It was fortunate that Lyra had thought to cover AJ, for nearly as soon as they departed Skyshard, the WANTED poster of her face pasted to a nearby pillar had them jumping at shadows as they delved into the mechanical depths of Baltimare.
Unlike Canterlot, Baltimare was neither a destitute slum town or obscenely rich. The air was heavy with a combination of fog from the Horseshoe Bay and thick industrial smog that seeped from the city’s smokestacks. The air smelled of oil, repulsing AJ. Her muzzle crumpled, and Rainbow chuckled, breathing in deeply. Contrary to AJ’s farm sensibilities, the smell of oil relaxed her deeply, reminding her of what were, at least to her, better days.
Baltimare was the largest industrial production center east of Canterlot, matched only by Los Pegasus to the west. It churned out a phenomenal amount of airships every month. Rumor held that even the Lady Steward’s personal airship had sprung from the mechanized womb of Baltimare,
Beneath the towering factories in the distance lay sprawling acres of close-set brick buildings. It somehow seemed that almost the entire city had been created solely with brick. Many of those who lived in Baltimare—most, in fact—worked in the factories, and had housing partially or totally paid for. It was easy to recognize one of the factory workers; around their hooves, they wore colored bands, almost like gang signs, showing for whom they worked. And just like gangs, they were insatiably hostile towards those belonging to different factories.
It was into this warm, wet miasma of soot and steam that the four ponies trotted. AJ alone had never seen the city; she gawked like the tourist that she was. The other three were much more focused. “Is the old safehouse still in the same place?” muttered Rainbow under her breath to Lyra, the most up-to-date on information, receiving an incremental shake of the head and returning it with a quiet groan. “Ughhh. Alright. Take us to wherever the new one is, it's been ages since I've been here.”
Nodding briefly, Lyra led them through the grungy airdock, skirting around the occasional slicks of oil on the polished floor. It was extraordinarily crowded, ponies of all walks of life packed together, from the constable with his billy club and three prosthetic legs, to the gentry checking the time for the seventh time in a minute on an ornate gold pocketwatch, to the rag-clothed urchin that crept through the crowd, looking for particularly rich pockets. She looked on it all with a strange fondness. “No matter how much time I spend in the sky, this city never seems to change.
There were, of course, a smattering of New Harmony guards among the crowd, but compared to Canterlot, they were but a mild nuisance, a reason to pull your hood up higher instead of a real threat. There were just too many ponies for them to have any real impact.
As they ducked out of the immense crowd, Rarity exhaled a shaky breath. Lyra looked at her curiously. “Hey, you alright?”
She nodded. “I'm...fine. I've lived in Old Canterlot too long, I'm not used to industrial smells anymore. I'll be fine, just…” she shuddered, “just give me a moment and I'll be fine.”
She stood a moment, breathing deep in the smoggy air, before smiling faintly. “I'm alright now. Let's go.”
Lyra looked at her for a second, concerned, then shrugged. “If you're sure. It's this way.”
They followed Lyra through a series of increasingly less traveled and dirtier streets until they eventually arrived at an immense pipeline. Lyra shook the grate off of its loosened moorings, placing it quietly aside and quickly ushering the other three through. She replaced the covering immediately afterwards, giving no time to catch breath as she lit her horn up with an amber-gold glow, leading the mares into the industrial darkness.
AJ put her hat back on. “What am I doin’?” She muttered as she followed.
---
“Celestia’s bones!”
“By the sky above!”
“Diarchy preserve us!”
A diversely-sworn panic ran through the crowd as the bloody, barely-functioning Draco listed to the dock, the stabilizers only barely holding the craft together.
“Alright, that's enough! This is Imperial business!” Two guards on patrol muscled through the crowded OC airdock, trotting to the edge and looking at the mutilated, bloodstained deck. One winced. “Damn,” she murmured, “this ship really got ripped apart. Wonder who did it.”
“Let's find out,” growled the stallion, taking point. “Couldn't have gotten back here without somepony to pilot.” He primed the manafilaments in his autogun, motioning forwards with his hoof to the mare as he crossed the gangplank, leaping the last meter or so over a chasm of sky. As the citizens about them leaned forwards, waiting with bated breath, he turned to them. “I said, this is Imperial business! Go about your day!”
Nopony did. He gritted his teeth. “No time for this.” He pulled the trigger once, sharp, a single pulse of hoof on lever as he pointed the gun into the sky. The bright blue manaflare of the muzzle and the thunderous sound immediately silenced those around him. “Arctic,” he muttered, prompting the light blue mare to walk up behind him, “retract the gangplank. Pegasi will still be able to get over, but we need to keep as many civilians as possible off the ship. We don’t know what’s on here,” he muttered. She nodded and saluted, heading around the other side of the ship to the helm, and he turned to the crowds. “Like I said, he bellowed with his best parade-ground voice, “go about your day!”
