//------------------------------//
// Arrival 
// Story: Strange Bedfellows 
// by BRBrony9 
//------------------------------//

The Emperor's Judgement hung above Baltimare. The data from the atomic explosion was still being analyzed and checked, but what was clear was that the radiation cloud and the consequent fallout had reached Canterlot. Lieutenant Atter had reported that the ponies were taking shelter below ground, as the Lord-Admiral had suggested. It was all they could do against an invisible threat to which they had no apparent answer. Even Imperial science had only advanced so far in dealing with radiation, a fundamental force of nature and physics which could be mitigated, controlled, but not destroyed or cancelled out entirely.

Lord-Admiral Marcos stood at his familiar position, at the command lectern, hands clasped behind his back. He could not help but consider what a total paradigm shift these past weeks must have proven for the ponies. They, and the other denizens of this backwater, yet strangely intriguing planet, had suffered a complete upset and overturn of everything they had probably believed. They were not alone in the universe, and there were forces beyond their world that wished them harm, as if things on the surface did not offer enough peril already. There were technologies out there that were totally beyond their comprehension; many of them were beyond the comprehension of the Lord-Admiral too, and certainly beyond the rank and file of the Guard or Navy. Technology, in some of the more backward Regiments or planets, was seen as akin to the very magic which these ponies themselves made use of.

Marcos pitied the ponies as much as he envied their innocence. If only humanity had been permitted by the course of fate to have remained isolated in the universe, how different things might have been. Think how many deaths might have been avoided! What technologies might have been designed! What wonders of the arts might have been created! There might never have been an Age of Strife, no Men of Iron, perhaps not even the Horus Heresy itself. Nobody would ever know; there was no way of knowing, only guessing. On the other hand, of course, there would have been no Imperium, either. Without the external threats humanity faced, there might never have been a need for a military expansion of the Imperium's borders. The Emperor might never have led his Crusade to ensure the safety of mankind, and they would not be out here today, fighting for this strange alien planet. 

Vox contact was spotty, but they had managed to reestablish comms with units on the surface. They all reported the same things; severe damage, major casualties. Many guardsmen were missing in action. Others were wounded and being treated as best as could be managed. There were calls for emergency evacuation from both within the city and on the outskirts. Fallout was descending all across Baltimare and nothing could be done to stop it. Many units, those that realised the danger or managed to get in contact with those who did, were able to move out to the flanks, out from under the smoke plume that carried the radiation. But some units were trapped beneath, either unaware of the peril they were in or simple unable to get clear due to blocked roads or lack of vehicular transport. For these units, Marcos ordered a rapid evacuation. The Valkyries that had been accompanying the assault force, those that had not been knocked from the sky by the blast, swooped in to pick up stranded infantry from rooftops or empty lots within the city, bringing several hundred to safety. But there were larger numbers of men out on the grassland at the edge of the city. Many were wounded and could not make the long trek to the safe areas on the periphery of the fallout plume.

Marcos ordered bulk landers to be deployed, great hulking craft that lumbered down from orbit. The terrain outside of the city was perfect for them to make planetfall, smooth and flat grassy areas being easy to find. Suitable areas were marked by strobes by the ground units, and the vast craft dropped from the heavens, straight through the smoke clouds, lining up on final approach and settling with surprising quiet and grace onto the plains. The wounded were hurriedly loaded aboard even as the radioactive ash was falling around them. The operation had to be swift and precise in order to prevent any guardsmen from being exposed to an unnecessarily high level of radiation, and the men were impressed with the professionalism of the lander crews, who helped carry stretchers and litter cases up the steep ramp. Once the wounded were aboard, the rest of those units caught without transport were loaded. Men came from all around to escape, drawn by the beacon-like arrival of the large Imperial craft that signaled salvation from the situation they found themselves in.

