Spectrum

by Sledge115

Act II ~ Chapter Fourteen ~ Silent Night

“Freedom is hammered out on the anvil of discussion, debate and dissent.”
  — Hubert H. Humphrey, Wit & Wisdom of Hubert Humphrey

We had left Basel on a train to Berne, hoping to catch a glimpse of the conference. As we found out later on, the train’s delay prevented us from getting caught amidst the war’s outbreak. We took a detour to Montreux instead, and the following days were filled with people coming in and out of the city, looking for the nearest escape route out of Switzerland. I remained there, interviewing the people who’d stop for me, all with the same question; where were you when the war began?

I had forgotten how many days had passed by the time Dieter managed to get a hold of a German pilot evacuating civilians. By then, the Barrier was visible from Montreux, and the events at Berne were a distant memory. I still wonder how we managed to take off in that panicking crowd.

I don’t remember exactly who or what prompted me to bring out the camera as the helicopter rose above Montreux, but there it was. Translucently pink, gleaming, as beautiful to the eye as it was dangerous to the touch. The impression of beauty, ironically, was offset by the pristine, untouched look of the Swiss Alps and Lake Geneva, their natural white and tranquil waters marred by that unnatural pink hue.

I took the shot just as what I believe to have been a German squadron made their sortie, passing by the Barrier. Thank goodness for modern camerawork! It was all I needed to capture them, unblurred, these distant shapes like angry hornets rushing to sting that intruding mass.

But the planes, all nine of them, looked so insignificant in the face of this Barrier, its dome-like form stretching out into the sky, unstoppable and unyielding. I tried not to think too hard about that then, hoping the planes’ bombing run would have some effect against it...

By the time we’d passed the Swiss-German border, the last few member states of the UN had signed their own declaration of war. It was our finest hour, the whole world united against a common foe, but look where we are now. Three years on, and we’re no closer to beating the Barrier than we were when it destroyed CERN.

The Barrier is our greatest foe, and there’s no way around it. The war continues, yet with each passing day, how many thousands of years of our history have been wiped from memory? I’ve heard people talk about how all we need to do is cut their head off their forces, their Sun, their Queen. But what happens then, if we do somehow put the Tyrant’s head on a spike, if the Alex Reiners and Stephan Bauers of the world do manage to kill her, and it doesn’t end there?

It was that sight, our technological marvels looking so small and inconsequential against the backdrop of the Tyrant’s ultimate weapon, which cemented the idea in my mind that our legacy, more than anything, is our only true defiance.

— Hanne Adler, on her photograph Unyielding Barrier, depicting an aerial squadron passing by the Barrier. Part of the greater collection Fallen Europe, the photograph won the Pulitzer Prize of 2020.

New York City, USA ~ November 15th, 2024 CE.

The photograph had been nothing short of her greatest work, Hanne thought. Her Raising the Flag on Iwo Jima. But she wondered, not for the first time, if it was or would be all for naught, while she quietly listened to Vladimir Putin speak.

“The dreams of utopia are easily corrupted. Few know that so well as the people of Russia.”

The man who had led – and continued to lead – Russia for twenty years spoke carefully, clearly. In another time, the West would have showered him with criticism the moment his bid for an unprecedented fifth term as President of Russia was announced. Yet here, with an uncertain future ahead, Vladimir Putin was the least of their concerns.

For all the benefits his reputation had granted him, it was the unspoken truth that Putin’s Russia, much like the rest of Europe, was long past its time, propped up by an aging statesman. There wasn’t much left of Russia, or of her people – they were, for all intents and purposes, a military without a country, whose claim to the Security Council, much like the United Kingdom and France, were tinged by lingering reputations from the Cold War. The same held true with Spain, Poland, and every single European state with some semblance of a government in-exile.

Few would doubt there were still shades of the old ruthlessness in the man, though. The world held its breath when the Russian Army detachment in Ukraine, rather than relieving the Ukrainian Army in Kyiv, had instead headed towards the old Chernobyl plant during the infamous campaign of 2021. Their orders, said to come from the President himself, were the culmination of Russia’s centuries old scorched tactics, and their success meant that it would be repeated throughout Eastern Europe where the old Soviet nuclear plants stood.

Cold, cruel and utterly immoral, the projected fallout meant most of Eastern Europe was doused in radiation. And though not all the reactor meltdowns were carried out properly before the Empire arrived or intervened, the intent was all too obvious. Putin remained adamant it was a necessary evil to halt the Empire’s push. The main strength of the Barrier was that it provided unassailable cover, and this tactic had heavily blunted it.

Not one week after the Barrier had enveloped the contaminated sites, the Queen arrived in person and cleansed it all herself.

As the elderly Russian President’s words faded, the room was filled with the sounds of typing, from both the attending delegation and the media presence.

To Hanne, the words sounded like an awfully poetic, morbid assessment of the Empire, although it hardly answered the looming question of humanity’s seemingly inevitable defeat.

Nobody wanted to admit the inevitable. But then, nobody could answer why it was inevitable.

Brushing away a strand of her hair, her finger on the camera’s shutter, she reflected on how long the summit had lasted. She didn’t mind much. All the more time to document the occasion. What more could she do? Here, she was amongst leaders old and new. None had seen such a monumental gathering in years.

She wished it was for something other than the quiet acceptance of their collective demise.

All those present in the summit, and the conference that followed, made it practically a who’s who of international authority and representation. The PHL was a given, as practically the only Equestrians willing to help out – except perhaps for the Equestrian Resistance, whose sole representative here was the liaison named “Gladmane”. Otherwise, the main PHL figures whom Hanne could see in attendance, on the left row facing the Council, were their acting leader, Cheerilee, the head of their R&D Department, Time Turner, and the Equestrian Princess-in-exile, Lady Cadenza.

Aside from PHL, there were of course Earth’s authority figures. Hanne knew their names well.

The old UN Security Council sat by their Secretary-General on his podium, the Chairman watching pensively while Putin finished his speech. She wondered what Peter Vanderbilt might be thinking, as he momentarily broke his gaze from the Russian President to exchange a glance with Antonio Guterres. His opinion on Putin could be no friendlier than the American President’s. Then again, common wisdom these days was that Xi Jinping was the man to look out for, Hanne reminded herself, her gaze wandering to the Chinese Premier. Next to these characters, President Mélenchon of France and Prime Minister Javid of the UK sat in the shadows.

There were many others gathered in the vast General Assembly, yet for the most part, those figures were the only ones the media and the public cared about. Some things never change.

Putin’s speech came to an end, and he sat back, looking his years.

On his podium, Guterres momentarily took over the reins again, beginning with some inconsequential small thanks to the Russian President for his contribution, then outlining the wider context, as he had countless times before, for everyone to take stock of.

This was the interval during which few people actually listened to the current speaker. Mutterings of chat arose among the assembly.  Hanne recognised Dovetail, one of the Deputy Heads of PHL R&D. He was flanked by a worried-looking Sarah Presley, the other Deputy Head of PHL R&D. They were chatting with Time Turner, their words unheard to all.

And, of course, they weren’t the only odd faces peppered throughout the assembly. Scientists, officers, and more who probably had some reason to be present.

Any other time, it should have been monumental. But the bitter truth was evident in their faces, from her colleagues to the highest of leaders, and yet on and on they toiled. Nobody much wanted to admit it. When it had all started with the foundation of UNAC, four years ago, the talks had been optimistic, hopeful, that the PHL’s existence might make for a game-changer.

Now, the PHL were just one of many awaiting the fatal touch of the Barrier.

On the stage, Guterres finished speaking, and the whole Council opened up for questions.

“General Vanderbilt, has there been talks with the Redcloaks?” asked a reporter. He was a colleague from the New York Times, Hanne remembered. Bill from Philadelphia? “Have the Redcloaks considered full involvement?”

The gruff Dutchman chosen to lead the United Nations Allied Command spoke up. His voice was wizened and guttural, but somehow clear as day as he spoke contemplatively.

“They’ve not, unfortunately,” he said calmly. “The Pretender Grizelda and her Redcloaks have yet to enter this war.”

A pause, as one of his aides leaned to inform him something. He shook his head.

“And that is all we’ll say on the matter.”

Carefully adjusting her camera, Hanne took another picture. She would get the chance to ask her question, but not now. She’d have that chance, she always did. For now, she’d wait. There were hundreds of leaders gathered here, from the smallest of nations in the Pacific, to the great powers that remained. Even further, the leaders of the PHL and various other militia, all welcomed here…

Members of the old guard who hadn’t been converted during the Purple Winter, or assassinated in the war. New faces thrust into the role of leading nations in these uncertain times. She remembered how Brazil, a place she personally held fond memories of, had been the source of mighty uproar when then-President Bolsonaro had refused entry of European and African refugees alike, and was swiftly elected out of office by the next election – though, Hanne noted, Bolsonaro’s pre-war actions had by then alienated even his staunchest supporters.

And then, of course, there were the leaders without a seat or place to call home.