There was a great deal of grumbling, but the majority of the gawkers dispersed, fascination largely dissipated by the threat of gunfire. He sighed, rubbing his temples.
Suddenly there was an expression of surprise, followed by Arctic’s voice: “Hey, Swift, you might want to see this.” Immediately following was the clattering chunk of the gangplank retracting. Frowning, Swift took to wing, slowly circumventing the ship. As he came to her location, he nearly dropped out of the sky from sheer surprise before bolting forwards. “Sir!” he cried.
The stallion was barely holding together. Twin bullet holes perforated his lowerr body, and though the bleeding had largely stopped, they were quite obviously infected. They were heavily inflamed, and vile pus poured from the swollen flesh around them. Despite the absurd pain he must’ve been in, his eyes were open and focused, wild and fervent and angrily alive. As Swift landed, the stallion jolted unsteadily to his hooves, grabbing the confused pegasus. “Take me to the Lady Steward,” he hissed, “now.”
Arctic laid her hoof on his shoulder, concern written across her face. “Sir, with all due respect, that comes later. Right now you need to get some medical attention—”
“Don’t touch me!” he screamed, shoving her off of him and sending her stumbling across the deck. “Lady Steward. Now,” he ground out, grunting in pain as he fell back to his hindquarters.
Arctic and Swift shared a glance. The stallion saw it, and in lieu of standing again, he grabbed the collar of Arctic’s uniforn in his magic, dragging her down to his face level. “If you disobey me, I’ll have you court-martialed for insubordination, even if it’s the last thing I do. Am I clear?”
Arctic stammered, “I—yes, Sir. Lady Steward.” She nodded at Swift, and he at her. Grabbing him beneath each limb, they rose into the air, lifting him with them and making their way, with labored strokes, to the Citadel.
As they arrived, the guards posted at the doors took one look at the injured stallion and paled, opening the doors. “Spineless,” he spat at them as he was carried past. Finally, the two pegasi arrived at the Lady Steward’s throne chamber. “...Lady Steward?” called Arctic cautiously.
“What.” came the response, not a question, but a command. Ever since her aide Dutchess Belle had vanished a few days ago, Twilight Sparkle had been sluggish, with little break in her morose mood.
“Rear Admiral Lower Half Storm Sliver demanded to see you. He’s badly wounded, but he won’t go to Medical until he speaks with you. He arrived on a Draco light pursuit craft that he’s never been seen on before. Whole crew missing, presumed dead.”
As soon as she heard the name Storm Sliver, the Lady Steward whirled around, eyes wide. When she saw the stallion, her hooves flew up to her muzzle. “Dear sky, Storm! You should’ve gone to the medical center as soon as you got in!”
Storm struggled to his hooves, wincing, but otherwise showing no sign of pain. His pale eyes remained as fervid as ever, boring into the Lady Steward. “Don’t get weak on me, Twilight.”
The two guards exchanged quick glances. While as a rear admiral, he was afforded certain respect, they’d never heard anybody address the Lady Steward by her first name alone. To do so was a gross breach of every protocol taught to soldiers of New Harmony. ‘Who is he?’ mouthed Arctic to the older soldier. Swift shrugged.
Storm continued on doggedly. “We caught up with them. Applejack and Dutchess Belle.” The Lady Steward’s eyes narrowed, but he cut her off before she could intercede. “Wait. I’m not done. I know two key pieces of information: first, their final accomplice is an unremarkable mechanic, presumably from NC. Cyan pegasus, rainbow mane and tail, crippled right wing. I’m sure if you ask around that filthy slum, you can find someone that knows her. And second, the civilian airship Skyshard, captained by unicorn Lyra Heartstrings of Manehattan, has turned rogue. Crews of both Draco-class light pursuit crafts deceased. She shot one out of the sky and boarded the other.” He clutched at his stomach for a moment, grimacing, before continuing. “I thought I’d killed her, but she somehow survived. Two shots into my stomach, knocked me down. I shouldn’t be alive. Killed the rest of the crew, took our captives, then got back on Skyshard, heading due east with an aeronautical bearing of 94 degrees towards Baltimare. She should be stripped of her Captain title, and the Registry should repossess her airship.”
He hissed in one last breath, uttering a quick “report concluded,” and fell over unconscious.
