//------------------------------// // 59. Distrust // Story: The Atlantean-Dominion War // by The Atlantean //------------------------------// Indianapolis’s bow sliced the ocean in two as she steamed effortlessly through a heavy swell as she sailed west. Her massive hull hardly rolled, but pitched up and down with as she passed over crests and dove into troughs. Breakers curled onto her deck, as high as it was, and a deluge of rain pelted the ship like a hailstorm. Her 8-inch main guns were trained fore and aft, while her secondaries pointed every which-way. After the return of Commodore Evergreen’s fleet, the heavy cruiser was sent on a long-delayed post-repair shakedown, complete with several days at sea while her normal berth accommodated damaged frigates and battlewagons. While she was out, Captain Middle Road had decided to keep Seagull’s carefully maintained seaplane at Summercrest. In exchange for that precious scouting range, she bolstered the cruiser’s defensive capabilities by adding half a dozen fifty-pound cannons, along with their crews and ammunition, to the amidships section where her aircraft-launching catapults were. The catapults, no longer needed, were stowed between the three guns a side for transport to Nautinia. They would doubtless be needed for the naval projects there. A second reason, not mentioned to her crew, was that the Dom fleet Evergreen had encountered on her journey was sailing down. Given its size, it was likely to be a diplomatic entourage or picket force; however, it was the time of year when Atlanta was asked to surrender. It was unanimously decided to keep them from sighting their most powerful asset during target practice with new bronze projectiles, fired by bags of black powder. The trade lost velocity, so th guns would need to be fired in local control, but as innovative as the Atlanteans were, they just couldn’t figure out how to make guncotton--the “smokeless” stuff that fired the modern HE and AP rounds, not that armor-piercing was more useful against wooden hulls than an oversized bullet. Someday, Nightmane hoped to make some black-powder high-explosive rounds, but until then, all they had was the dangerously low supply already aboard, which consisted of 15 HEs and 42 APs (21 solid bronze rounds per turret also partially filled the magazines). Nightmane watched distant waves slam against the 100-foot cliff that rose between Summercrest and Nautinia. Its western side terminated as the capitol’s eastern bluffs, where Fort Lazuli boasted formidable defenses and huge experimental seventy-pound cannons! They had performed well during last year’s siege, but they and their ammo were so fantastically expensive that they would soon be scrapped for the iron and be replace with standard fifties. It was too bad Indianapolis and other naval projects took all that funding, or Fort Azure would be getting some, too. He turned to the south. The storm was getting worse, and before long, it’d be slamming its waves beam-on into the cruiser. That wouldn’t be cause for alarm, simply because of the ship’s size and steel construction, but it would push her farther north--and closer to the shallow beaches backed by rocky outcroppings. Nightmane harbored no illusions what a good-sized rock would do to a ship, no matter her hull material. “Port rudder five degrees,” he ordered. A moment later, the pony at the helm said, “Rudder at five degrees.” “Acknowledged.” When he was certain the course was good, he ordered the rudder back to amidships. A massive trough opened up before the bow, and Nightmane watched as the wave behind it curled around the soaking deck and sluiced overboard. Some of the water crashed into the massive forward gun, forming a brief but impressive wall of spray that inundated the turret. Nightmane relinquished the deck to his exec, then walked outside to the fire-control platform, where his soaked, sparkly willow-wood gunnery officer and her crew kept lookout for hazards in the rain. She noticed him and saluted briefly before continuing her search. “Lieutenant Commander Sparklewood,” he yelled over the howling wind, “as soon as the watch changes, I need you to get some sleep, then check over the calculations for your bronze bolts again. If we run into any trouble, I want our ranges and velocities down pat.” “Yes, sir,” she replied. “But I’m really uncomfortable with everyone using my rank. Could you call me by my name, please, sir?” “Sure, Autumn.” He remembered when the light-gray mare was his laid-back shipyard master. Not thirty years old, she was a kid compared to the virtual grizzlies around her; in fact, she was the youngest officer to reach LCDR. Both Autumn and Nightmane had been conscripted into the Navy out of necessity when the war broke out, and both had been catapulted to levels above their comfort. But alas, it had been that new responsibility and her experimental genius that finally cracked her complacent shell, and when Indianapolis’s ammunition magazines started to look empty, she had the idea that would fill them back to the brim. That was the main reason she became the cruiser’s gunnery officer: it was her bolts they’d be shooting from now on, and she wanted to know their faults as soon as possible (see them in action). She was an excellent range finder, and would be practically unable to miss with the computerized equipment around her. He took a second to look her over again, searching for any signs that she needed a break before the next hour was done. Her shiny bronze helmet failed to protect most of her soaked, light shadow hair. Tendrils of uncut bangs (she always forgot) fell over her snowy eyes, making her look indeed like a sparkling tree in winter. Honestly, she resembled one more than her mother, who actually held the name Winter Willow. Her uniform obscured view of her cutie mark, but it was a calculator of sorts, symbolizing her mathematical expertise. Convinced her condition was fine, he left the rain and shook the water out his coat like a dog. He mentally prepared himself for his next stop and climbed down the ladders to the engineering spaces. ------------------------------------ Commodore Evergreen watched the small Dom fleet pull into Summercrest Harbor, escorted by the defense fleet and under the mighty guns Nightmane bore down on them from her berth. The ships dropped anchor near the pier and tied up for the time being, until the storm cleared enough for them to sail on to Nautinia. She wanted to blast them out of the water, still seething from the memory of being shot at without warning by their much-longer range. Her anger was partially ebbed when she realized that the entourage - that’s what it was, apparently - was a ship