Two of them were permanent members of the UN Security Council, but there were also those like Kramp-Karrenbauer, the nominal Chancellor of Hanne’s own native Germany. The bespectacled woman had taken charge in late 2019 amidst the chaos of Europe’s imminent fall. The fact Kramp-Karrenbauer was much like her predecessor had eased some things, but prior concerns of policies and whatnot became moot by the time the Barrier reached Berlin.

In truth, Europe’s presence in the UNAC leadership was a remnant from a bygone era. Each and every one of them, from prim and proper Kramp-Karrenbauer, to the haughty and proud Mélenchon, were there to keep up appearances. What had once been the centre of Western civilisation now lay in ruins, its legacy atomised, its people scattered to all four corners of the world. Now, Canada hosted a sizable diaspora of British, French, German and Dutch refugees, and whatever was left of Western Europe’s militaries scrambled to assemble in North America, waiting for the Barrier’s inevitable arrival past the Atlantic.

As the bitter joke went, the Royal Navy wasn’t just the United Kingdom’s historically most prominent military branch – it was the United Kingdom now.

“What of the ongoing PER pacification campaign?” asked another reporter. Hanne didn’t know her, but she was a colleague of Kahoku’s, her own friend from The Herald Tribune. Who, Hanne last remembered, was off somewhere in Boston. “Has the Stampede Fleet project been a success, President Kaine?”

Hanne turned her glance, and took a quick shot of the outgoing President of the United States. Despite calls for him to extend his presidency past the two terms, Tim Kaine had insisted on keeping the United States and her democratic traditions intact, and so planned on stepping down once his term had passed. Even amidst the violent protests his duly-elected successor had elicited in the South.

‘Clever enough, I suppose, Hanne absent-mindedly thought. ‘Remain as a sort of-regent to see her take the Oval Office. Be remembered as someone truly committed to democracy. Well played. Besides. We’ve had too many people since Montreal deciding the rules shouldn’t matter now.’

She watched, amidst flashes of cameras and shutter noises, as the man himself leaned forward to his microphone and spoke.

“I can say that the Stampede Fleet project has been largely a success.” Kaine answered, “Admiral Rebecca Kleiner and First Mate Thunderwing have faced multiple efforts by the Empire to gain island territory beyond the Barrier, and come out on top. Despite the memory of Thunderchild’s Fall, their PER guerrillas have yet to repeat any kind of targeted blow.”

Hanne had to give a tiny smirk when she spied Xi Jinping’s restrained irritation. The Stampede Fleet had been a project to put all naval assets in the Pacific under one banner, the PHL, as a unified fleet such as had never been seen since the end of the Second World War. A fleet to root out and challenge Imperial-aligned guerillas scattered in the Pacific.

Old rivalries die hard, and the entire Pacific Command, nominally under Chinese leadership, was split further alongside the Chinese and Japanese lines. Still, Jinping’s role as paramount leader of China was uninterrupted by the war. Antonio Guterres’ silence on China years ago remained politely uncommented, though rumours abounded that the Portuguese man would be replaced as the Secretary-General by the shrewd Vanderbilt when the time came.

But Kaine was a man who looked and spoke like a familiar face, and meant it. With his grandfatherly, light blue eyes, coupled with his rugged yet oddly charming looks and signature dark suit, he was a man to be welcomed by all. That alone was enough for Hanne and obviously millions of voters from both sides of the divide. And, it seemed, millions of people in the North American continent, from the United States to the millions of Europeans who now call Canada their home.

There lay some lingering doubts in Hanne’s mind, though. The ongoing armed conflict, invariably called an insurgency, a civil war, or rebellion in the United States, remained the elephant in the room for President Kaine. The Second American Civil War, some called it. UNAC’s assets alongside the PHL, the United States government, both major factions of the HLF, PER stragglers and many, many more wishing to carve out their own piece of land, before the Barrier hit and the Empire came knocking.

“What about rumours regarding strange activities in Southern New Jersey?” someone asked Kaine. “Are there any plans to investigate the Pinelands?”

“Not just yet,” Kaine answered solemnly, adjusting his blue-and-red patterned tie. “We lack the time to try and find any more information. I think we’d do ourselves better if we aren’t sending people out there with only rumours to go off of.”

Uncertain murmurs arose in the room.

Another reporter spoke up, another answer. The conference soon ground down to statements, vague answers, reassurances. On and on it went. As the meeting progressed, it all blurred together for Hanne.

At last, she decided to try for her question.

“What of the contingency?” she asked calmly. “What of the Barrier, of the effort to halt it?”

None picked up the question, at first. She knew it was a difficult one – classified intel was tricky to handle. Hanne regarded Cheerilee with a calm, gauging look. The mare looked uncomfortable sitting where Lyra Hearstrings had once sat. A former schoolteacher thrust to a position far above leading what had started as a humanitarian organisation should be.

She felt a string of sympathy towards the mare. To start somewhere so simple, only to ultimately be thrust high and into the spotlight. It would be almost akin to her being handed a rifle and expected to suddenly become a crackshot. And yet, Cheerilee did seem composed, despite the evident discomfort of her seating.

Maybe there was more to Cheerilee than Hanne was seeing. If this war has proven anything, it was that there’d always be more than what is immediately apparent on the surface. Maybe a former schoolteacher was just what the PHL needed right now.

But now there was something in Peter Vanderbilt’s and Cheerilee’s eyes.

And then Vanderbilt spoke once more.

“This meeting is adjourned,” Vanderbilt spoke, loud and clear, and the exit doors swung open. “All non-essential personnel are to be escorted out. That is all.”

Hanne gasped, but offered no resistance, as one by one their aides and security streamed them the media people out of the room.

Just before the door closed, Hanne saw nothing but resigned acceptance from Cheerilee.

“You cannot be serious,” Time Turner told the Council. “It’s not even physically possible to destroy that much of the entire North American continent. Do you have any idea how enormous a single landmass is, General?”

Cheerilee sighed. She knew this was coming. But the truth of the matter was simple, the PHL were just one part of the greater whole, however much of a hero Lyra Heartstrings was to both these suffering worlds. At the end of the day, it would be men who drove the plan.

“Well, no-one’s ever tried it,” Vanderbilt said dryly. Cheerilee heard murmurs of agreement from the much emptier room. “But… we’d be making this world uninhabitable for them.”

Every nuclear weapon UNAC could get its member-states to gather together, poised to detonate in the Yellowstone Caldera. A simple, mad, suicidal plan. Anyone sane could see it was far, far too desperate an idea. 

But it was only a matter of time before the likes of New Delhi or Rio de Janeiro, or the breadbaskets of the American heartland, the Yangtze and the Ganges, would be hit by the Barrier. To leave their final enemy a death world would be justice, in the eyes of the dead.

“That only works if she can’t remove the radiation, given time.” Turner put in. “Look, you can’t kill yourselves, people... You can’t make that choice for every last surviving man, woman and child on Earth. If Yellowstone fails, and it will, you’ve given every single living creature on Earth a choice... to die by something we haven’t even fully understood yet, or to die by the Queen’s touch.”

“Is it so difficult a choice?” Putin asked in return, but Cheerilee wondered if he, who’d lived through Chernobyl, believed his own words. Perhaps it was lip service. She found it difficult he would hand over Russia’s arsenal so willingly.

“We’ve run everything else past your department, Doctor,” Vanderbilt said wearily. “Slowing the Barrier, Barrier-resistant materials, the Thunderchild… If I could do anything, literally anything else, it’d require a miracle to drop out of the sky right in front of me.”

Guterres sighed. “He’s right. I don’t like it, but... It’s not like we have other options.”

In the Council, Mélenchon spoke. “To save ourselves from ponification? I hardly see that as a bad thing. If we can’t have everything that makes us human, our souls... Then nothing should.”

Putin nodded. Jinping steepled his hands. Kaine rubbed his forehead. Javid gave a curt nod.

“Spiting the enemy isn’t the point,” Turner said irritably, “nor is this misguided… I’d call it a sacrifice, but I’m not sure that applies here. There’s more at stake than Earth, more at stake than humanity. Even if this planet Earth of ours is scorched, it won’t stop the Empire. It will only delay them from trying this, on another Earth… with all the lessons they’ve learned from fighting here.”

“What do you mean?” Vanderbilt asked, pushing his glasses up.

Turner sighed. “There are other lives, other worlds, not just the Equus and Earth we know. If we don’t succeed here, then… then Celestia is free to keep going.”

“I concur,” said Dovetail. “You know Celestia’s ideology that humanity is the accursed Thirteenth of the Twelve Families of Equus. It won’t satisfy her desire for perfection until she has accomplished a clean subjugation of humanity into the fold of her kind. If she’s opened a way to one parallel world, why not others?”

“With all due respect, Doctor Turner, Dovetail,” the Russian President asked coldly, “why should we care for these hypothetical other worlds? If we can’t win this war, I say, death is preferable to eternal mindless servitude.”

Time Turner scowled. “Then you abrogate responsibility for untold lives, billions if not more. Are you prepared to do that?”

The reactions to Time Turner’s rebuttal were various and mixed. Some, like Kaine, paused thoughtfully over the question, while others refused to speak. It was obvious, though, that there was an effect on the assembled.

Cheerilee opened her mouth to speak. But she couldn’t, really. No one knew yet of Alexander Reiner’s fate.