“Go! Now!” yelled the Lady Steward at Swift and Arctic, “take him to the medical center! If he dies, I…” Taking a heavy breath, she composed herself, setting her mouth into a thin, straight slash and closing her eyes. “If he dies, we’ll lose valuable tactical knowledge. Go.”
With that, she rotated her great orrery-throne, facing the opposite direction once again.
“It’s going to be a long day,” muttered Swift as he and his partner again picked up the unconscious stallion.
---
It had been quite a long slog through the disused factory pipelines of Baltimare before the quartet arrived at a nondescript steel door inscribed with a simple symbol:
Rainbow chuckled. “Been awhile since I’ve seen that.” She glanced at Lyra. “So. Passcode still the same these days?”
Lyra nodded. “Everything else changes, but that, at least, has stayed the same.”
Rainbow grinned, walking up to the door with exaggerated gravitas. “Eh-hem...Thirty four, eighteen, five-oh-one. The sky is falling up.” The symbol ignited with a bright orange glow and hundreds of lines of brilliant white script appeared overlaid atop it, Old Equuish characters describing the framework of an intricate binding spell. One by one, the runes winked out, the white vanishing until only orange remained. The glow pulsed once-twice-thrice, and then faded down into obscurity. There was a loud click-hiss, and with a faint cloud of steam streaming out into the air, the door creaked open.
Rainbow moved to step forwards, but was cut off by Lyra stepping in front of her, caution in her eyes. “I just wanna warn you real fast: you know how I’m a bit...eccentric at times? Well, everybody here is pretty much like that. Some are actually worse. They don’t trust outsiders at first, and they’re suspicious of everything. So expect it.”
Rarity’s face slid into a smirk. “Worse than you? It’s the apocalypse, I tell you.”
Lyra laughed. “Sure is. Come on, I’ll introduce you to the riders.”
She led them through the door and into a wide, low-ceilinged room in various states of degradation. The majority of it was dirty bricks, chipped and broken. In places, they were slimy with unidentifiable dull green algal vegetation. It showed what it was, really: a repurposed sewer serving as a makeshift headquarters. Several tunnels shot off in various directions. The whole area, and the tunnels, were lit with a series of skeletal magilectric lights strung up on bare copper wires.
The most out-of-place part of it, other than the strung-up lights, was the opposite wall; it was an elaborate contraption of clockwork and steampipes, and Rainbow couldn’t help but grin. Behind them the door automatically closed, and a faint pinging sound assured them that the magical lock had reinstated itself. Lying against the wall and smoking a long cigar was a unicorn stallion with a steel-gray coat, mane and tail an incredibly vivid orange. Lyra lifted up a hoof. “Yo, Torque!”
He lifted the broad-brimmed fedora he wore, peering out from under it with shaded, narrowed eyes and speaking laconically with a distinctive Badland twang. “Hey, Lyra. I see new faces. You check ‘em out good?” His vision slid to Applejack and she stepped back slightly, put-off by his eyes: they were so badly bloodshot that most of his sclera was dyed a brilliant crimson. He chuckled. “Heh, I never do get tired of that. My apologies, Miss.”
Lyra nodded in response to his question. “They check out. Two of them, Rarity and Rainbow,” she indicated them respectively as she spoke, “flew for the Alliance in the war, and the third, AJ,” she pointed her out, “jumped out of an airship onto another airship to try and help me. Trust me, they’re good.”
He narrowed his eyes further. “Jumped offa airship? What’ve you been gettin’ up to out there, Lyra?”
She gestured vaguely, “Oh, you know how it is, sometimes you see something happening and you just have to blow it up. Don’t worry, no witnesses.”
He shook his head slowly, grunting in acceptance, then rose to four hooves, bowing. “Charmed to meet y’ladies, Name’s Torque Wrench, but y’can call me Torque.” He flashed a charming smile at AJ. “Nice hat.”
She laughed, immediately taken by his attitude. “Thanks, partner, Yours ain’t so bad either.”
Torque’s eyebrow crawled up. “I recognize that accent. You from Appleloosa?”
She nodded. “Once, yeah. Then Ponyville, workin’ for Sweet Apple Industries for a span. Now I...well, I dunno where I live.”
“Then welcome home,” he laughed.
Watching all of this going on, Rarity stepped forwards to interrupt, but was stopped by Lyra. “Shhhhh shh shh. No. Let them hat.”
“Hat isn’t a verb, Lyra.”
“Not with that attitude it isn’t,” Lyra finished. With that said, she ignored her own advice, shouldering past AJ and up to Torque, looking around. “Hey, Torque, where is everypony?
He shrugged. “I dunno. TF is prob’ly doin’ his thing above ground, but other’n that, no idea.”