short. Their main diplomat confirmed her suspicions; she’d sunk it. Her predatory smile grew at that. Currently, a young stallion named Lost Legacy was explaining that he had to reach Queen Atlanta at all costs, as he had a message specifically for her from the Dominion Crown Prince, Flawless Ice. If at all possible, he needed a private audience with the alicorn ruler, and no formality could get in the way. Middle Road was having none of it. She refused to let any Dom go ashore for liberty or official business except standard harbor things that Nightmane’s wife, Lunar Eclipse, had gotten a great grasp of, mostly for security reasons. Eventually, even Lost had to go back to his ship. He seemed genuinely disappointed. When the Dom rowboat was out of earshot, Evergreen asked, “Why can’t we just blow them the hell out of the water?” “Because it’s against the rules of war, which have remained unchanged for the past five thousand years,” Road answered. “From what I hear, you did it to some Mariner guy, and he was a Dom with a fleet, just sitting in your harbor.” “He was a spy, or a saboteur, or whatever. The difference is that these guys came under the white flag of truce, seeking shelter from a storm that we’ve been experiencing for the past two days. It would seem a crime not to let them into the shelter of the harbor, minimum, but I won’t bend past that.” A gentle sea breeze reached them, the remnant of a howling wind broken by the headlands at the bay’s mouth. Very little height actually rose around here, but the “swamp oaks” atop them sheltered Summercrest well against all but the worst of nature’s storms. “What I wouldn’t give to settle down,” Evergreen said wistfully. “I was actually hoping I could do that when we got back. My XO and I have become quite close, you know.” “I’ll bet. You were on the same boat for fourteen years.” “But here we are, fighting still against a foe we may never hope to defeat in full.” “Who said we can’t win?” The commodore sighed. “Atlanta did. Apparently, Nautinia was under siege last year, and they’re still counting the tolls the city took. But alas, our newfound queen is thankful for my expedition’s safe arrival home.” “We’ll need you guys. Do you seriously think five ships can hold back the entire Domination Navy?” “You did once.” Road smiled. “We did. And we’ll do it again if we must.” ------------------------------------ Princess Blossom, second-in-line to the Dominion throne, saw her adoptive brother walk into the library around her in the corner of her vision. She closed her book, a large volume of magical theory, and smiled softly at him from her plump, cushioned couch. “Good evening, Flawless.” “A beautiful night, is it not?” he asked in return. She glanced out the darkening window. “Indeed.” “Father said I would find you here at this time of day, for the waking hours after dinner.” “Does he disapprove?” “Not at all; in fact, he believes that tender ears such as your own should not hear the reports of his generals unless you wish to. I, however, have no choice, since, as king, I would need to deal with such matters. As a queen, you would not be. Your husband would.” “And if I do not marry?” “Then this branch of the royal line would end. It is a matter of choice, though.” She was silent a while. Finally, as the sun’s last rays reached the window frame, she asked, “What is happening in the world?” Figuring what she meant, he spent a moment gathering his thoughts. “Four million Dominion soldiers are on Atlantean soil now. The latest convoy has confirmed its arrival in Port Snowfall. I doubt the Atlantean armies will last much longer. They combat the seeds of distrust my father’s agents have planted within your mother, along with their physical enemy, us, and their own personal, psychological enemies.” “The seeds of distrust?” “Yes. I was finally able to determine when my father’s agents stole you from your home, and it amounts to three years ago. They dropped hints along the trail that would have lead your mother to Queen Atlanta, and without other clues, she may have plotted against Atlantis since then. Both sides will have a difficult time trusting the other until you return home.” “As much as I want to, I cannot. As a Queen, my highest priority is the protection of my own. Without a true bond with my Hive, I don’t consider them my own.” “Then who is?” “You are.” Flawless was stunned. She considered him family after a couple weeks as “siblings”. And as much as it was a lie to save her from the dungeons, he felt a brotherly tug towards her as well. That was a feeling he hadn’t felt in years. “What about the seas?” she asked, as if she’d read his mind and was willing to change the subject. “Our ironclad fleet will reach Cape Lune in four days, sailing around and taking Summercrest within the week. There is no doubt that their primary naval operations have shifted to that area, and we shall find out what it is soon enough, if we haven’t already.” He sighed. “My father does not believe that a single large iron ship could defeat two of his fleets with little assistance. Nonetheless, he wants it for himself, the greedy stallion!” He spat the last words as if they left a foul taste in his mouth. “You sound like you don’t respect your father, only fear him.” “Don’t tell him that!” “Fear not. Your secret is safe with me.” He sat next to her and ruffled her mane. “You are soooo Lost’s opposite. He’s always been the cautious one around secrets.” She batted his hoof away. For the next few hours, they chatted about the war as the sun continued to reach towards the ground, which embraced it in a silent, peaceful, enveloping nightfall. Even while the magic-powered candles and torches began to light the room, they continued to act as real siblings, eventually parting ways to finish their conversation in the morning. ------------------------------------ A hooded figure watched the couple in the Buckingham Palace library through a professional sailor’s spyglass. The sailor who owned it was behind him, drowning in a pool of his own dead blood. The sky became night around him, but he paid it no heed, so focused on his target he was. Judging by the mare’s behavior, she was new to the Dominion royal family but experienced in formality. The stallion was well recognized. The figure took special note of the friendly familiarity between the two. If the Dominion ever reached the technological capacity its citizens’ ancestors had achieved millennia ago, then his superiors would need a bargaining chip. But if the young prince ever learned of the terrible unended war between his ponies and the Protectors of Knowledge, then it would take more than the survival of the Domination bloodline to stop him.