Once their holds were full, the landers took to the skies once more. They could have remained in place; as orbital craft and designed to operate in the vacuum of space, the landers were equipped with heavy radiation shielding to protect them from cosmic rays and other phenomena that might affect them, but it was deemed an unnecessary risk to keep the landers on the ground. The enemy presence in Baltimare had undoubtedly been decimated by their own actions and the detonation of the atomic weapon, but there was no guarantee that they were gone entirely, that there was no threat if the landers were ordered to remain. The craft had no protection from ground attack, save for that which would normally be provided by perimeter defences, defences that could not be set up in this instance due to the radiation danger of remaining on the surface outside of the shielding they offered. Instead, they lifted the men clear, taking them away to the main planetary landing zone far to the west, where Imperial landing operations had been concentrated and there was a great buildup of force as men and vehicles waited to be deployed to whatever hot spot it was deemed necessary. There, they would be safe from the radiation.

The units on the ground that were clear of the smoke plume were nevertheless ordered to move farther west or east, as appropriate, to put more distance between themselves and the potential danger zone. There was no sense in taking risks. Anti-radiation drugs would be issued to every man and woman once they reached friendly forces who had the proper medical facilities, but even Imperial medicine could only do so much to counteract the exposure. Too much, and the body's tissue would begin to degrade and break down on a cellular level. Once that happened, there was almost nothing that could be done. Rejuvenat treatments could halt the decay, at least temporarily, but such high-tech solutions were only available for the wealthy or important, not the rank and file on the frontline. If they received a fatal dose, then it was a fatal dose. No ifs, no buts, no hope.

With the city itself a radioactive ruin, it no longer held the value it once did, either for the Imperium or for the ponies and their princess. General Jahn ordered all forces to be pulled back to form a much wider perimeter around Baltimare while they regrouped and decided on their next moves. Large numbers of men were on the move, many of them trudging wearily on foot, as their transport Chimeras had been knocked out, overturned or trapped by the blast and the extensive damage to the city. Many roads were totally blocked, necessitating some vehicle crews abandoning their charges and walking in order to escape the city. Others had chosen to remain in their vehicles, protected by the armour and the filtration systems from the radiation danger, monitoring the situation outside on their Radiac meters. But they could not remain buttoned up forever, and while those with working vox sets were able to call for extraction by one of the roving Valkyries, those that lacked communications capability were eventually forced to either abandon their vehicles and climb out into the now ash-strewn streets, or try and barge their way through the debris or through a half-collapsed building in order to get out of their predicament. 

Those in command busied themselves with trying to understand the Archenemy's motivations and actions. Why had they destroyed Baltimare wholesale instead of fighting for it, as they had done in Manehattan? There was nothing extremely valuable that it would do them good to deny to their human or equine opponents; Baltimare was an important city, but still just a city like any other. But was there a pattern to their behaviour? Firstly the fire in Manehattan, perhaps deliberate, perhaps not. It had burned a district and killed many of their own troops. Next came Ponyville, where the destruction of the Hoofer Dam had swept all before it and washed away Imperial and Chaos alike. Hundreds of Imperial troops had lost their lives. The numbers of enemy dead were not known. Now, there was Baltimare. A city gone in flames in a hearbeat, with seemingly no justification or explanation. There had to be some dark reasoning, some twisted game the enemy was playing with its own minions, but what, and why?




The Polaris Maxima, a Dauntless-Class light cruiser of the Imperial Navy, held station above the planet. One of the survivors of the battle for control of the orbital space around Kuda Prime, she had taken both damage and casualties but had never once been knocked out of the fight. In fact, the Polaris Maxima held the enviable record of never being forces to declare itself hors de combat at any point in its history, and there were not many ships in the fleets of the Segmentum Pacificus that could claim that. Her Captain, Danrich, was suitably proud of the claim, though he had only been in command of her for six years. Formerly a destroyer man, commanding a squadron of the fast torpedo-armed escorts for a decade, Danrich had taken the next logical step up the ranks and been appointed Captain of a capital ship, albeit only a light cruiser. Nevertheless, the Dauntless cruisers were a formidable force for any foe to meet in battle, capable of handling themselves against anything short of a full cruiser. The squadron of destroyers Danrich had formerly commanded would likely fall like wheat under the scythe against a skillfully-manned Dauntless. 