Rainbow’s brow furrowed. “TF? Who’s that?.”
Torque looked at her suspiciously. “Why you wanna know?”
She shrugged, unfazed. “Iunno. Just curious is all.” Lyra came in and whispered in her ear to Torque’s disapproving glance, and her brow furrowed even more. “Thirty-Four? Weird name.”
Torque smirked. “That’s prob’ly cause it’s not his name. Tartarus, I don't think anypony even knows his name, not even him. He was number 34 in a New Harmony magical augmentation therapy program a while back, right before he defected during the war. That's what we call him now.”
Rarity frowned. “Augmentation therapy?”
Torque nodded. “Yes ma’am. They tried to give him magic.”
She cocked her head. “How'd that go?”
A dark chuckle came from Torque. “You tell me. How many pegasi with magic y’see flyin’ around?” Rarity winced as he continued. “I dunno what they did to him. What d’you gotta do to a stallion to make him forget his own name?”
“Anyway!” Interrupted Lyra, barking out some awkward, forced laughter, “Torque is our go-to engineer.”
“So,” Rarity continued, unimpeded by Lyra, “what is Thirty-Four’s ‘thing’ above ground that you mentioned?”
“The experiments gave him a bit of a...strange talent,” said Torque as he wrangled himself to his hooves, spitting out the cigar. “Though’s he’s a bit of a weird guy, putting it lightly, he’s got a knack for gettin’ into places he shouldn’t. Half th’ time, he don’t use the door. None of us know how he does it. So I’m fair sure he’s up there stealin’ somethin’ from New Harmony.”
AJ frowned, but shrugged. “Somethin’? What kinda things does New Harmony have ‘round here?”
“Documents, hard-to-find parts for me, information. It mostly depends on what we ask him for, or whatever strikes his fancy.”
Rainbow grinned. “Seems like a pretty cool stallion. Can't wait to meet him.”
Torque winced. “He mightn’t want to meet you, Rainbow. He's a bit wary of ponies.”
“Anyway,” continued Rainbow, heedless of the warning, “you're the big engineer here?” Torque nodded slowly. “Great! Look, I haven't been able to work on anything interesting in years! Wanna get me up to speed on all the new stuff?”
The stallion shrugged. “Don't see why not.” Rainbow pumped her hoof in the air, cheering.
“Yes!”
Torque led her off into one of the numerous tunnels, quickly fading from sight and talking to her in a low voice all the while. The other three watched them go, exchanging amused glances.
An hour or so later, there was a shrieking hiss of steam from the magically-sealed doorway and it slid open, revealing two ponies. One was a small, wiry pegasus, coat and mane both inky black and eyes gleaming, entirely an unnatural fluorescent green. Something was off about him, but other than the eyes, it couldn’t quite be placed. Next to him stood a large brick-red earth pony mare, her white mane and tail haphazardly chopped short. She was covered in bulging muscles, and she wore what appeared to be solid steel sabatons that clanked softly against the floor. One of her eye sockets was surrounded by a frame of brass gears and struts and was filled by a small brass sphere, a hollow in which glowed a brilliant orange light. Her chest was crisscrossed with numerous lines of scar tissue, and as she walked, it was clear that her left front hoof, the only one without a sabaton, was an advanced prosthetic, up to and a little ways past the shoulder.
As soon as they registered the two strange ponies in the room, their eyes shot wide. The pegasus’ eyes strobed for a moment and he flowed like a living shadow over the ground, front leg carrying Rarity to the wall and pinning her there by the neck with a scream that rapidly turned to a sound of choked surprise. His voice was a clicking, chittering rasp, almost insectoid in sound. “You. Who are?”
Rarity stared at him for a moment before the red mare yanked him off. “Calm down, Thirty-Four. If they only brought two, they're probably not here to kill anypony. Let me at least talk to them before we start breaking them.” She turned her attention to Rarity, slamming her prosthetic leg onto the dingy brick as Thirty-Four released the unicorn with an eerie glare. “Alright. Who are you, what are you doing here, who brought you here. In that order.”
AJ ran towards her, but suddenly found herself on the floor, pinned by Thirty-Four’s shadowy form. She ground her teeth. “Get...offa...me…!”
Lyra leaned against the metal wall, laughing hysterically. Rarity glared at her, then gulped. “I’m Rarity, my companion is Applejack. We’re here to escape the pursuit of New Harmony after breaking out of Old Canterlot, and Lyra brought us here.”
“Is that right?” the other asked with a distinctly unamused voice, turning to Lyra. Amidst the laughter, there was a nod, and she sighed heavily. “You can get off her now, Thirty-Four.” Walking up to AJ, she helped her up, sighing again as AJ smacked her hoof vehemently away, green eyes narrowed in a vicious glare.
