//------------------------------//
// Comet 
// Story: Virga 
// by Dave Bryant 
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“. . . It was the first time I’d seen that pattern of flares actually fired off. I hope to heaven it’s the last time. I didn’t like it, but the order was clear: ‘Gather up every unit you can reach and break out any way you can.’” Spitfire’s face and tone were bleak. “There was no way we could get back down to Canterlot and rally anypony. We were doing our best, but we were kitted out for ærobatics, not combat, and we were scattered all over the sky, along with what little regular cavalry there was. All we could do was try to escape. So we did.”
Sunset was sobbing unabashedly into Rose’s chest, enfolded in both her wings. The scarred pegasus face was stormy with anger and outrage. Cook’s was blank from shock and horror. The old unicorn mare plainly had heard the whole tale before, but looked scarcely less grim.
“One of the airships took after my group right away, but the Princess’s Own Flying Squadron are the best flyers in Equestria, and a stern chase is a long chase.” A note of pride briefly touched the general’s words. “They couldn’t get a broadside on us, but they had chase guns crewed by some decent shots. They started taking us down one by one. I’m here now only because at least two of the ’Bolts deliberately—” Her eyes closed and her voice broke. “Even so, I took a couple of grazes and started bleeding out bit by bit. I don’t remember anything else until I came to flat on a deck.” The wine-dark eyes reopened and flicked toward the white-uniformed pony. “The rest of it is Dame Galea’s story.”
“I s’pose an introduction is in order first.” The voice was firm and only slightly creaky. “Colonel Galea, retired, Dame Companion, Order of the Golden Sun.” Cook’s eyebrows rose, which she ignored. “I have . . . some experience with airships. An airshipwright shop in Vanhoover was contracted to cobble up the smallest, fastest, most maneuverable airship they could and pile it with swivel guns and rockets. The goal was to snag a military contract, build more of ’em for the Guard.” She shrugged slightly.
“Not a bad thought, but she uses a lot of experimental machinery—like gasoline engines—so they needed to prove it could work. They hired a crew and asked around for the best skipper they could get.” The seamed face turned wry. “I told ’em I was retired. They went away, but after a while the project’s backer showed up with a barrel of bits. How could I say no?”
Her lips pursed briefly. “She’s a sweet flyer, I will say. The guns are a bit light for the job and the rockets are dodgy, but they’ll do for anything short of a serious warship, sea or air. We were bound for Canterlot and the festival. I think the idea was to catch Their Highnesses’ eyes, but we didn’t get the chance.” Her nostrils flared as she took in a breath.
“Long story short, we were headed in just as the general and the ’ship chasing her were headed out. The crew didn’t like it a bit—civvies, you know, they didn’t sign on for battle—but I accepted action. No choice, really; they might’ve swatted us like a fly otherwise. We were able to whip around and cross their T for a good raking. Couldn’t take ’em down, but we knocked out their bow chasers and played merry hob with their steering. Then we turned and showed ’em our tails.”
Her glance at Spitfire showed a spark of cool amusement. “Didn’t take a genius to see the general was flagging and wasn’t all there. So we stuck out a cargo net and caught ’er mid-air in passing, neat as you please.”
Spitfire cleared her throat. “And then we came back here. Most of the crew were locals, and like Dame Galea said, they didn’t sign on for war.”
“Half of ’em galloped down the gangway yellin’ their heads off how crazy I was. The other half wanted to go hunting enemy ships right that minute.” The old warhorse sighed. “When I said that was suicide, most of them bailed too.”
Rose blinked, coming back to herself. “That had to be before the bombing raid. Any armed airship—well, any airship at all—would be a big juicy target. What happened to it?”
Galea nodded in approval. “She’s not in a hangar, y’see. She’s small enough to fit, just barely, in one of the bigger work sheds. They prob’ly thought it was a warehouse or something of the sort, so they passed over it. She’s fine, snug as a bug in a rug. Needed some repairs and tweaking, but most of that’s done now. Just not sure what t’do with ’er.”
Cook’s expression turned calculating. “We might have a job for her.”