The Polaris Maxima was positioned as one of the inner picket craft for the remainder of the severely diminished fleet, mid-way between the outer destroyer picket and the main bulk of the fleet, where the true capital ships and the heavy transports resided. Their position meant they could keep a watchful eye both on the outer system, and the ocean below that lay to the east of the main continent. Such a swathe of watery emptiness surely seemed endless and vast to the ponies who had to cross it in their antiquated steam boats, yet if they would only turn their faces skyward, they would see some tiny fragment of the true vastness of existence in the form of the darkness of night and the twinkling of impossibly distant stars. There were stars closer to home now, too; the artificial ones, the moonlight reflecting from the ships of the fleet and their flashing anti-collision beacons. How long they would remain there, Danrich did not know. Such decisions were made by those who had different insignia on their collars. They may leave in a few days, or they may be sticking around for months. It depended on what the fleet's commanders decided they were actually there for.

They had achieved their original objectives, Danrich believed. While the Chaos presence had not been totally eradicated from the planet, their fleet had been shattered and their ground forces were being systematically wiped out. Surely they could leave the mopping up to these strange aliens- or if not, then it would be a quick procedure to excise the cancer that was Chaos once and for all, and then they could be away, to some new planet, some new fight to wage. Or, more likely, back home to Hydraphur for repairs, resupply and replacement, with tall tales to tell those who would listen in the taverns and brothels of the fleet headquarters. They would not be believed, that was for sure. Talking horses? Horses that, apart from their miraculous vocal talents, organised society, and bizarre psychic abilities, appeared identical to those found grazing on countless Imperial worlds? Buy me another drink and I'll tell you all about them, friend. 

Danrich could just imagine such scenes, and while they did not make him laugh, they did at least make him smile for a moment. There was much out on the fringes of the galaxy that was not well understood, and the inhabitants of this planet most certainly fell into that category. How did they come to exist? How did they learn to speak? What caused their strange powers? How did they develop into an industrial society? There were so many reasonable questions to ask, but very few answers.

The Captain knew that the pony leader, a princess, had visited the flagship and spoken with the Lord-Admiral. He knew that their planetside operations were being conducted with her input, and with the intention of seemingly doing whatever she wanted to be done. Danrich was not sure how to feel about it all. Were they being used to do the bidding of some Xenos horse-princess? Or was it a truly mutually beneficial arrangement? He had to confess to himself that he did not know enough about diplomacy to be certain either way. All he could do was to trust that the Lord-Admiral knew what he was doing. To lead the Crusade as far as he had was a good sign that Marcos knew enough about such things to give them a good chance of getting something out of the whole operation here at Kuda Prime. 

What exactly that might be had not been immediately obvious when they arrived, other than garden-world status so some Imperial bureaucrats could enjoy a nice vacation or some exotic and expensive fruits could be grown and exported to nobles across the galaxy. The planet seemed to have no great deposits of any particularly important minerals or ores, no promethium though some small amounts of petroleum and similar liquids beneath the surface in places. It was not in a strategic location- far from it, being out in the distant reaches of the spiral arm of the western end of the galaxy. It did not sit on any trade routes or key fast-warp corridors. It was on a border, but not the border with enemy-controlled territory. Rather, it was on the border of an eternity of nothingness to the next galaxy over, however many light years away that might be. It was a useless, backwater planet in a dead end corner of the Milky Way, except for one commodity- its inhabitants. Their strange magic powers must be what had lured the forces of Chaos here in the first place, and if there was something that the Archenemy was interested in, then it was worth keeping that thing out of their hands, even if it held no utility for the Imperium. 

This force, if it could be harnessed, most certainly did provide the potential to be very useful indeed. The Lord-Admiral had briefed the commanders of every capital ship over a secure vox-link some days earlier of the apparent nature of this force that seemed so fundamental for these ponies. A source of psychic or psychic-like powers without running the risk of warp taint and exposure or Daemonic possession was something that had the potential to change the rules of the entire game for humanity. If they could isolate and figure out the exact cause, then perhaps, through chemical alterations, DNA manipulation or gene splicing, the Mechanicus could figure out how to apply the same features to humanity. Sanctioned psykers could unleash their full potential on the battlefield without fear, and perhaps would not even need to be sanctioned any longer. Maybe any man with an ounce of psychic potential would be able to make use of it. The Astronomican might no longer demand all of the Emperor's remaining attention, allowing him to focus on restoring his physical state and perhaps return to the world of the living one day. Ships would still need Gellar fields for warp entry, of course, but perhaps their navigators would no longer suffer mentally as they currently did, and perhaps it would stop the human souls aboard from attracting unwanted attention from the denizens of the Empyrean. Perhaps, ultimately, it could mean that one day the men and women of the Imperium would no longer need to fear every waking and sleeping moment that they could suffer from the hideous death of mental agony that an unexpected Daemonic possession from out of the blue would cause. Perhaps humanity could live truly free once again.