“Don’t y’all touch me ever again,” she growled. The earth pony shook her head slowly, voice dry and deadpan.
“I’m Blast Furnace. Charmed, I’m sure. I’m sorry about Thirty-Four. He’s a bit...high-strung. We all are, really.”
“No, really?” shot back AJ acidly, “I hadn’t noticed.”
Blast growled, glowering down at the slightly smaller AJ. Her artificial eye grew brighter and changed hue, the orange turning to a bloody red glare. Her face contorted into a furious grimace as she ground out a sentence: “Look, you…We don’t have to let you stay here. Make no mistake, I have authority over Lyra, and just because she brought you here does not make us friends.”
A sound of warlike yelling began to build from the offshooting passages until a quick-moving blue flash darted into the room, stopping abruptly and revealing a most aggressive Rainbow Dash, likely drawn by Rarity’s short scream. “Alright,” she yelled, “who wants some?”
Blast planted her face in her metal hoof. “Sweet sky, there's another? How many of you are there?”
---
“Ghhhkkk--” hissed Storm, face contorted in an expression of unspeakable pain. He clenched his jaw, biting down feverishly on the length of dowel as the surgeon’s scalpel sliced open one of the rancid scabs on his abdomen. Pus and blood spurted out in a thick, viscous flow, filling the air with the stench of infection. The pain only intensified as the surgeon’s gloved hooves gripped a pair of forceps, driving them steadily down into the puncture.
Storm’s mouth flew open, spitting out the dowel as he howled in rage and pain. His back arched as he strained against the straps holding him down.
After a seemingly-interminable moment, the forceps were removed, clenched around a lump of steel: one of Lyra’s bullets. “One down,” said Clean Cut, dropping it onto a steel tray beside him and preparing for the next incision, “one more to go. Are you sure you don't want anaesthesia? You're clearly in pain.”
“Just get on with it,” spat Storm. “I don't have time to waste on repeating myself.”
Clean sighed, shaking his head heavily. “Well, your choice,” he murmured as he made a second cut. With the dowel gone, Storm ground his teeth together, a strained growling seeping from his muzzle. He locked eyes with the surgeon as the forceps dug into him again, and this time, he resisted the urge to scream, hyperventilating and redirecting his pain into a death glare. After another intense, gut-wrenching pain, Storm lay back, gasping for breath and staring at the ceiling hard enough that the surgeon half expected him to bore a hole through it. After a moment of focused staring, his head jerked up to Clean as he unbuckled him from the straps on the operating table. “Now,” he grunted, “stitch me up. I need to be in Baltimare as soon as possible.”
Clean looked at him with a flat expression. “Is that seriously why you didn’t want anaesthesia? Storm, with all due respect, even if I stitch you up, the wounds are still infected. It’ll take at least a week for them to heal with the best medicine available in Canterlot.” Storm opened his mouth to talk, but was interrupted by Clean before he could get a single word out. “I’m not going to have you ruin my saving your life here today by having you go out and die before you can get anything done.” He tossed one of the bullets up and down in his gloved hoof, grinning darkly. “You’ll just have to bite the bullet this time so you don’t die horribly.”
Storm gave him a glass-cutting stare for a moment more before sighing and going limp, laying back on the table. “Fine,” he muttered, “I’ll rest up for a week. Then I’m going out there.
Clean chuckled. He’d been dealing with Storm for several years now, and as long as he could keep him contained for a bit for him to heal, he’d be fine. “Sure, fine by me. At that point it’s your prerogative.”
Storm grumbled as he was transferred onto a stretcher that would be carried to a hospital bed where he could rest until he recovered. As a pair of hospital orderlies lifted him away, he turned, giving Clean another of his trademark baleful glares. “Clean, your puns are stupid.”
After he was gone, Clean laughed again. One certainly met a lot of interesting ponies as the head of Medical in the New Harmony military. “I don’t envy whoever’s going to have bloody vengeance enacted on them,” he mused. After all, once he got going, there was no stopping Storm before he finished what he started. Nopony quite knew what motivated him, but he’d never failed at any military operation, even--especially, actually--the ones that became personal. He probably wasn’t going to start now.
---
“See?” remarked Blast with the most unbearable smugness, eye once again orange, “everything works out in the end if you actually talk to me instead of acting like I’m trying to murder you. Who would’ve thought?”
AJ grumbled. “Yeah, yeah, you made your point. You done?”