For now, she could only listen, as humanity’s top brass prepared the final plan. On her end of the leadership figures, Spitfire and Pineapple Nectar were out in the field, but she heard Vinyl Scratch speak up, Cadance and Moondancer share the same, resigned look, Time Turner preparing to argue with Vanderbilt, and even Gladmane looked like he’d rather not be in this meeting at all.

And then came the question.

“And now I must ask,” said Kaine. “Where is Alexander Reiner? He should be here.”

Cheerilee looked at him, shaking her head.

“Still no news...”

“On a secret mission, I suppose?” Putin asked sardonically, despite knowing full well that Reiner had seemingly disappeared into thin air. “PHL. Always running around, no oversight.”

The implication was clear. I would do it differently.

“No, Mister President,” Cheerilee said, trying hard to keep an insult from sneaking its way in. Putin just wanted her to say what he knew aloud. “As in, he’s gone. During the attack on the library, he vanished.”

Lady Cadance stood up.

“We… we don’t know,” she said, lowering her gaze. “We sent in some of our best to track him in the ruins of the building, but… nothing. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”

She was trying her hardest to keep the despair out of her voice, but Cheerilee heard it. Cadance still blamed herself for not having been with Alex when the Imperials’ attack came, as they hijacked Amethyst’s transfer portal.

It was only recently that Cadance had admitted she was there at all. He swift action had ensured the teleportation to safety of the refugees in the Smith Hall, the rescue of Amethyst and Bonbon… but not Zecora, or, crucially, Alex.

She bore it hard.

Next to her, Moondancer, though she looked similarly disheartened, patted her on the shoulder. As Head of Cultural Preservation, she’d contributed to the revamping of the John F. Kennedy Library and Museum. Its destruction by the Empire wouldn’t have been easy on her.

“Miss Cherry, do you have anything to add?” asked Vanderbilt, suddenly.

And Cheerilee’s heart sank when she saw each and every single pair of eyes turn to her. Even her own PHL, from Turner to Vinyl, from Cadance to Dovetail to even Pineapple Nectar.

She shook her head.

“The war’s not lost yet, is it?” she said simply. “We… we need to keep looking, gentlemen. There has to be another way…”

As heated talk erupted once more, she wondered, not for the first time, if Lyra had anything in mind to end this forsaken war…

“They removed us! We had a pass for this, Dieter. Argh! I can’t believe their nerve.”

Hanne hadn’t felt this incensed since she’d missed the opportunity to give Stephan Bauer his world-renowned nickname as the Knight of Germania. Yet, here she was, stuck with so many other journalists wandering about outside the General Assembly. The murmurs grew louder and louder amongst them. Indeed, to them as to her, removal from the Assembly was unwelcome.

Her partner, bless him, seemed comparatively nonchalant. He’d been awaiting her outside, for once the conference was done. And finished it was, though far, far too early.

“You can’t really blame them,” Dieter said tentatively. Hanne’s piercing blue glare went unheeded. “You know how it goes, Hanne. Happens all the time.”

“The Barrier, Dieter, for God’s sake!” she said, raising her voice. This drew glances, but she did not care. “Fuck, I... we need answers! Five years, Dieter. Five god-forsaken years, and every single damn time we ask, no one’s got a clue what to do about the damn thing!”

Her reply soon trailed off, apart from her own groans and muttered curses.

She ruffled her hair. It wasn’t fair. Such a meeting shouldn’t be held behind closed doors, and Hanne couldn’t remember the last time a meeting of this scale was, ultimately, made secret. But there was no use grumbling about it, not when someone like Peter Vanderbilt had ordered their removal from the Assembly. 

“You’re right,” she said, defeated. “Now what are we supposed to do? We still have a few days to go here, damn it all.”

In response, Dieter gave her an sympathetic pat on the back, and his brown eyes met hers. His youthful, warm features belied the fact that he, like Hanne, was getting on in years.

“Come now, love,” he said lightly. “It was going to be a long day anyway, yeah?”

“Yeah,”  said Hanne resignedly. “I guess so.”

Her partner smiled, and Hanne returned it, reluctantly. Always the optimist, Dieter, though long past the days when he’d been less inhibited in his cheerfulness. He was her steadfast companion throughout the entire war, and then some. Though she dearly missed her family, Hanne knew that at the very least they’d been safe when she embarked on her personal journey – Dieter, sweet Dieter, was there every step of the way.

They’d even gone and made plans for their retirement, somewhere in Germany. But no matter how jocular he’d been when she suggested it, the reality of the war always loomed.

In the end, she wished the war was never meant to be, that she and Dieter and all her friends could have lived out a content, peaceful life, like they had until the day that portal opened in Geneva, eight years ago.

It had been a cruel twist of fate that her lifelong dream of making her mark on this world, to be remembered, came true as humanity waged its greatest and most desperate war of all. Her personal ambition had turned from ensuring her remembrance to humanity’s.

She tightened her hands. They were trembling again, as they sometimes did. 

Through her time on the frontlines, Hanne had seen death and despair, and impossible hope. She’d seen cultures and tribes who’d rarely even seen a white man – let alone a pony – being evacuated from all they’d ever known, among people whose language they could barely speak, into completely alien settings..

To this day, the experience of the poor Kumzari in Southern Oman had stuck with her. There were so many things they just hadn’t understood when a coalition of the Omani government and European militaries had come to evacuate them. They’d called some things magic, and Hanne’s interpreter had never really been sure how to explain the difference between, say, someone freehand-climbing a cliff-face and a unicorn using actual magic. 

None of them fought to stay – that time, anyway – which was a relief. After they’d been shown footage of what the Barrier would do, they let themselves get herded into boats and helicopters over to Burma.

UNAC and its allies had shunted these people who knew almost nothing of the world outside their peninsula, into terrible apartments that sprung up in barely any time at all. All of a sudden, they had… they had to find jobs. In countries where they didn’t speak the language. In places where they saw more new people in a day than they might have in all their lives.

There was an ex-military colleague of Hanne’s by the name of Will N. Davidson. He’d also been at the Kumzar Evacuation, and he’d become well-known for his – sarcastically titled – photo ‘The Rescued’, which depicted an old Kumzari man – his name was Hassan – in a bare, Spartan apartment made for Barrier evacuation, overlooking a bustling port.

The look on the man’s face was beyond description.

A cliché, sure, but however Hanne tried to describe the look on Hassan’s face, she failed. It looked forlorn, it looked like he barely understood where he was, it looked lonely, it looked wistful, and it looked profoundly alienated. And still it barely seemed to encapsulate the feelings of Davidson’s photo.

Hassan wasn’t the only one. There were people who’d found themselves homeless or destitute practically overnight. It was as if the Barrier had not just uprooted humanity but exploded underneath it, flinging debris every which way.

She thought of the International Space Station. Adrift in space, helpless to watch the Barrier envelop the world in its sickening pink glow. The astronauts sent there knew what they were signing up for, at this point, and last she heard, Cape Canaveral had converted to a fortress. Reconnaissance, weather reports, anything that could be of use for the high command. When the Barrier hits New Zealand, whoever was left up there would be the last of humanity.

And on and on the question went for her, the very same question that haunted her.

Would all her effort be worth it? Would any of them be remembered?

She gripped her camera tightly. She had to try. Dieter, Ana, Jan. Kurt and Katrin. Dortmund, Germany, Europe... People like Hassan, friends and family, her home, and the very Earth which she, which they lived on. The people she’d seen, from all the ends of the earth. One home. One people. They were all the same now.

All their sins. All their achievements. All the memories and legacy left behind.

They deserved to be remembered. And try she would.

Then she felt her phone buzz in her pocket.

She glanced down, surprised, and took it out. Her phone was outdated, true, but her favourite vendor was long gone – and really, quality replacements were rare these days.

Message by message, her contacts had all gone silent one by one. She hurriedly scrolled past ‘Elrik’ and ‘Hilde’, and ‘Lars’ and ‘Hendrik’ and…

She shook her head. The time to mourn would come once more. Apart from Dieter, she still had Jan, that dear reliable man. Last she’d heard, he was working for a cultural preservation foundation, a noble task. And there she read Ana Bjorgman’s message – the bubbly, kindly girl whom she knew and had once loved remained in touch much as Jan had, and even more so, but the last time Ana had contacted her was a few weeks ago. She’d obviously been busy with whatever work it was she did for the PHL.

‘See you in the States! Talk to you soon, Hanne’ had been Ana’s last message to her.

Well, ‘soon’ wasn’t something everyone took for granted nowadays, but at least it helped to keep up old pretenses.

Hanne saw the newest message. It was from Lani Sanderson.

She smiled softly. The Hawaiian was a good photographer, rivalries aside. Different areas covered between the two of them, and their mutual drive to capture the finest shots had given them several different collections already.

Her smile faltered when she saw what Lani had sent.

‘Hanne, get to Boston, ASAP,’ it read. ‘Something’s going down. Imperial attack. Alicorn. Can’t talk much. Just be here.’

Perhaps it’d be a terrible mistake to be impulsive at this time of the year. All other risks aside, the cold winds were blowing through the Eastern Seaboard. Winter was in full force, while she was here in a warm, comfortable lounge at the UN Headquarters.