The next morning was gray with low clouds brought by onshore flow, muting what colors the company works possessed. Ruins of at least two hangars and an airship in the open, blackened by fire, lay like gargantuan skeletons at one edge of the complex. Maintenance and repair efforts concentrated on intact or only slightly damaged buildings and yards, including the huge shed looming over the small party approaching its side.
Galea acted as guide, the beacon of her white uniform neat and bright. Behind her trooped Sunset, Cook, and Rose, their manner universally subdued. Even so, once they reached the open rolling doors, they paused, impressed, to look up at the sleek silver-gray shape filling most of the big outbuilding. Oil and gasoline dominated the chemical odors exuded by the ship and its shelter; the sounds of voices and tools echoed. The old colonel turned and beelined across the plank floor, down the length of the ship.
The cylindrical envelope with ogive-tapered ends was fairly typical, similar to early-generation designs familiar to the otherworldly visitors from vintage photographs. The narrow enclosed gondola running like a keel along most of the envelope, by contrast, was a radical departure—well ahead of the more usual boat-hulls dangling on struts or cables. The long slim barrels of quick-firing breechloaders on swivel mounts, unlocked from their stowed positions, jutted menacingly from two large openings amidship, port and starboard, and one around the stern. A row of odd round brackets mounted under the cockpit, currently empty, stood ready to accept pre-loaded rocket tubes; a stack of empty replacement tubes sat by the shed’s side wall.
Rose stared narrow-eyed at the nearest gun as they passed. “Those have to be state of the art here—even ten or twenty years ahead of schedule.” There was a questioning note to her low tones, just loud enough to be audible under the repeated hammering of a sledge or other heavy object on some recalcitrant part.
“I’ll take your word on that, Captain,” Cook replied in kind. “My guess? The need for light, fast guns in the anti-air role would be much bigger here. There are lots of airships in this world—many more than there ever were back home—and of course flying troops.”
Sunset, ahead of them, glanced back briefly. By now she was dry-eyed, but Spitfire’s account of the opening moves in the Battle of Canterlot, and their effect on the princesses, had hit her hard. She had said little since the trio had reunited for breakfast as guests of the local Guard garrison after a night in base officers’ quarters.
“Hey, Mister Moneybags,” came Galea’s rough voice. “Got some folks here t’see ya. May have work for our li’l filly here.”
“Dame Galea,” a cultured masculine voice bantered back. “Such respect you have. Well, let’s see them. I won’t make any promises until—good gracious, it’s Mister Cook!” The beefy white-coated unicorn stallion who had rounded the tail of the gondola stood, brows raised and monocle swinging on its ribbon from a button on his greasy denim coveralls.
“Fancy Pants,” replied Cook with genuine pleasure. “It’s a relief to see you here safe and sound.”
“And you as well.” A puzzled look clouded the other’s face. “But why are you here at all? I should think, with its current travails, Equestria would be the last place in the universe you’d care to visit.”
“Yes, well, we had to bar the door behind us, if you take my meaning,” Cook explained with a slight shrug. “We couldn’t do that from the other side.”
“Ah. I quite see. Of course.” Fancy Pants nodded to the two mares. “And who might your companions be? I presume they came with you through that door?”
“What is this, Old Home Week?” Rose broke in. “Do you know everypony here, Mister Cook?”
Cook’s mouth quirked, but his voice was admirably even. “Ms. Brass, Sunset, this is Fancy Pants, one of Equestria’s foremost industrialists. I should’ve known you’d be the backer of this project, Sir. This is Army Captain Rose Brass, retired, and Ms. Sunset Shimmer, former student at SGU and recent summa cum laude graduate of a school back home. You might say she’s the ultimate reason for my posting to Equestria.”
Fancy Pants levitated his monocle back up for a close examination of the two strangers. “Well met, ladies. If I may presume to answer your question for Mister Cook, Captain, I would point out a good diplomat makes the acquaintance of every prominent individual in the country to which he is accredited, at least to the extent he is able.”
“Okay, I can see that.” Rose didn’t seem entirely persuaded. “But it’s a he—it’s a real coincidence we all just happen to be here in the same city, out of all the cities in the country.”