Blast grinned. “Yeah, I’m done. Mostly. Anyway, let’s start again.” She threw her gaze around the three new ponies in front of her, meeting all three of their eyes with her slightly-unnerving brass one. “I’m Blast Furnace, general all-purpose bruiser and technological wonder. Mostly, I just make sure the rest of these idiots don’t murder anypony. Or, well, anypony that doesn’t deserve it. I’m the de facto leader.”
Thirty-Four glared with surly face at Blast, then turned to the three. “Thirty-Four, my designation,” he clicked as greeting, and for the first time, AJ was able to gather a clear look at his face. On the surface, he was just a strangely-coloured, small pegasus with solid, iridescent eyes. However, inside of the mouth dwelt not teeth, but insectoid mandibles, ones that looked wickedly sharp. She knew from experience how much things like that could hurt. She shivered despite herself, taking a small backstep, and he narrowed his eyes at her.
Torque chuckled awkwardly, clearing his throat. “So, that there’s the chunk of Alliance we got ‘round here. I know it ain’t much, but there are a bunch more cells scattered through the city, and we do what we can. That reminds me,” he turned to Thirty-Four, “any luck topside?”
The pegasus being clicked briefly before nodding in assent and opening up a small pouch slung over his shoulders, withdrawing a few sheets of paper covered in writing. “Documinmation. From Harmony New.”
“Documinmation…?” echoed Rainbow, confused.
Blast took it, leafing through and responding to Rainbow’s question without looking up, distracted. “Information in document form. Thirty-Four has a few words like that, you get used to it once you spend long enough around him. It’s really not a big deal. Let’s see...shipments, trade routes, progress of the complete annexation of Gryphica...and...” She started slightly, staring at the papers. “No,” she mumbled, “that can’t be right…”
Torque plodded over to her, concerned. “What’s up, boss?”
She briefly turned an aggravated, natural orange eye to him. “I told you to stop calling me boss. Come on, look at this.” She hoofed him the paper and, after a moment, his eyebrows went up fractionally and he frowned heavily.
“...Lyra…” he began slowly, methodically, “I thought y’all said there was no witnesses.”
Concerned by the tone of his voice, Rarity levitated the papers, shifting them over to herself and AJ. Rainbow hovered anxiously behind them. Their eyes shot wide:
To the Colonel-Governess of Baltimare, Fleur de Lis,
As of now and effective immediately, the illegally-armed private civilian airship Skyshard, Registry number 008451-E3, light blue coloured, Javelin archetype, and branded with a golden harp motif, is to be repossessed. I address this letter to you as I have reason to believe she is currently either docked at your city, or is currently en route by way of a slight deviation of the Canterlot-Baltimare airstream line. The former captain, who has been stripped of her Registry title, Lyra Harper Heartstrings, has been convicted by witness of Rear Admiral Lower Half Storm Sliver to have assaulted two Draco-class light pursuit crafts in pursuit of unlicensed, illegal airship Incarnadine, which served as the escape craft for the criminals Dutchess Rarity Belle, my former Advisor, Applejack Apple, current delegate from Sweet Apple Industries, and the suspected Alliance supporter Rainbow Dash.
As of oh-seven-hundred hours on Bloomrise, 4•24•22 ACD, you are given authorization to find and take into custody Ms. Lyra Heartstrings on charges of mass murder, disturbing the peace, conspiracy against government, and treason, and Ms. Rainbow Dash, Ms. Rarity Belle, and Ms. Applejack Apple on all charges above, as well as unlawful use of both public and private property and evasion of justice. I trust that you will continue to serve with distinction, as you have done in the past, and to do all in your power to bring these dangerous sociopaths to order. You are authorized to use lethal force, should they resist. They are to be considered extremely dangerous, and not to be approached unless they are at a severe disadvantage, and not without two ironbound magic-suppressant rings. If they are captured alive, they are to be incarcerated in the holding cells of Devil’s Gulch until such time as I am available to give them their sentencing, as the state has deemed a trial unnecessary. Rarity Belle and Lyra Heartstrings are to be kept under magical suppression at all times. You will find wingties unnecessary; Rainbow Dash is crippled, and thus unable to fly.
Thank you for your excellent work over the years, and a preemptive thanks for capturing these threats to our prosperity and peace.
From Diarch’s Desk,
Lady Steward Twilight Sparkle
In the pregnant silence that followed, Lyra cried out in anger: “Oh no. They are not taking my Skyshard!”
Blast dropped her head into her mechanical hoof. “Ah, come on. How hard is it for them to give us a break? Torque, Thirty-Four. Either of you heard of this Storm Sliver guy?”
Thirty-Four shook his head rapidly, and Torque shrugged. “Don't think so, ‘less I've forgot.”