But Hanne wouldn’t be Hanne if she remained still.

She stood up so suddenly, Dieter flinched hard. With a single move, she grabbed her bag and headed towards the Assembly.

“Hanne! What is it–” Dieter said, hurriedly adjusting his tie, and moving to join her side.

“Let’s go, Dieter.”

By the time Cheerilee noticed the reporters marching back into the General Assembly, there was little the soldiers on duty could say or do to halt them, not when the cameras were still rolling. They crowded the entryway, murmuring, their unsaid questions felt keenly in the air, more distinct even than what snatches she caught from amongst the hub-bub.

Loath as Cheerilee was to acknowledge, the fact was that many questions echoed her own.

“Oh, God, is this it? Surely the Barrier can’t have made landfall already?”

“No, if that were the case, wouldn’t they be targeting us here, the heart of the UN?”

“Seems kind of daft to hold a big conference like this so close to the shore, doesn’t it? Even with all the beefed-up security we put in place…”

“One last big hurrah, you might say. I’d say it was worth it, wouldn’t you?”

One reporter, a blonde and blue-eyed woman, gave a cheeky little wave to those still within the Assembly.

None dared yet to speak aloud. None of the leaders assembled, nor their staff. Taking in the sight, the murmurs growing silent, Cheerilee steeled herself and spoke aloud.

“Well, what is it?”

‘Okay… okay, breathe...’ Hanne thought.

These were UNAC and the PHL sitting right there. Watching. Anticipating. All while countless others were in the dark about Captain Reiner’s survival, grasping at straws and hoping for the slightest good news while knowing that it wouldn’t come.

“Hi, hello!” she called out. “Right. Pardon the interruption. But… answers?”

‘Way to blow it, Hanne.’

Vanderbilt must have recognised her as the final reporter, the one who’s question he’d not pretended to answer. He gave her an intense, scrutinising look through his glasses. But he nodded and let her proceed.

“Look, sorry, I just got a message from Boston, alright? Something’s happened there. Right now, we need information more than anything.”

“Same here!” another reporter called out. And another, and another. 

A man in Royal Brigardier uniform sidled up to Vanderbilt, whispering something into his ear. His brow darkened, and he stood up.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vanderbilt said. “As it happens, Brigardier Merrick’s just informed me that Boston’s gone dark. It looks like Captain Reiner isn’t our only matter of urgence. Miss Cherry?”

Cheerilee was up in a microsecond. “I’ll notify all PHL forces in the Boston area to converge on the city. But we need to maintain a defensive presence here, in New York. This could be the Empire’s diversionary tactic while we’re gathered for this conference.”

And no one, Hanne thought, could deny that at all.

‘Ana’s in Boston!’ the thought struck her. ‘Oh, please let her be safe…’

~ Boston, USA ~
— Forty-five minutes earlier

There, atop her post, Ana Bjorgman stood guard, the cold cutting into her cheek.

Or, she would have been standing guard, if she wasn’t contemplating the old photograph she held in her hand. It was faded with age, even under her gentle care, but it remained one of her most treasured belongings.

She found her own eyes staring back at her in the photo. Youthful, lively, as she strived to be even now. She was smiling there, and beside her, with their arms around one another, was Hanne – grumpy, ambitious, protective Hanne Adler, with her signature piercing blue gaze, and the ever-tranquil, sturdy, gentle Jan. That day, Hanne had grabbed onto her, just as had Ana onto Jan, and she’d snapped a quick shot with her polaroid that day. She’d always had a sharp eye for moments.

Now, one was a war photographer, the other a volunteer in cultural preservation. While she, petite, gentle Ana, was whatever it entailed to be an Agent of the PHL. Mainly waiting around the ranks while waiting for her Case Officer to activate her.

There were others in the photo, of course. Old friends, from happier times. But the two directly by her side on that shot from so long ago, they were all she had left. She strove to remember each face as best she could.

Delicately, she placed the photograph back into her breast pocket. There would be another time to mourn. For all of them...

Ana looked into the distance, her gaze sweeping the derelict, nighttime skyline of what was once a lively city, settled amidst the falling snow. The clouds continued to gather above, coating the frozen landscape in a chilly layer of snow pockmarked by darkened soot. Here, in the lull of battle, Boston remained a ghost town.

All was quiet on the front, yet Ana knew there had to be something out there among the ruins, stalking, watching. Much like she was.

She was all too grateful that here, she held dominance over the field with her weapon of choice.

“Status report?” the communications officer squawked, along the line. 

Ana had seen him in person once, a dark orange stallion with a silver and brown mane. Seville Orange, his name was.

“This is Metro Squad,” someone else said. Their voice had a prominent Russian accent. “We’re at the Redline. Been checking our tunnel perimeters for hours. Nothing’s here. Over.”

“And I thank you for taking that job,” Seville Orange said. “Couldn’t pay me enough to take that assignment. Over.”

“By the Golden Lyre, comms officer,” the other said. Ana’s first guess was a pegasus mare with a deep voice, but she couldn’t be sure. “Urban combat is its own kind of Tartarus. I’m shaking like a breezie down here! Over.”

A pause. “Aren’t you part bat or something, Nebula? Um, over.”

“We both know that’s not true. And thestral or not,” Nebula said, “I’m still a pegasus. I still don’t like this. Over.”

“And yet, here we are,” Seville said. “Over and out.”

Another pause. Ana coughed.

“Ze’ev Squad here. All clear on this end, Forward Base Attucks,” crackled a new voice over her earpiece.

Ana vaguely recognised it as belonging to Oscar Mikkelsen, the strange, reserved PHL man she had met at the campfire with the penal squad. Lately, she’d heard rumours through the grapevine  – that he looked hideous beneath that helmet of his, all thanks to chemical weaponry.

She didn’t put much stock in the rumours, though. From what she’d seen of him, he seemed nice enough. It couldn’t be that bad.

“Copy that, Corporal Mikkelsen,” Seville Orange said. “It’s scary how quiet they are, huh? Oh, and, over.”

“It certainly is,” said Aegis, the huge stallion who’d sat next to Viktor Kraber not so long ago. Never seemed to leave his side, actually. “I tell you, back during the Crystal War, this was the worst part. Over.”

“Aweh, my bru,” Kraber cut in. “Just give me something to cut into, shoot, burn! This is the fokkin’ worst. I can’t just set monotony on fire!“

There was a long, awkward pause, until everyone realised Kraber wasn’t going to finish his message according to proper procedure.

“Not For Lack Of Trying, Mind You,” Quiette Shy said over the radio. “We Put A Lot Of Effort Into It That One Time. Over.”

Inexplicably, there was no radio crackle when she cut in.

“You’re all crazy,” sighed an unfamiliar man. Ana had heard him with Ze’ev’s squad, heard everyone calling him Bro. Apparently it was short for Ambrosius. “Ahem, over.”

“And that’s been a resume-killer for the PHL since when, exactly? Over,’” asked someone with an accent halfway between Israel and Cloudsdale.

Ana recognised this one as Heliotrope, the pegasus who’d taken Lani Sanderson’s video footage of Luna and the Tyrant in Reykjavik thanks to her unique invisibility suit.

‘She’s here?’ Ana asked herself. ‘This really is serious.’

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” said a voice unmistakable as Yael Ze’ev. “Now. Soldiers, we stop hogging the airwaves. This is an official channel, not a radio station. Over!”

“Thank God,” said a woman with a slight Scandinavian accent, and an odd upward inflection that made those words sound like a question. Nothing Ana could place, surprisingly, despite her own accent. “You and Kraber vould’ve used it to play Captain Beefheart anyvay. Over.”

“I take offense to that, Eva,“ Kraber said. “I would’ve tried to play some Biting Elb–”

His voice cut out abruptly.

‘Lieutenant Ze’ev must’ve shut them off… also, what kind of name is... Captain Beefheart?’ Ana wondered.

“It might seem unprofessional,” Seville Orange said, “But they’re pretty on-edge. I say, let them have this. Over.”

It was understandable enough. 

“Ze’ev is right, however.” said a female voice, cold as steel. “If you’re going to spend your time chatting, do it on a radio station. If not, then focus on the situation at hand, she finished, before adding, “Old North Church is secure. Over.”

“Still listening to the chatter, eh?”

Frieda had cut into said chatter, chuckling. Ana hadn’t seen her come up the ladder, but the two filled canteens she brought along told Ana where she’d been.

The griffon was one of many that had come to Earth, affiliated with UNAC, but also tied with the PHL by virtue of her partnership with Ana, acting as her spotter. Her sleek grey feathers contrasted strongly with the PHL vest she wore, and they bristled in the cool night’s breeze.

Ana nodded, taking in the warm canteen in her hand. It tasted like Heaven on Earth, too.

“Thanks... and, well, heh, yeah,” Ana said, smiling warmly. “What else can I do? It’s… nice to hear some normal talk for once.”

“I’m sure the higher-ups would tell them off for using a comms channel like that,” Frieda said, “But Seville is right. It’s just…”

“There’s nothing out there right now,” answered Ana. “I haven’t got anything in the sights.”

