumped a bit when Dac'an suddenly spoke up.

        “Is that your place of dwelling?” he asked.

        “Well, its not mah house. It belongs to the Apple family.”

        “It is poorly built,” he said. There was a faint whirr as machinery shifted inside his spooky black helmet.

        Applejack was about to ask him what exactly passed for manners on his gosh-darned planet, but decided not to say anything. That was a fight for later. Instead she trudged on in silence, not sure whether to be relieved or dismayed when Dac'an started following her again.

        “Good mornin',” drawled Big Macintosh, suddenly emerging from a cluster of trees. Apple Bloom hung behind him, staring curiously at Dac'an. Despite all the awful things that had happened that morning, her brother had never lost his usual calm. And although Apple Bloom had made a darn big mistake by bothering that Hasim guy, she had to admire her kid sister's courage. She smiled as Big Mac walked up to her. Time and again, she was reminded why she wouldn't trade her family for anypony else's.

        “Who's this feller?” Big Mac asked, casually glancing at Dac'an as though he was just another pony.

        “Orde Dac'an, Techmarine of the Salamanders,” the alien said. “I have little time to spare for conversation. Where are the others? We will need to begin the evacuation as soon as possible.”

        “Evacuation?” asked Apple Bloom, shock creeping into her voice.

        “Ah'll explain later,” Applejack quickly assured her. “Big Mac, where's Granny Smith? Back in the house?”

        “Eeyup.”

        “Then we need to go get 'er! Stay here with Apple Bloom while ah--” Suddenly she realized that she'd be leaving her little sister with an alien giant. “No, wait--”

        “Do you require me to retrieve her?” asked Dac'an. “I have extensive experience with evacuees.”

        “No!” cried Applejack. “You'll give 'er a coronary!”

        “Maybe ah could go get 'er,” offered Apple Bloom.

        All right,” sighed Applejack. “But be take it easy with 'er. Be sure you tell 'er what's been goin' on, and about our...visitors.”

        “Sure thang,” nodded Apple Bloom, galloping off to the house.

        “Don't bring 'er outside too soon!” called Applejack.

        Apple Bloom halted in her tracks for a second. “Yeah, okay,” she sighed.

        “Make sure she's lyin' down when you tell 'er about what happened!”
        
        “Okay!” said Apple Bloom, running off again.

        “And she has a glass a' water!”

        “Okay!”

        “And some smellin' salts!”

        “Give it a rest, sis!” Apple Bloom hollered back, sounding more pestered than a badger trapped in a butter churn. By now she had reached the front porch. She scurried inside, the door banging shut behind her.

        “Little sisters,” sighed Applejack.
        




        Everfree Forest
        0834 hours


        “Argh,” Vallin snarled, chopping into the thicket with his axe. His voice was fierce yet low, almost a whisper. “Enough vines to choke a Catachan out here.”

        Fluttershy glanced at the gigantic alien, her curiosity overcoming her fear for a moment. “A cat-a-chan? What's that?” she asked, the image of a big fuzzy feline springing to her mind.

        “A hairless ape who fancies himself king of the jungle,” grunted Vallin, slicing apart another vine. “Usually ugly, dirty, and smelly. A lot like an ogryn, but a bit less dense in the head.”

        Fluttershy nodded meekly, unsure how to respond. Mr. Vallin was a strange creature, that was clear. He talked a lot more than she expected, although she rarely knew what he was actually talking about. Often it seemed like he was speaking to himself rather than her.

        “One of them challenged me to a match of arm-wrestling,” Vallin continued. “Prize was a side of boar, all juicy and raw.” He paused, flashing her a wolfish grin. “Best meal I ever had.”

        “So...you're a meat-eater,” she said.

        “That's right,” said Vallin, chopping into the brush again. “Does that worry you?”

        He looked over his shoulder to glower at her. Fluttershy shook her head weakly but honestly. She wasn't necessarily afraid of carnivores—she kept a few as pets, in fact.

        “Good,” he said, a strange green light flashing in his eyes.
        
        What really frightened Fluttershy about Mr. Vallin was, well...everything. He said nothing more for a few moments, plodding thoughtfully along as she led him onward to Zecora's hut.

        “You know, we have horses on our side of the galaxy,” said Vallin.

        “You do?” asked Fluttershy, already worrying about where this was going.

        “More breeds than you can imagine. None of 'em can talk, though. Nor use sorcery, for that matter. Still, they make for a nice way to get around if you're too soft for a Fenris wolf.”

        Somehow, Fluttershy managed to voice the fear that had been nagging at her. “Do you...eat horses?”

        Vallin shrugged nonchalantly. “Some of us do.”

        Fluttershy gulped. “Oh.”

        “I don't, though,” added Vallin. “Always preferred something richer, myself.”