Such speculation was purely fanciful, of course. There was absolutely no evidence that such adaptation was possible, even with the Adepts of the Ferrus Terra poring over their data from the autopsies and vivisections of Changeling and Pony alike, but hope was what sustained humanity. Hope, and faith, and the Emperor, if this was truly the way forward for mankind, would provide for his children, of that there could be no doubt.

'Captain! Vox from destroyer section Tertius,' announced the junior vox officer from his console.

'Put them through,' Danrich replied, sitting back in his chair. Tertius was the destroyer picket out on the fringe of the system, and out of communication with the main fleet due to being on the other side of the planet. Due to its position, the Polaris Maxima was acting as a relay.

'Captain Danrich, destroyer section Tertius has detected anomalous readings in the outer system,' came the voice of the section's leader, Commander Gracchus. 'We are proceeding to investigate.'

'Understood, Commander Gracchus,' Danrich responded. 'Keep me updated on your findings.'

'We shall, Captain. Destroyer section Tertius out.' Gracchus signed off. Danrich made an offhand gesture. 

'Signal the Emperor's Judgement and relay the message,' he ordered, but was answered by a different voice to the one he had been expecting. 

'I wouldn't do that if I were you.'

Danrich looked around to see who had been insubordinate, which of his bridge staff he would have to discipline. He found himself looking down the barrels of a dozen Hellguns. They were not those of the bridge guards, most of whom were being held at gunpoint. One lay on the deck with a knife in his gut, bleeding out. There had been no sound of a struggle. The new arrivals had appeared unheralded from the bridge elevator and quickly fanned out, overwhelming the four guards assigned to protect it. There were at least twenty of them; a motley collection of junior officers, armsmen and burly lower deck labourers. All were armed, not just with Hellguns but also laspistols, grenades and knives. They must have raided an armoury on their way up; Hellguns were not standard issue except for honour guards and armsmen guarding key positions. 

Leading the group was the one who had spoken. A woman, a Lieutenant, to be exact, carrying a Hellpistol and a chainsword. Danrich recognised her as one of the logistics officers from the cargo section; Bessemer, was it?

'What the hell is going on, Lieutenant?' Danrich growled. The vox officer looked back at hearing the sudden exchange, and hastily reached for the transmit button as his eyes widened. The Lieutenant was keeping watch, however, and quick as a flash her Hellpistol switched targets from the Captain to the Ensign, who slumped over his console missing most of the back of his head, drawing shocked gasps from some of the bridge crew. Another officer leaped up from his sensor station and in one slick move quickly turned and drew his laspistol, raising it, but never finding a target. His defiance led to a messy end, as several Hellguns fired in unison, cutting him down with chunks of sizzling flesh missing from his body.

'Any more heroes, hm?' the Lieutenant questioned, her gaze sweeping around the bridge. Nobody else moved. Danrich repeated his angry query. 

'What the hell is this?' he snapped. 'This is mutiny! You'll all be hanged for this.'

'Will we indeed. That is fascinating, Captain,' the Lieutenant replied. 'Lieutenant Anna Callantine at your service, but I'm sure you knew that already. Or perhaps you did not, given the way the Imperial Navy treats its crews. Well, some of us have decided that enough is enough.' She gave a sharp gesture and some of the mutineers moved out, surrounding the bridge, grabbing crewmen and officers alike and shoving them roughly into a group in the centre of the deck. All except the Captain, who Callantine permitted to remain in his seat. She took a step closer to him.

A powerful woman, judging by the way she carried herself, and yet no more physically imposing than any of her fellow mutineers, especially when compared to some of the lower deck workers with their broad shoulders and rippling muscles. What made her powerful was the sway she seemed to hold over her followers. They obeyed her orders without question. She must have been able to successfully poison their minds with whatever nonsense she and the other ringleaders had come up with for a justification. No doubt she would be happy to tell him in due course. Most mutineers and traitors went to great lengths to try and justify their crimes against the Emperor and the Imperium. Callantine would probably be no different.  