Grunting in dissatisfaction, Blast turned an annoyed eye on Lyra. “We'll talk about this later. For the moment, we need to see about getting the Skyshard out of here. It won’t be Bloomrise 4•24 for a little while. We've still got a couple hours before they start hunting Lyra and you three. Let's make ‘em count.”
Lyra sighed, eyes downcast. “Yeah...let's go, TF.” She beckoned Thirty-Four, who seemed to flow up next to her.
The three moved towards the door and Blast turned briefly, staring everypony else in the room down with her glowing brass eye. “Torque, make sure they don't leave.” Her eyes latched onto Rainbow and the others, who'd been moving towards the door, and her natural one narrowed. “You guys seem to bring disaster with you, and the last thing I need right now is even more to worry about. Even without considering that, there are now probably posters of your faces plastered all over the city. You'd end up doing more harm than good. We three can handle this.”
With one more withering mechanical glare for good measure, she, Lyra and Thirty-Four exited, leaving Rainbow, AJ and Rarity alone with Torque. He sighed. “This is gonna be a fun day, ain’t it.”
---
As the setting sun cast it's flaming rays over the marble city, bathing it in a golden-red glow that seemed more out of a legend than reality, Swift Wing and Arctic Breeze found themselves bound eastwards to Baltimare on a Gemini-class dual-balloon gunship, by far the least commonly used of New Harmony. It was a huge, gleaming silver monster, characterized primarily for the two balloons instead of one that flew above, giving it unprecedented lift for an airship as large and heavy as itself. As Swift remained belowdecks, performing maintenance on his clunky, complicated hoofheld autogun, Arctic stared out at the receding silhouette of Canterlot in the distance, thoughts troubled. Another soldier, older than her by several years, trotted up to her. “Bit for your thoughts, Arctic?”
Brows still furrowed in the horizon, she she responded slowly: “...I'm not sure, honestly. Something about taking a Gemini, a military gunship made for open war, and a full contingent of soldiers out for one civilian airship--and not even to fight it, just to grab it--doesn't that seem weird? Wouldn't a carrier have made more sense? Unless there’s something out there that they’re not telling us about...”
The soldier shrugged. “I guess, but I mean...what can we do about it? Let the bigwigs do their thing. At the end of the day, I'm just here to feed my wife and son. I think, in a sense, we're all here to protect someone.” With that, he trotted off.
Arctic nodded, still staring out at Canterlot as the sun slid below it, illuminating it as a black silhouette against the bloody sky for the briefest moment of time before dusk swept along, enshrouding the city in darkness. After a few seconds more, she sighed, dropping her gaze and retreating to the cabin for much-needed sleep.
As she entered the cabin, she took a moment to laugh to herself quietly at Swift snoring uproariously, autogun lying in several pieces on the desk in front of him.
“Yeah…” she said quietly to herself as she slid into her cot, loath to wake her cabinmate, “we're all here to protect someone.”
Then sleep.
---
“Alright,” hissed Blast, hitting a button on the side of her head and letting her eye wink out, wincing as her depth perception plummeted, “we're here.”
She, Lyra and Thirty-Four crouched behind a row of pallets at the very edge of the airdock. Even this late at night it still bustled, a pretty significant amount of ponies running the length and breadth of it. It was a blessing; it had allowed them to make their way closer to the airships than they ever could’ve, had the platform been empty. The Skyshard was docked smack in the middle of every other airship, and Blast cursed flagrantly in her lowest whisper. They’d come as soon as they could, but with the trek through the disused pipes and the stealthy creep back up through the streets to the airdock, they’d arrived later than she wished; the gangplank was flanked by a soldier on either side. She couldn’t tell if there were any on the ship itself, but it was a safe bet to make, and while riskiness had a place, this wasn’t it.
“Okay,” she muttered, peering through a crack in the shipping containers, “here’s what we do. Thirty-Four, think you can get onto that ship without them noticing?” He nodded. “Good. When you do, find all the guards and lead them up onto the foredeck, as close to the front as you can. I don’t care how you do it, but I’m pretty sure you can manage it. Keep them away from the interior. Once you’re done, give the signal. The pegasus nodded, then stepped away and melted into the shadows.
A moment later, Lyra could faintly see a black spot sliding up the edge of her airship. Despite herself, she grinned wanly. “How does he do it…” she murmured.