“Not at all.” The unicorn’s blue mane, somewhat less impeccably coiffured than usual, bobbed as his head nodded toward a bedsheet-size chart posted on the shed’s back wall. “Vanhoover is the principle—almost the only—city of the northwest. You started in Ponyville, if I understand correctly. North, directly toward Canterlot, I can tell you from personal knowledge would have presented too great a hazard. Southward is frontier, being mostly desert, badlands, and other inhospitable terrains. The east is more populous, but more difficult to reach past Canterlot. No. Westward, then north, was the best choice available, and that inevitably would bring you here.”
“And Vanhoover really is a center of airship development, partly because of its maritime tradition,” Cook added. “So if you’re going to cook up a hush-hush experimental aviation project, this is one of the best places to do it.”
A crooked smile flashed under the industrialist’s pencil mustache. “Indeed.” He turned to Sunset. “And have you anything to say, my dear?”
Sunset’s expression when she looked up gave the older stallion pause. Cook interjected, “Before Sunset, ah, transferred from SGU, she was one of Her Royal Highness’s personal students.”
“I see,” Fancy Pants answered in a kindly tone. “These are difficult times for all of us, but I can only imagine how much more so they must be for you, Ms. Shimmer. I will offer no words of empty cheer, but I can say every effort will be bent to rectifying the situation.” Sunset nodded mutely, if not convinced then at least polite.
Abruptly the intermittent hammering ceased. A moment later an equally refined feminine voice called out, “Fancy dear, I finally showed that valve what for!”
“Excellent!” Fancy Pants called back heartily.
“Is that Fleur?” Cook asked with amused surprise.
“Indeed it is! Her levitation is most capable, and I must say wielding heavy tools can be astonishingly therapeutic.”
Moments later a tall, slender unicorn mare of purple-tinged white—clad in another baggy, disreputable denim coverall—put in an appearance, triumphantly levitating a massive sledgehammer and prybar. Her pastel pink mane, streaked with oil and perhaps coolant, was bound up in a practical, if inelegant, bun. On catching sight of the visitors, she bobbled her levitation a bit, but managed to put the heavy tools on a nearby countertop. “Oh! Mister Cook. It is so good to see you.”
She looked a question at Fancy Pants, who replied, “Mister Cook and his friends ensured our rude visitors in Canterlot would be unable to go a-traveling where they ought not. The sad result is, he, Captain Rose Brass, and Ms. Sunset Shimmer are stranded here for the nonce.” He nodded toward the two visiting mares as he introduced them. “Indeed, according to our good airship captain, they desire the services of our fine little brainchild. And what, Mister Cook, would that desire entail?”
Cook laid out the proposal in a few plain phrases, not bothering to dress them up with blandishments or polished verbiage. Fancy Pants frowned thoughtfully. Fleur eyed him sidelong, holding her counsel. Galea and Rose waited with the practiced patience of officers. Sunset just stood gazing into the distance.
At last he gave them all an off-center grin. “Why not? Under the circumstances I doubt our little silver filly can contribute much to the Guard’s strength. If instead she can help by placing our visitors and their secrets beyond the easy reach of our enemies, I consider that a fine and worthy goal. What say you, Fleur my dear? Captain Galea?”
“Why, certainly,” Fleur put in promptly and sincerely. “It would be the least we can do.”
“Mph.” Galea squinted. “We don’t have a crew. We don’t have room or weight allowance for passengers.”
“Tosh.” Fancy Pants waved a forehoof. “There are six of us here, and I’m sure we could persuade a few like-minded sorts to fill out the watch bills, with salaries if naught else. Though we’ll be plain about the hazards, mind.”
Galea opened her mouth, clearly not at all thrilled with the notion of skippering an owner-aboard and complete novices, but a glance at her nominal boss and his air of resolve closed it again, though a small grumble escaped.
“Very good.” Fancy Pants swept the same forehoof toward the nearby gondola. “Then, my friends, I bid you all welcome to the fastest and nimblest airship in Equestria—Comet!”