It wasn’t that Ana was hoping for a battle, though some PHL troops certainly were. It was more how unnerving she found the silence. There were PHL all over the city, patrolling what little of Boston they still controlled. With the Barrier making landfall in Nova Scotia, Imperial troops had swarmed into Massachusetts, and some parts of the city – far past the no-one’s-land, in the more Northern suburbs – had fallen a long time ago.

And yet…

Nothing.

“Yeah,” Frieda affirmed, with a huff. “Nothing much.”

She paused with a smirk. 

‘How do griffons do that, anyway?’ Ana thought.

“Not interested in jumping in the chat?” Frieda teased, a sly look to her golden eyes. “I thought it might’ve been your thing.”

Ana chuckled, rubbing the back of her head. It was quite chilly, and her shorter haircut meant she felt it further. Perhaps she should have applied for an exception – but of course, her sway with the PHL brass could only go so far.

“Not really, no,” Ana said, sipping her coffee. “Jumping in with Ze’ev Squad would’ve felt… like jumping on a train midway through. Besides, I prefer… well, face to face. Feels better that way.”

“I understand that,” Frieda said. “How you humans are so happy using phones or social media, I will never know.”

“It’s convenient,” Ana said, shrugging. “Gotta keep in touch with my friends, but it’s just… it’s just not the same.”

“No,” agreed a familiar, and very much welcome voice, and Ana looked back just in time to see Harwood’s head peek through the trap door behind them. “It really isn’t.”

“Harwood!” Ana greeted, and her partner gave a pleasant smile.

“Ana, Frieda,” he said. The perch, cozy as it was, felt a little tight with three people on top, but Ana didn’t mind, and she moved a little to allow him in.

“The doctor is in,” Frieda deadpanned.

“Indeed he is,” Harwood said cheerfully. “Thought I might bring you this.”

Before Ana could enquire any further, the Englishman produced an envelope from his vest, and presented it in an all-too formal manner.

“Came with the post, this morning, and as luck would have it, I’m stationed here, too.”

She accepted the envelope – and started at the address.

“Boston?” Ana remarked, reading through the addressee. “This is right across town. Who would…?”

“You tell me,” said Harwood lightly. “Honestly I expected it to be from Indonesia. I think you might’ve caught a fan or two out of all those kids. Or all of them, really. Who knows?”

“Teaching, huh?” Frieda ribbed her, smirking. “Didn’t know you were up for it.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Harwood.

“Real funny, Har,” Ana replied, but her hands trembled. She hadn’t really had the time to properly say goodbye to the children she’d taught in Jakarta. She had, after all, been called to the United States on short notice, and hardly a proper word of goodbyes was exchanged then. But this was no child’s letter.

She set aside the rifle and sat up straighter. The lamp in the perch provided enough light, she hoped, and she opened the envelope.

It was filled with scratchy handwriting. As it was, after all, a pony’s mouth wasn’t the ideal tool to write with, and her friend was no different. She held the letter closer to the lamp.

Dear Ana,

I hope this photo finds you well. I found it among my stuff. Sorry. I’ve had to write this with little time. Things are a little busy here.

Love,
~ Dearheart

PS: How are Harwood, Tanner, and Jaka doing? I hope they are alright, too.

PPS: Verity said hi, and Amber and Rivet.

Another photo for her collection of memories...

She raised it from the envelope, letting the light shine upon its surface. There, she saw herself, brightly smiling, her hair long and braided. Her arm was around Harwood’s shoulder. He also wore a cool, pleasant smile. And the pair of them wore the same dark, lightly armoured tactical uniform worn by UNAC and PHL personnel, though lighter in gear than what he had on now. But Ana’s eyes were drawn to the pony besides her.

There was a certain melancholy to the cream-coloured, golden-eyed pegasus mare that stood besides her. For Dearheart, sweet as she was, was a mare that never really belonged wherever she went. And far-off Indonesia, tropical, exotic, but hostile as time went by, was no place for her.

Now, Ana thought, she might have found her place after all, amongst the alleged HLF. 

“Is she doing okay?” asked Harwood worriedly. “The HLF aren’t… you know.”

“Well,” Ana said, pondering briefly, allowing herself a reassuring smile “Verity Carter wouldn’t dare.”

“Mmm,” Frieda mused. “What’d they assign her to do anyways? I mean… it’s the HLF. Not much work for, you know. Ex-Imperial.”

“She wasn’t an Imperial, Frieda,” Ana said firmly. “Just… a bit misguided.”

“Advocating Conversion sounds a lot more than bit.”

“So did Fiddlesticks Apple, and she’s a full-fledged PHL member now,” said Ana. “Besides, it was when they used the Slow Potion, I’d say the folks at the HLF needs all the help they can get. Between R&D and the field ops… well, yeah. Better there than be handed a gun.”

She tapped her PHL badge, to which Frieda shrugged. It was an unspoken truth that the actual relief and aid department of the PHL was the largest, and least glamorous section of the PHL. Between the exotic, advanced research carried out by their R&D, and the dashing exploits of the much smaller Field Operations wing, it seemed rather quiet by comparison, but Ana thought highly of them nonetheless.

“Ponies for Human Life, remember?”

“Eh, fair enough,” said Frieda, and Harwood nodded, too. Ana cleared her throat.

“So,” she said, softly. “Any… letters for you?”

Her partner sighed.

“I don’t do letters,” said Harwood. “Who’d write to me?”

“I would,” Ana said, laughing. “If I wasn’t here and you were, over there, you know, heh.”

“Of course you would,” Harwood said. His smirk turned warm. “Though in this case, I suppose I owe you one.”

“Owe what to me?”

“A birthday gift,” Harwood said simply. “It’s in a month, isn’t it? And I haven’t even thought of Christmas with the others. Jaka should be back from New York sometime, and Tanner would be open to a truce on Christmas, I’d say.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the Empire is all for it, Harwood,” said Frieda. 

“Chin up,” said Harwood. “I could even try to offer them one now. Could use a break, really.”

Ana held back a fit of laughter, though wary of she was of drawing attention, her muffled laughter came out as a bizarre hiccup. Harwood merely shrugged, and Frieda was looking at her as though she’d grown a second head. Ana didn’t care at all. She kept her smile, hidden beneath her hand, as the dirty snow continued to fall over Boston and the cold winds howled.

Christmas in wartime was hardly a new phenomenon, Harwood had reminded her once, but there was always a meaning to it. A day or two respite against the encroaching war, against the losing fight. And this was how Ana wanted to remember it.

These days, her thoughts tended to wander, and as her muffled laugh subsided, and she turned to regard her partner with a longing gaze.

Pursuing a relationship was always a difficult option. Moreso when she had joined the Field Operations wing of the PHL, in addition to her work in R&D. Yet, a tiny part of Ana wished there were more time to spend with him, in silence, for all the little stolen moments simply didn’t feel enough. One day, she’d thought, there'd come a time when the war would be far off, and they would have peace.

Reality, as it is, is difficult to swallow. So they kept it open, so to speak.

More than once, Ana had wondered if there really was a future, to even consider an afterwards, beneath the ashen sky, with the Barrier less than a hundred miles away. A slow, painful death, but to think about it was to give in to despair. And Ana didn’t like despair.

Sighing, she glanced at her wind marker, a tiny flag beside her to show where the wind blew.

It was still.

She blinked.

‘... Huh?’

She tightened her scarf, and glanced up into the clouded, ash-filled winter sky.

Except there were no clouds, no winds, only the nighttime sky. The entire city was now basked in the eerie glow of a full moon none had seen in months. And there, in the distance, at the centre of it all, stood an equine shape.

“Harwood… do you see that?” Ana said, breathless.

Tall, elegant, and harrowing, it hovered with each beat of its dark wings. The clouds began to clear, little by little, wth each beat of its wings. The moonlight shining through the clouds cast it in an eerie glow, intertwined with the scattered lights of Boston, and the aura of magic that emanated from its… horn?

“I see it,” he replied. His expression had gone grave, for wings and horn could only mean–

“Alicorn,” Frieda said. The griffon’s characteristic snark had died down, and she stared hard at the figure emerging above them. “Alicorn. We got– we got an alicorn situation.”

“Code Regina?” Ana whispered. Her rifle felt weightless, meaningless, as the moonlight shimmered down on the battlefield.

“I’m calling it in, Christ,” Harwood continued in that icy, fearful tone of his. Hand reaching for his radio, he gripped Ana with the other, and she saw nothing but primal fear. ”Ana, this is one target you can’t take on, we need to–”

Then, it spoke. And, remarkably, wondrously, the alicorn spoke in musical, lilting English.

“Have no fear, people of Earth.” It was a booming voice, everywhere and here at once. The alicorn’s aura continued to glow, illuminating her fully, and her armoured, cloaked form became fully visible. “For we are here.”

Harwood’s grip grew tighter on Ana’s shoulder, and she reached up to hold his hand. If this was the spark that lit the battle once more...

“Keep the target in your sights. Possible unknown hostile... be advised,” Tanner’s steely voice said over the radio. Calm he may have been, Ana imagined him to have had cold sweat running down his brow. 