“No time for that,” barked Blast as quietly as barking can go, more of a commanding whisper than anything else, “I want you to get as close as you possibly can to the guards without them seeing you. I’ll distract them; once you see me talking to them, you start moving. Got it? Good. Once you hear Thirty-Four’s signal, I’ll lead them off, so get on that ship.” She pressed the button again, igniting her eye in the familiar orange, and slid away, doubling back into the crowd before approaching the soldiers. As she drew their eyes, Lyra carefully emerged from the cover of the pallets, moving ever closer, keeping behind whatever cover she could find. It took an agonizingly long time of cowering and hoping nopony would see her, but finally, she squeezed, barely breathing for fear of discovery--she felt that even her heart was beating too loudly--between two crates only a few meters away. The blood thumping in her ears drowned out what Blast was saying, but judging by the expression on the soldiers’ faces, it wasn’t pleasant.
She caught motion; on the forepeak, above her helm, she could see a small collection of soldiers gathering. Looks like TF is doing his job, she thought with grim satisfaction. Then a clicking whistle, something that didn’t sound like it belonged in anypony’s mouth, resonated down from the deck. With a seemingly-surprised yelp, Blast seemed to plead with the guards. They shook their heads, and she suddenly stumbled. Lyra chuckled; she knew well enough what it looked like when Blast faked a faulty prosthetic. One of the guards rushed forward to catch her, and then exchanged quiet words with the other before lifting Blast up, supporting her from the side as she led him away.
Lyra hissed in frustration. Time was ticking, and there was still one guard posted. She shook her head, resolving herself. No time for hesitation. She broke from cover and dashed at him, sliding under his reflexive jolt and kicking him hard in the chest, winding him and knocking him to the ground as he wheezed, trying to call out. Frantically moving to avoid undue attention, she was accosted with a sudden “Hey, what’s she doing?” from behind her and realized: I’m out of time. She kicked him to the side and ran away from the shouts, smashing through the door into her airship, bathed again in the oily air of Skyshard far sooner than she thought she’d be.
“Flash!” She yelled hoarsely, calling for her old first mate, heedless of the noise she made, “Flash Powder! Where are you?”
“Cap? That you?”
She searched wildly for the voice, eventually finding it: the burnt-orange pegasus was tied up in a small windowless room, gunmetal mane and tail matted and stained with blood. He grinned, swollen eye squinting. “Knew you wouldn't leave us. Get me out of these ropes and let's mess ‘em up, yeah?”
Lyra’s eyes smoldered at the mistreatment of her first mate and she nodded. “They’re all up on the foredeck. TF got them up there at Blast’s orders. I can only guess what she’s planning, but I know Blast, so it’ll be good.” She slid out her keris, using it to cut away the ropes before tossing it to Flash, pulling out her sword and pistol in preparation. The two ponies only made it halfway to the ladder onto the deck before a roaring noise caught their attention. After a moment of confusion, Lyra’s eyes widened. She knew that sound. Hell, she came from Manehattan. That was the sound of a riot.
She peered out of the nearest porthole, and reeled backwards as a bottle smash into it, breaking into pieces against the window’s reinforced glass. Gasping in surprise, she and Flash booked it along the narrow steel corridors until eventually arriving at the ladder. Sharing a quick glance, she nodded and began to climb.
The airdock was chaos. The gangs of factory workers had turned on each other in a massive street fight on the airdock, and all of the soldiers--due to its central position in trade, nearly the entire soldiery of Baltimare was pegasi in order to expedite searches of aircrafts--had abandoned their posts, flying down from the deck in a futile attempt to reassert order. As Flash joined her on deck, the two shared another glance, and Lyra chuckled.
“That’s Blast for you, I guess. This has her name written all over it. So where’s everypony else? The rest of the crew?”
Flash shrugged, wincing with the motion. “Went into town for the night. I was the only one on the ship when NH decided it was their property now.”
“So,” he continued, “what now?”
Lyra hissed. “I was hoping that everypony would be on board so we could get out, go somewhere else. I’m wanted now, and I’ve been stripped of the title Captain by the Registry. So I don’t really know.”
They stood at the helm for a few moments more, watching the carnage below, when Lyra’s ornate radio receiver suddenly crackled. She looked over to it with a feeling of heavy foreboding. It was still on the frequency used by New Harmony that she’d stumbled onto a few years ago, and by the amount of interference, there was a lot of communication going on. Moving slowly with some form of dread, Lyra moved the dial until the sound came through clearly:
--be there in approximately fifteen hours. Find all the Alliance supporters you can, and eliminate them using whatever means necessary. The dossier you've been provided contains information on all Alliance sympathizers we know of. Wing Commander Thunderlane, over and out.
Horror carpeted across her face, Lyra stared at her companion, who appeared equally stricken. “Oh no,” she whispered, then stopped, leaving the thought unconcluded.
Below, the battle raged on.