        “That's...nice,” said Fluttershy, not sure if she felt better. Fortunately for her, they had now come upon Zecora's hut. The little house was nestled in a thick cluster of trees, shaded by the forest canopy.

        Fluttershy trotted up to the hut's front door and softly knocked on it.

        “Who is it that knocks at my door?” inquired Zecora, her voice muffled from within the hut. “Ask not for sugar; I have no more.”

        “It's Fluttershy,” the small pegasus gulped, “and a...friend. We have some very important--”

        “Come right in, come right in! But do not trip on the orchid bin. It took me all week to gather those ingredients; to lose them would be a great inconvenience.”

        “Is my translator already broken?” Vallin murmured, glaring at a circular amulet hung around his neck.

        “Well...” Fluttershy started, not sure how to explain the situation to Zecora. Maybe it would be best for Mr. Vallin to stay out of sight for now. But she couldn't bring herself to tell him that.

        “Why do you stand and hesitate?” Zecora called. “An appetite for company I wish to sate.”

        The door opened. Zecora stepped out, a wooden spoon clutched in her mouth. The zebra's eyes fell upon Fluttershy...and then upon Vallin.

        The spoon bounced down the front steps, free to gravity's whims now that her jaw had dropped.

        “The ancient ones from distant stars,” whispered Zecora. “Is the one before me a...sagittar?”





        Cloudsdale
        0836 hours


        Discus's attempts at spreading the truth in Ponyville had fallen flat, no thanks to that annoying little wallflower Fluttershy. But Cloudsdale was something else entirely. Cloudsdale was his turf, and the pegasi were scattered and confused by the attack. They needed somepony like him. A pony with principles and integrity, independent from the fat cats in Canterlot. They needed a pony who could give them the courage to go out and set things right.

        Words were his weapons in the war against apathy. Standing atop a short pedestal, he gave the citizens of Cloudsdale the fire they needed. The crowd stood with rapt attention, eager to take in his every word.

        Long ago, he had been so weak, so easy to ignore. They'd pushed him around in school, kicked him out of flight academy, and played all those horrid pranks on him when he tried to join the Royal Guard. All because they knew there was no way a wimpy little pony like him ever had a chance of fighting back.

        But that didn't matter anymore. Didn't they say that the best form of revenge was to live well? He was sure doing pretty well right now. The crowd before him pulsed with energy, energy that he could harness with a clever turn of phrase. And as far as he could tell, that energy was limitless.

        This is perpetual motion, Discus thought as he grinned to himself.

        “Who owns this city?” Discus roared. “The unicorns?”

        “No!” they screamed ecstatically.

        “The earth ponies?”

        “No!”

        “Does it belong to Princess Luna?”

        “No!”

        “Does it belong to the aliens?”

        “No!”

        “Who owns this city?” he asked again. “Tell me!”

        “We do!”

        “Exactly! Everypony else has given away their freedoms. They bought the lies of a tyrant and her alien allies! They bought those lies wholesale! They all think this is gonna have a happy ending! What do you think, citizens of Cloudsdale? Should we give up like them?”

        “No!”

        “I don't think so, either! Our enemies have sown the seeds of a revolution, and now they will reap the harvest! Fly with me, citizens of Cloudsdale! We're going to Ponyville! We'll make Luna step down, or she'll find out why you don't mess with the pegasi!”

        The crowd roared with approval.

        “We'll send the invaders back to whatever horrible planet they came from!”

        The crowd roared again.

        “We'll liberate Equestria!”

        “Liberate Equestria!” they shouted back.

        Just as the cheers died down, a familiar voice spoke up.

        “What you really need to do is take a giant chill pill.”

        His back tensed as he recognized who it was, and his smile turned to a scowl.

        Rainbow Dash stepped from the shadows of a colonnade, wearing her trademark cocky grin.

        “Ah, so now we're up against the most overrated flyer in Cloudsdale,” said Discus. “Seriously? You think that will stop us?”

        More ponies stepped from the shadows, revealing Spitfire and Soarin' and everypony else from the Wonderbolts.

        “You call Dash overrated,” said Spitfire, “you call all of us overrated.”

        “Then my point still stands,” said Discus, drawing a chuckle from the crowd. He felt a flash of guilt at the back of his mind. He had idolized the Wonderbolts as a colt, always saving up his allowance to buy anything with their logo on it. He didn't really mean what he said, but there was no other choice. If Equestria was to be saved, he couldn't afford to back down and be the nice guy.

        “But maybe I'm being too harsh,” he continued. “Let's give a warm welcome to the Blunderbolts, the greatest comedy troupe in Equestria!”

        “Take that back!” Soarin' snarled.

        “Oh? You certainly didn't do much in the dragon incident, did you? Or in the attack on Ponyville, or...come to think of it, you never really did anything at all. Admit it: you guys just don't add up to much anymore. Now, flap your little wings and hurry back to Luna. I'm sure she misses her cheerleader squad.”