“Stay where you are!” an officer continued, high and shrill in the megaphone. This, Ana could tell, was one of the PHL’s own, for no creature on the planet could produce such a frightened tone in sight of what appeared to the world as an alicorn. “Stay where you are or we will open fire!”

“Do not fret or fear!” the figure yelled back, and her voice continued to echo throughout the city. “Stand down, for we wish to speak to your leaders!”

“Steady,” Harwood whispered out. His hand had reached for his shield. Frieda had her rifle gripped tightly as well. Yet below the post, Ana heard not a single word, for all eyes were fixed upon the armour-clad alicorn.

Ana said nothing, biting her lower lip nervously, and her finger tensed. The armoured figure was within her sights, now. If word had spread far and wide, there were thousands of other barrels pointed straight at the figure.

But if it wasn’t the Tyrant… who else could it be?

‘It could be Luna.’ the little voice in her head said breathlessly, or at least Ana thought she heard it. ‘She has to be, I– you know what she’s like.

No, that didn’t make sense. Couldn’t make sense. Luna had been petrified for going against the rule of the Solar Empire, going against her sister. She was a statue, she was dead, she was gone, gone, gone…

Ana held her breath. Harwood was a comforting presence, as he’d always been to her. And yet in this uncertainty, she wasn’t sure whatever happened next would leave them unscathed at all. Her finger tightened, not enough to fire a round – but if the figure moved suddenly, if the order was given, Ana would be ready.

She wasn’t sure it’d make any difference, though.

Heliotrope had seen the dark alicorn petrified. Had she been calmer at that very moment, she would’ve been thinking something like ‘Come on. Act like adults, people.’ It had become a common refrain in recent memory.

Instead, from this very rooftop, she was staring in shock at the armoured figure well in range of the combined arms of the PHL.

“Isn’t she dead?” Heliotrope asked. “Or something?”

“Well, you know what they say,” Kraber said, smirking. “You just can’t kill people like you used to.”

“You and zombies,” Aegis said, sighing. “Honestly, it was the one time! Let it go.”

Their whispers faded as the alicorn spoke.

“Please, we mean no harm!” she said, and every instinct in them screamed that she meant exactly the opposite of what she’d said. “Your worries are not unfounded, but truly, we bring nothing but good tidings!”

A long, long pause followed. Even the cold winds seemed to slow.

“Everyone hold your fire,” Yael said. “That’s absolutely Princess Luna.”

Another pause.

“...WHAT?” Someone had broken silence over the radio. 

“I’d recognise that voice anywhere,” Yael stated with assurance. 

“Are you sure?” the Norwegian sniper Kraber had met spoke up, afraid, and now very much confused. ‘Nordlys here, I… I have target in sight... waiting for orders, over.’

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Heliotrope said. “Unless you’re about to say that the...” 

Then her voice trailed off.

“If she what?” ‘Nordlys’ asked.

“Never mind. Bad joke. Wouldn’t have helped,” Heliotrope said, the words coming out fast and ragged. “Yael and I saw her in person. I know what she looks like.”

She looked up to Yael. 

“Yael. Back me up here.”

“It could be a trick,” Yael said, stonefaced under her helmet’s transparent visor. An adaptation that the late Ambassador Heartstrings had insisted upon, as it made PHL easier to empathise with. 

‘Oh sweet mother of–  not again.’

“Better confirm it fast, Leftenant, we got a few snipers set up,” an English officer – Tanner, Heliotrope remembered – chimed in. ‘Nordlys, keep that alicorn in sights. Combat situation is Code Regina, might have to call in heavy ordinance, over.’

‘I read you, over,’ Nordlys affirmed, but still there was that lingering doubt planted in each and every one of their minds.

Heliotrope switched off her earpiece. “I’m going to need you to help me out. Off the channel,” she said, looking to Yael. “Something’s bothering me, but… I’m a bit worried about getting too close.”

“You?” Kraber asked, raising an eyebrow.

“In my defense, I nearly died last time,” Heliotrope said. “Bro. I need you to pass me some binoculars.”

“Don’t you have crazy-good pegasus eyes, Lieutenant?” Bro asked, but he passed them to her anyway.

“I certainly do,” Heliotrope said, holding the pair of old binoculars on her hooves. She stared through them so intently she wondered if her eyes would rub against the lenses.

The first thing she noticed was that the dark alicorn’s mane was a full-bodied blue-black, flowing in a nonexistent wind. 

‘What.’

But the last time, Luna had been… drained. Stripped of power. Easily turned to stone. Meanwhile, the second thing Heliotrope noticed lay in the set of black armour she wored, lined with silver-blue metal. The whole thing was much unlike any recent Imperial design, ornate… maybe even majestic. A far cry from the increasingly practical, sleek, and dull-coloured Imperial Guard armour of the past few years. And yet Heliotrope saw that beneath the intricacies and carvings, it was very clearly functional, leaving ‘Luna’ fully protected.

‘Where’d she get that?’

“Wha… oh,” she said. “That’s a bit odd.”

She felt everyone inching closer, like children around a computer screen.

“Was ist d…” she heard Kraber ask, in German. Then, switching back to Afrikaans: “En nou?” 

“Her mane’s got colour in it,” Heliotrope said. “Either the Tyrant gave it back, or something weird’s going on here.”

“So Then It’s Something Weird,” Quiette Shy said. 

“Well, that narrows it down,” Aegis interrupted, deadpan.

“Also, Isn’t She Wearing Armour?” Quiette Shy asked. “Have any of us seen that armour?”

“That’s… no that’s, that’s not Imperial armour,” Heliotrope said. “It’s not– it doesn’t look like it was made by ponies, that’s for sure.”

“Sure wish Lunar Phase was here,” Kraber said. “She’d know everything about thi–”

Another figure appeared, besides the black-clad alicorn. Hard to describe, tall, and thin. Looking like it had been made from far too many different creatures. Or the Twelve Families of Equus.

‘...What.’

“That’s Discord,” Heliotrope said flatly, open-mouthed.

At the North End of Boston, within the top of the Old North Church, UNAC Corporal Maxine Radwick kept her gun’s sight strictly on the two figures. While the sudden appearance of the new one was a surprise, to say nothing of its build and physical features, it was not the focus. No, that went towards the black-clad alicorn who seemed to be making loud proclamations to attract attention.

What she actually said was lost on Maxine, of course. She was too far away to accurately hear what the alicorn was saying. But that didn’t matter, seeing how the black-clad figure best matched the description of the petrified and captured former Equestrian princess, Luna. At least, that was what the submitted report regarding the extraction of Cadenza and some of the Night Guard had said.

There could be any number of possibilities surrounding this sudden appearance. This late into the war, Equestria or perhaps the PER could create almost anything to try and gain a permanent advantage apart from the obvious. Even after all the Newfoal variants, various serum weapons and aircrafts, or traitors hunted, they wouldn’t stop. Not until they took everything.

Maxine exhaled, lowering her modified Dragunov sniper rifle before rubbing her eyes.

“Keep it together,” she whispered to herself, “it’s just another trick. Another tactic. You can still make them pay.” Maxine shivered slightly, before focusing herself. “Still make them pay.”

She brought her rifle back to beer and re-adjusted the scope.

“I will make you pay.”

The words came out once again, but came this time as they should, a solemn oath. Her solemn oath since the shock left her after that day.

‘Washington crumbling, people panicking in terror and fear as it all fell down. The front door open as the sounds of something happened. Going inside to find–’

Damn them. Damn them all for what they had done.

Maxine kept her sight firmly on the alicorn, despite the tear in her eye.

For someone needed to make them pay.

Discord shook his head, with ineffable smugness.

“You really need to work on your speeches, Luna dear,” he said. “I think you might have frightened them.”

Luna glared at him through her visor. She may not have intended to scare the people down below with her look, but inwardly, she hoped it might intimidate him somewhat.

“Well?” said Luna. “I don’t suppose you have a better idea, Discord. I am simply telling them the truth.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that, Princess,” said Discord.

With a snap of his fingers, Luna felt a rush of air, and suddenly Luna found herself face to face with a very startled human soldier, behind a glass window on a building which must have been twice as tall as any Manehattan skyscraper. He yelped, and brought a device to his mouth, but then all of a sudden, Luna was above the city once more, without another word uttered and only the whoosh to tell her she’d moved at all.

“Told you,” Discord said, smug as ever, and Luna groaned.

“I do believe that one wasn’t my fault,” she said. The draconequus huffed.

“Should’ve brought Fluttershy,” he commented. “Maybe she and that Reiner didn’t get off to a very good start, but darn if she isn’t persistent in trying to tame the hopelessly unruly.”

“Look who’s talking,” said Luna, wondering if he was seriously that lacking in self-awareness.

She also didn’t want to think too hard about what may be going on between him and Fluttershy these days. And he thought she didn’t know, but she’d noticed the pink tuft of mane he’d had wrapped around his little finger, just before he transported them here.

A good-luck charm, no doubt.

“Just get to the point,” Discord told her, grouchily. “Make a lightshow, fireworks, whatever, but catch their attention before they turn their toys on us. That other fellow didn’t seem so happy.”