The bridge crew gathered in the middle of the bridge, fearful and watchful, whether looking for an opportunity to escape or to send out a warning to the rest of the ship. Calls were coming in from other departments and decks on the internal network, signaled by flashing lights on various consoles. As soon as the bridge crew had been disarmed, the armed gang that had stormed the ship's command centre began to take over their former duties at the direction of Lieutenant Callantine. Routine calls were answered, letting the reactor room, medical bay and rear cargo hold know that everything was still just fine, and there was no need to panic; after all, the bridge was still there, still answering their calls.

Callantine kept abreast of the whole operation. She was in charge, at least up here on the bridge. There was no telling which other members of the crew might, even now, be taking other key sections of the ship such as the engine rooms and main gunnery control. If they suspected anything was amiss, the guards at those key locations might be on high alert, but the routine messages being answered by the bridge would have assuaged any fears. The Lieutenant approached the Captain again, her sharp blue eyes twinkling.

'What are you trying to achieve here, Lieutenant?' Danrich asked, narrowing his eyes. 'Going to hold us to ransom? Do you think the Lord-Admiral will have any truck with mutineers, out here, this far from home? He'll blow this ship apart and none of us will stand a chance, including you.'

'That may well be true. I do not know the Lord-Admiral as well as you. We...mere mortals...' she made a sweeping gesture to include her co-conspirators, 'seldom are able to consort with nobility, wouldn't you say? But that isn't important. Many of us would not want to, anyway. You see, these brave men and women have decided that they have been out here long enough. Quite simply, Captain, they want to go home.'

'They go home when the Lord-Admiral decides,' Danrich replied. 'They go home when the Emperor wills it. Neither you nor I can choose.'

'That's precisely where you are wrong, Captain,' Callantine countered. 'I have chosen, and all these fine men and women agree, and they have chosen too. They want to go home, and if we decide to take this ship back to Hydraphur, there is nothing you can do to stop us.' To prove her point, she pressed the tip of her chainsword against his throat, the sharp, serrated teeth cutting lightly into his skin and drawing blood. 'The Lord-Admiral will not bother sending anyone after us. He can't spare the ships, not after the mauling the fleet suffered. Nothing could catch us anyway, except a destroyer, and you know as well as I do that a destroyer would stand no chance of bringing us to heel.'

'And you would throw away your career and your life just to see home a little sooner?' Danrich questioned. 'Is any planet worth being labeled a traitor to the Imperium?'

'I believe so,' Callantine replied. 'One planet, every planet. What's the difference? The Emperor does not care for me, or for you. He cares not for this crew, yours or mine. He cares only for the Imperium, the whole entity. It matters not how many of his children die, so long as his will is done. That is something to be both feared and admired, don't you think?'

'Enough with your philosphy,' Danrich spat. 'You'll all hang for this, mark my words. You know it as well as I do, Lieutenant. You see what happens to traitors. It happens all the time. It is a necessity, and believe me, you will be made an example of for the rest of the fleet.'

'We shall see, Captain. Time will tell,' Callantine responded. 

'Lieutenant, a vox message from destroyer section Tertius.' One of the mutineers was manning the vox console.

'On speaker,' Callantine ordered. 'Do not reply.'

'Polaris Maxima, this is destroyer section Tertius!' came the urgent cry. 'We have engaged hostile contact! I say again, we have engaged hostile contact! Relay message. We need immediate assistance!'

Danrich glared at the Lieutenant, who made no attempt to answer the call for help. 'Polaris Maxima, this is destroyer section Tertius! Are you receiving my transmissions? Please respond!'

'Polaris Maxima, this is destroyer section Tertius! Enemy contact is a...' There was the sound of an explosion, and the decompression sirens, followed by frantic scrabbling. The message resumed a few moments later, now in the breathy cadence of a man wearing an oxygen mask while the world fell apart around him.

'Captain Danrich! This is Commander Gracchus! Can you hear me? In the Emperor's name, please answer! We're being torn apart! Can anybody hear me? Can you hear me, Captain Danrich? Can you hear me, Captain Danrich? Can you hear...'

The vox went dead.