        “You shut your mouth!” snapped Rainbow Dash. In Discus's book Dash wasn't really a bad pony, but like the Wonderbolts, she had chosen the wrong side. Apologies could come once this was all over. Besides, she had already gotten her fair share of glory. This was his moment.

        Discus gave a fake yawn. “Yeah, yeah, I'm such a meanie for telling it like it is. Now go along and scram before things get a lot uglier. Personally I want to save the tar and feathers for Luna, but lay-deez and gent-all-colts, if you're as sick of these clowns as I am, then maybe we could--”

        “So, you're name's Discus, huh?” a new voice called. “Fitting, since I certainly feel like throwing you.”

        “Ah, yet another heroic interruption!” jeered Discus as the crowd cried out in outrage. “So tell me, who else needs to be put in their place?” Looking for the interloper, his eyes fell on something unexpected.

        An alien.

        An alien was in Cloudsdale.

        An alien was in Cloudsdale, walking out from behind a column to glare venomously at him. Yeesh, it's hideous, he thought, cringing in disgust at its nauseating textures and blunt features. The crowd gasped in revulsion.

        “Who...no, what the hay are you?” uttered Discus.

        “I am most decidedly a 'who,'” said the alien, bowing theatrically. “My name is Tybalt Macer. I understand that you've been having some trouble with my species, yes? You want to chase us off, yes? You are a bitter, obnoxious example of your race, yes?”

        “You don't know who you're dealing with,” started Discus, but he was starting to lose his momentum. Not because this...thing was some sort of great speaker, but because this confrontation was so bizarre and unexpected that he didn't know how to handle it.

        The creature named Macer stood still, raising a pale claw to its chin as if in deep thought. “Hm. To be honest, I don't know who I'm dealing with. I really don't care, either.”

        The crowd gasped again, shocked by the alien's arrogance. “But what I do know,” Macer continued, “is that you're in for a big surprise if you think your little mob is going to drive us off.”

        Discus let out a forced laugh. “Ladies and gentlecolts, can you believe this freak? He's on our turf, and he's acting like he owns it. That is, if he really is a 'he.' That's a mighty purdy dress there, by the way,” he grinned, pointing at the alien's long robe. The crowd howled with laughter.

        The alien's face reddened a bit before it collected itself. “I am indeed a man,” he said awkwardly. His voice began to grow in strength again as he continued. “A full-grown one. Perhaps there isn't such a distinction among your race, but ordinarily adults are aware of what constitutes a dangerous situation.”

        With a slow but weighty gait, Macer stepped closer. Discus realized with a sinking feeling that the alien was twice his height.

        “So, you want to take up arms against my comrades?” asked Macer. “Do you think it's better to fight two enemies instead of one? Perhaps you are a child. Or you're just the world's worst mathematician.”

        Discus clenched his teeth, his blood roaring in his ears. Now it was time to pull the trump card. “What do you think, ladies and gentlecolts?” he asked, turning again to the crowd. “Let's crunch those numbers. A handful of aliens and their lackeys versus a legion of honest, motivated pegasi from Cloudsdale? Who do you think will win?”

        Thunder filled the air as the crowd stomped their hooves. The entire cloud shook, causing Macer to stumble.

         “Now is the time!” cried Discus. “Now is the time, ladies and gentlecolts! Charge, and take back Equestria!”

        “You don't know who I am!” bellowed Macer. “I lead a team of unstoppable warriors! I can seal the fate of your world with a single word!”

        “Get him!” yelled Discus. “Get the Wonderbolts, too! It's time to let true justice reign!”

        Macer didn't have the slightest chance at escape. His awkward gait carried him only a few steps before he was surrounded by the crowd. He fought well for such an ungainly-looking creature: he threw punches that hit like hammers and aimed kicks that lifted his assailants into the air. But soon the press of the mob became too much for him to handle, and the crowd literally swept him off his feet.

        “Take him to the courthouse! Take all of them to the courthouse!”

        However, capturing the Wonderbolts proved to be a different matter entirely. They spun and twisted, making dizzying streaks in the sky as they made a mockery of anypony brave enough to chase them.

        Discus watched the chase with growing dismay, seeing them wear out the crowd. Wear out the perpetual motion. That was unforgivable. Just as he was starting to quake with rage, one of the Wonderbolts went down, grabbed by a pony in one last burst of energy. The two struggling pegasi plummeted into a cloud below, and the crowd quickly carried off the stricken Wonderbolt. The rest of the squadron escaped, no doubt rushing off to tell their sob story to Luna. He would worry about that later, he decided.

        For now, he had to show some due gratitude. “Excellent work,” he said, smiling as he walked up to the hero who had caught Rainbow Dash.

        Lightning Dust smiled back at him. “No problem at all. Just a little payback.”


> Chapter 11
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


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.”