Even as the wind blew, Luna still heard the murmurs and whispers from below, amplified by their communications devices, she assumed.

“Very well,” Luna said evenly. She cleared her throat, and boomed in the Royal Canterlot Voice.

“We know where Captain Alexander Reiner is!” she announced. “Bring us forth to your leaders, soldiers of this historic city, and we may discuss terms of agreement!”

“Luna and… and Discord?” Frieda said, with bated breath. “And they want to see our leaders?”

“If they mean humanity’s leaders, they misfired,” a frowning Harwood said suspiciously. “Everyone’s at that fancy conference in New York. If those up there are the real deal, why aren’t they over there? How could they–”

“Har,” Ana cut him off, though she kept her gaze in her viewfinder. “The last anyone heard of Captain Reiner, they say he disappeared somewhere around here, in Boston… maybe, maybe this has got something to do with it.”

“What, surely you don’t think he was at the JFK when the Imperials…” Frieda began.

“He might have been,” Harwood said tersely. “But what I’d really like to know is where those two came from, and what they’ve got to do with anything.”

Frieda gave a flap of her wings. “Excuse me, Sergeant,” she said. “I should check in with the Lieutenant. Perhaps she knows more.”

“You be careful, Frieda,” Ana said softly. “There’s still pockets of Imperials scattered in the city.”

Silence. Luna glanced at her companion. He raised an eyebrow.. 

“I don’t think that did what you wanted it to–” 

But her words, and Discord’s retort, were lost when a powerful gust rose around them – though they remained where they were.

One by one, piece by piece, something began to form. Swiftly, right around them. Metal and wood and carved crystal. On and on, on and on. It made no sound to indicate assembly, save for a windy howl barely distinct from the gales of winter, as the air became displaced more and more by solid material.

“Don’t move,” said Discord, and Luna nodded…

Whatever was forming, its motion showed no sign of slowing. It was as if they were standing in the middle of a sketch below a painting. And slowly, colour began to bleed in all around them.

Then somehow, either it was Luna’s perception or the spell itself, they now stood in a room, where it all went quiet.

A room. Ornate, regal, and… very tidy, Luna thought curiously.

A set of over-hanging crystal chandeliers cast a dim, indistinct light, and without her night-sight, Luna wasn’t sure she could have distinguished the curlicues in the carpet on which she stood. Indeed, the floor was carpeted by a Saddle Mareabian woven decorative, which looked like it had experienced regularly dustings. Each of the four corners of the large, rectangular interior was marked by tall irregularly shaped crystalline pillars emitting a dim yet soothing glow. Its carved, polished wooden walls were alternately decorated by candles and crystals, curtains and carvings, and paintings covered in cloth, and statues of many sizes.

It was, to all appearances, an art gallery.

“What is… what is this?” Luna asked tensely. She glanced at Discord, and the draconequus held no snark in his hardened expression.

“It’s a welcome,” he said simply. “And if you’re wondering… no, we haven’t moved at all…”

But her alicorn instincts, well-honed to the three natural elements of ponykind, felt that the room wasn’t on solid ground. It moved, tilting to the side ever so slightly. Not so the sensation of being carried on the waters, so much as seeking balance in empty space. And she realised…

“No,” she said, nodding. “We’re still above the city. They… moved an airship, put it around us.”

Teleportation was an excruciatingly difficult spell, and no untrained unicorn could do it so easily. Even the most trained Royal Guards could only perform it on themselves, over short distances ranging a few dozen yards. Surely, that left only Discord himself who could have done it, yet he’d been surprised as her, and why would even he pull something this nonsensical?

A single glance at the room they were in told her the airship must be far larger than anything Equestria had ever built. Not even Krème-Brulée’s famed shipyards in Trottingham had produced such a leviathan.

Which could only mean–

“Hellooooo?” Discord said, loudly. Over by the wall, he was busily waving a claw over an equine statue’s eyes. “Anyone hooome?”

Then Luna realised none of these equines were statues. In the poor light and with her distracted by the sudden change, she’d only mistaken them for such. She and Discord weren’t alone.

“Remain where you are,” the Guard said stiffly. His accent was foreign, and although his frame mostly covered up by armour, Luna knew this was no Equestrian. He was a zebra. “Though you have traveled far, you will soon be met by the evening star.”

With no sign he’d heard a thing, Discord rapped his knuckles on the Guard’s helmet, improbably creating a noise like a hollow tin can.

“Discord!” Luna cried, dashing over to him, her senses aware of the sound of her clinking armour. “Mind your manners!”

“Really now, Luna?” Discord said, crossing his arms. The zebra remained impassive, his brown eyes staring ahead cooly. “They don’t seem to mind.”

“We’ll see about that,” Luna said, clearing her throat. “Ahem… Greetings. Are you with Ambassador Heartstrings and her Ponies for Human Life? Or rather... are you with Miss Cheerilee Cherry?”

The zebra turned to look her eye to eye.

“No,” he stated.  “You are here aboard the Great Equestrian as guests of Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Celestia of the Solar Empire.”

He said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, one could heard the proverbial pin drop in the silence that followed. 

Mainly because Discord had done just that, complete with not letting the carpet absorb the famous stock sound effect.

‘Oh... no.’

“Discord, we have to leave,” Luna said, turning away from the Guard. 

“Remain where you are, for you are expected by the evening star,” the zebra repeated.

Around the art gallery, his fellows – not just zebras and the ponies of all three tribes, but also hippogriffs and horses, more than a dozen all told – stomped their spears. Provoked, Luna lit her horn threateningly, but no sooner had she done that, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a bout of fatigue tingling her mind.

“... Luna,” Discord said, frowning. “I can’t teleport out.”

“What!” Luna gasped. Never had she known Discord to be stymied. “Then... get creative!”

Discord sighed and snapped his fingers. And the room turned literally upside-down.

Luna had wit enough to stay hovering with her beating wings, but it seemed he’d done nothing more than flip a picture on its head. Nothing fell, nothing got displaced, even the guards around them remained stuck to the floor, upside-down.

He snapped his fingers again, and the chandeliers turned to cotton candy, and four crystal ponies appeared on each corner of the floor – now the ceiling – where the pillars had been, rubbing their heads even as they spun around, suspended in midair.

Discord snapped again, and there were bubbles filling the room, and the laughter of children.

“You’ve made your point,” Luna said, breathing a sigh. “Put us all back where we were.”

The Lord of Chaos snapped his fingers once more, and all was put in place. The pillars remained inert, and the guards remained impassive as ever.

“I still got it, at least,” Discord said, shrugging. “Don’t worry just yet. I’d like to see what Celestia has to offer. It seems she’s succeeded in trapping us insid, but I do still have enough to at least break out of here, if needed.”

He sniffed the air. 

“It’s a Faire-Day cage, ” Discord surmised. “Possibly, ah, configured to respond only to certain magical signatures. The guards can use magic, and so can you, probably. Teleportation’s off the table... but all else in this space works the same as ever. We could just punch our way out.”

He raised his fingers, ready to snap once more.

“Or... I could dissolve everything in this room, right here, right now–”

“Don’t,” Luna said, eyeing the guards around them, who remained motionless as statues did. “Let us not… kill, just yet. Besides, it wouldn’t destroy the cage...”

Discord considered her stonily, then glanced at the pink tuft around his finger. He sighed.

“Oh, very well,” he said airily. He did snap his fingers, however, so that a second later, he was kicking back to relax on a poolside chair, right next to an inflatable pool inexplicably floating in midair. “Come sit with me while we await this Queen.”

“... Are you serious?” Luna said, her eyes wide.

But she felt a tug and pull, and suddenly she too was beside him, on another chair, lying on her back with a cup of tea and this morning’s edition of Equestria Daily.

“Please, Princess Luna,” said Discord, sipping from his glass of orange juice. “Loosen up a little, why don’t you? What else can we do but wait?”

Still in the chair, Luna shot him a frustrated glower. Still, he was right. She looked around the room to take in the sight of the dozen-or-so armed guards, none of whom had changed position. She tapped her helmet, relieved to find he hadn’t taken away her armour.

It was all well and good for Discord, but Luna felt trouble brewing. The Empire had known they were coming, just as the Empire had been prepared with the ansible, or ready to intercept Reiner at the portal station. The Empire knew more than she felt comfortable with.

She lit her horn, softly, hoping the guards wouldn’t notice. There she felt the cage’s effects, constraining, restrictive. But nevertheless, like Discord had said, she still had more than enough residual magic left to use within the cage.

‘We’ve been trapped. But we’re not done yet.’

While Yael often hated to hear Kraber’s thoughts, it was true he often spoke what all thought.

“A teleporting airship,” Kraber grumbled. “Great! I fokkin’ love it! This kak again! Fokkin’ wonderful! Colour me jubilant!”

“Didn’t he almost die last time that happened?” Frieda asked.

The griffon had joined them down here, reporting in on the alicorn’s presence. And it turned out no-one, least of all Kraber, was quite pleased. 

“I almost died about five times,” Kraber said.

“You Did Die!” Quiette Shy pointed out.

“Thanks for the reminder!” Kraber responded, sarcastically. “Really means a lot. It’s like the rebar is still in there. And Aegis–”

“Lieutenant,” Frieda interrupted, a little too insistently and a little too loudly. “What about the airship? Do we shoot it?”

And this was the griffon who that night at the high-rise campfire, according to what Yael had heard from Aegis, had been wishing a toast to Princess Luna’s eternal health.

“I’m going to go with n–” Kraber started.

“No,” Yael cut him short, unwilling to take the headache. “That means both of you.”

“I actually was going to say no,” Kraber said. “One, I don’t have a gun big enough to punch through that.” He paused, then looked over to Aegis… or rather, his saddlebags. “I don’t, right?”

Aegis shook his head.

“Fokdammit. I knew we should’ve brought that NTW-20,” Kraber sighed. “And two. We don’t know what’s going on. I’m not being paid to know what’s going on, so I’m waiting on you for this, Lieutenant.”

“Do you think they’re in league with each other, though?” Yael asked him. “Your honest opinion, please, ah…”  She mentally cycled through three languages in the space of as many seconds. “Sergeant.”

“I have no idea,” Kraber said, “But going by what I’ve heard from Lunar Phase, from Nebula, I don’t want to attack them.”

Yael nodded. “Heliotrope?”

“Absolutely,” said Heliotrope. “I’m scared too, but he’s right. There’s too much we don’t know.”

Then, the radio sounded.

“This is Major Bauer,” the voice called in. “I want everyone on standby and ready to mobilise at a moment’s notice. Hold your fire for now. We do not have external air support. Whatever you have right now... that’s all we have. Keep all AA batteries secure, over.”

A different voice called back. “Copy that, Major Tanner here. Awaiting further orders from HQ. Over.”

“Understood, Major Bauer. Over,” Yael chimed in. “So... there’s that.”

“I’m with V on this one. For once,” Aegis said, “I’m glad I don’t make the big bucks.”

Frieda sighed. “You’re really good at inspiring confidence, all of you.”

Yael’s potential reply was cut short by a shimmer in the sky.

“What the hell is that?”

There was a cacophony on all channels. Frantic shouts, panicked cries, and desperate attempts to keep it all together. Ana had remained in her post, despite all her instincts screaming at her to flee the desolate battlefield. She had gripped Harwood’s gloved hand tightly, as the two gazed up at the gigantic, translucent dome covering the entire city – and the colossal airship which had manifested with it.

This was no Barrier with a capital B.

But as an omen, it heralded nothing good at all. For exactly one Equestrian, to their knowledge, could pull off the feat of creating a city-sized magical dome.

“Definitely Shining Armor,” Ana said, adjusting her binoculars. “Yeah, between the Empire’s flagship and that dome, I’d say the High Captain is here.”

“Another day at the job,” Harwood deadpanned.

“One way to put it...” Ana said nervously.

Harwood and she still gripped each other tight, hand in hand, but Ana had felt his grip relax somewhat when it became clear the alicorn had not been the Queen after all.

Not that it helped when they had a whole new problem.

The Great Equestrian loomed above them, but its dreaded gas canisters and potion mortars had yet to fire. Perhaps it was calculating. Whoever had been caught within the dome was no less at its mercy.

Airships were common in the Imperial military. Slow, cumbersome, and not very manoeuverable, they were mostly valued for their troop transport capabilities, as a single airship could still provide enough troops to overwhelm your average platoon.

But the Great Equestrian was something else entirely.

The flagship of the Imperial Fleet was, without a doubt, the largest airship, or any flying craft, to have graced Earth’s virgin skies. Slightly over two thirds the size of the ill-fated Hindenburg but with more than five times its mass, the Great Equestrian’s hull alone was comparable to that of the remaining aircraft carriers in service. Though UNAC analysts insisted that all its presences on the field had been simply for show, the times it had appeared on the field always preceded a massive potion bombardment, before it retreated once again. The shields it boasted had always been enough to withstand whatever missiles were scrambled in short notice, and so the vessel constantly lived to see another day.

More than enough men have been lost to its mortars for it to earn the dread of most of UNAC’s rank and file, and tonight was no different.

Then, she heard it, breaking the dreary silence.

One, then three, then dozens of artillery fire and missile streaks crossed the Boston sky, impacting the Great Equestrian’s shields, like fireworks in the night. It started grand as ever, like in Hanne’s world-famous photograph of the Barrier, but soon the streets would be stained purple and red, as they always were.

Harwood tightened his grip on his shield. Ana readied her rifle. And wondered, as she set her rifle into place, if they would all live to see the dawn.

The Battle of Boston was beginning anew.

~ The Great Equestrian ~

“Quite the ghastly aesthetic in here, isn’t it?” Discord said, inspecting one of the four crystalline pillars in each corner of the gallery, while Luna narrowed her eyes at the guards nearby. “Hmpf, I’d have expected better, really.”

“Don’t touch anything, Discord,” said Luna. She maintained a cool, tranquil mask as her sister had taught her, but she remained on full alert. “We’re not here to snoop around our host, so best keep your claws to yourself.”

So far, they hadn’t seen the host in question, and the Imperial Guards stationed here had nothing much to say other than a repeating order to remain where they are. At any other time, Luna thought, she’d have been be fighting her way out of hordes of whatever it was the enemy could throw at her. But this was no ordinary enemy, even by her high standards.

She needed to bid her time, and with Discord by her side… well, perhaps they did have the temporary advantage. For now.

Luna gave another look at the Imperial Guards in the art gallery. They had an uncanny discipline to remain impassive at the sight of both her and Discord, in a way that superceded even Tia’s notoriously stone-faced protectors.

Clad in a sleek, bronze-coloured set armour, the Imperials had a distinctly more utilitarian, heavier look compared to the Royal Guards, including her own Night Guard. Considering what Reiner had told her, though, it was only natural for this Guard to have adapted against humanity’s nightmarish array of weaponry.

By her count, only half of the score of Guards in the room were Equestrian natives. There were a pair of earthponies and pegasi each, and the rest were an assortment of horses, zebras, and hippogriffs. If the airship’s size was as large as she believed it was, there could be a hundred more in the decks of this Great Equestrian.

In hindsight, perhaps she should have brought a halberd or a sword to carry, as deterrence. Nevertheless, her personal battle armour would suffice her, and she was all too glad that she had consulted Lord Darkhoof for its readiness in time.

Obsidian, when it occured naturally, was brittle, and hardly anyone ever used it for anything except knives and other ceremonial weapons. But with the right tools, spells, and artisans, one could shape and strengthen it beyond its natural properties.

Some like Chrysalis may have used it for simple confinement, the most mundane of utilities, just like she had on Princess Ember’s unfortunate bodyguard. But those who suffered dragon raids knew obsidian to be worth far more than a simple cage for unruly drakes.

And Luna’s ancient armour had been made by no mere blacksmith. It wasn’t forged – it was carved and shaped into a fine instrument, centuries past in the Tauren Isles. In appearance , it was sleek and functional at the same time, blending ancient Minotaur plate armour with Equestrian enchantments. Lined with enchanted steel, it was made for her alone to wear. As Celestia had helpfully demonstrated, those whom the armour did not recognise would find it much too loose to serve any practical purpose.

Luna felt confident in her own endurance and durability, but one couldn’t be too careful, and she was grateful for the armour’s fully enclosed nature, save for tiny gaps between the segmented plates covering her joints, or her uncovered mane. Her head would be fully protected the moment the visor was closed. Darkhoof had assured her it was as ready as it had been thousands of years ago, but he could offer no more than an adjustment to the padding underneath the steel-lined plates for comfort.

Where she was headed, material comfort would be the least of her worries.

The clock ticked. The minutes passed. Discord grew sleepier and sleepier by the second. Then...

“The Archmage will see you now,” one of the hippogriffs said suddenly, in a loud clear voice. It was the guard closest by the door, and Luna’s ears perked up. “Make ready!”

‘... Archmage?’ 

With precision, the door’s guard turned to open it. Luna beckoned for Discord to join her side, which he did, grumpily.

In little time, Luna was gifted with the sight of this new arrival. An equine figure in a starry cloak, flanked by more Imperial Guards.

It was an unsettling surprise to Luna that she recognised two of those of Guards.

Rainbow Dash’s namesake mane identified her instantly, even tied back behind her helmet. She wore the Wonderbolts’ insignia on her sleeve, and her rose eyes stared at Luna balefully from behind her helmet’s own visor.

The other one… Luna could not say for sure, but she felt oddly reminded of a particular little filly’s dream from weeks ago… this one seemed short, for a Guard...

As the Archmage and her entourage approached, Luna readied herself and stood straight.

Even without the horn that peaked out from beneath the figure’s humble, but dignified hood, Luna would have known the figure immediately. It turned her blood cold in a way that had nothing to do with the fear of battle, yet she stood her ground, coolly stared at her interlocutor.

The Archmage gave a critical look to the closest crystalline pillar.

“I’d appreciate if you restored them properly, Discord. They’re tremendously valuable,” Twilight Sparkle said smoothly, before turning her attention away from him. “Hello, Princess Luna. Fancy seeing you here.”