//------------------------------//
// The Aegis Archipelago Job 
// Story: Ofolrodi 
// by Imploding Colon 
//------------------------------//

The pen floated in the waning sunlight, resting against a portion of parchment and adding another line to an elaborate diagram.  With two, three, four masterful strokes—the finishing touches were added to the hull of a small ship: a hollow cabin, a dense engine compartment, and a broad flat open deck.  The pen floated back up, hovering over a title:  “Princess Stardust.”

Two or three seconds later, the dim glow around the pen flickered then vanished.  The pen fell down onto the diagram and rattled to a stop.

Flynn looked at it, his mechanical eye rotating in and out.  The sound of lapping water rippled all around him as he licked his lips, charging mana into his horn—or at least trying to.

No luck.  His horn remained dull and dead, penetrating a wild froth of forward-combed mane hair.

With a sigh, Flynn gripped the pen awkwardly in the crook of his fetlock and tried adding a few more illustrative details, but they were chicken scratches at best.

“It's your turn.”

He sighed.

“Hey... did you hear me, nerd splooge?”

Flynn looked up.

Seated across from him in a slender, lengthy rowboat was a fat-and-muscular silhouette.  Cracking his neck muscles, the earth pony blotted out the setting sun as he hoofed over a pair of oars.

“I said it's your turn to row,” Logan huffed.

“Er... right...”  Flynn cleared his throat.  Sliding the pen into the binder of his notebook, he dropped the sketch safely into the dry belly of the craft and hoisted the oars into a pair of rowlocks on either side of him.  “How long was that, anyway?”  He stuck the oars into the calm waters of an enormous ocean stretching on all sides, engulfing the two lone stallions.

“Hrmmmm...”  Logan rubbed the back of his neck with one hoof while lifting a pocketwatch in the other.  “Kepler's little gift says about ninety minutes since we last switched.”

“Dayum, Big Show...”  Flynn took deep breaths as he began stirring the oars into a gradual rowing motion, finding his own pace.  “I dunno how you keep it up for so long.”

“A secret I intend to keep from the ladies.”  Logan shifted his fat self until he was reclining slightly.  A relaxed breath escaped his being.  “Present company excluded.”

“Hardy har...”  Flynn droned.

One of Logan's lower fetlocks kicked lightly at the sketchbook.  “The Hell were you drawing this whole time?”  He squinted down past his belly.  “'Stardust?'”

“Hrmmm...”  Flynn's natural eye squinted as he kept rowing the boat towards the setting sun.  “Just an idea for a ship that'll make traveling this far out a lot easier in the future.”

“You know the drill,” Logan muttered.  “If it's mana-powered, it'll croak.”

“The mana-batteries are simply a backup,” Flynn said, shaking his head.  “It'll primarily run on steam.”

“A steamship, eh?”

“That's right.”

“Won't that fail all the same, though?”  Logan scratched his stubbly chins.  “If there's no wind for sails out here and even pegasus wings won't work in the air—”

“There's only one way to find out.”

Logan snorted.  “You say that as if you can just build this shit anytime you like!”

Flynn shrugged in mid-row.  “There may come a time.”

“Pffft.  Yeah, right.”  Logan rested his eyelids as he lay back, breathing easy.  “When has our lives ever afforded a breather?”

“You seem to be doing fine right now.”

“I mean a real breather, smartass.  Even when there's no assholes to punch in the muzzle, Morty's always got something new for us to tackle.”

“Let's not kid around, Big Show.  All we're ever really doing is waiting,” Flynn declared.  “But I think one day we'll be freer than birds.  And you know why?  Because this is gonna be it.”

“What's gonna be it?”

“Us.  You.  Me.  Remna.  The whole gang.”  Flynn blew out the side of his muzzle as he rowed and sweated... rowed and sweated... rowed and—“I really think we're gonna be the generation that sees him show up.”

“Or 'her',” Logan exhaled.

“Sure.  Whatever.  Anyways...”  Flynn squinted past the sun burning into the western horizon.  “They show up.  We help them get to where they need to go.  Then we come back and... enjoy permanent retirement.”

Logan laughed.

Flynn continued:  “Retirement and an opportunity to work on several important projects to help future Job Squadders... y'know?”

“Dude...”  Logan sat up, eyes thin above a cynical smile.  “If he or she arrives in our lifetime, we're royally bucked.  Which—I don't mind.  I'm happy to kiss this lousy continent good-bye.  And everything on this side of the plane, for that matter.”  His nostrils flared.  “Break our butts day in and day out to save it from pirate scum, and what thanks do we get?”

Flynn's metal eye rotated.  “Why so much doom and gloom?”

“Assuming we even make it to the other side, you really think we're gonna come back in one piece?!”

“We will if we have any intention of helping them make it back!”  Flynn's good eye narrowed on Logan as he rowed.  “And she does have to make it back... right?  Or did I understand the Mountain Matron's briefings incorrectly?”

“Oh, you heard her right.”  Logan nodded.  “You just didn't read between the lines.”

“And just what haven't I read...?”

“All that'll matter is the Austraeoh,” Logan said.  “If they would have come this far to cross over, then surely they've got the gumption to make it all the way there and back.”  He shook his head.  “Us?  The jury's still out on that.  Besides—why should it matter?”  He reclined again with a sigh of resolution.  “Assuming history ever records what happens to the Austraeoh, the likes of you and I will be hoofnotes at best.”

Flynn slowly shook his head.  “I didn't join the Herald to die and be forgotten.”

“Then why didja join, bucko?”

Sweating, Flynn glanced into the calm lapping waters of the ocean all around them.  “Why else?  To save the world.”  He exhaled.  “This crazy... upside down... miserable world.”

“Keep your eyes on the horizon,” Logan said with monotone necessity.  “Don't wanna lose all our progress.”

“I won't.”  Flynn nodded towards a pile of navigational tools next to his sketchbook.  “Worse comes to worst, the map and compass can—”

“The compass won't do shit out here,” Logan declared.  “We're hella deep in it now, bud.  Soon, even our farts will drop into the drink like anvils.”

“I hardly think that's a proven fact.”

“You really wanna do a science experiment on our asses out here?!”

Flynn sighed.  “We've covered for every eventuality.  The last outpost was—what—five nautical miles due northeast?”  He gestured with one hoof.  “Based on my calculations, we'll land on our destination in less than six hours.”

“You sure about that?”

“Dude, I've been keeping notes.”

“This is as far as we've ever gone, Flynn,” Logan declared.  “It'd be super... super easy to screw up.”

“I know that.”

“I've butted heads with a shitton of crazy freakazoids all over Rohbredden and the Seven Seas.”  Logan huffed.  “The last way I wanna go out is starving to death on a tiny-ass canoe in the middle of the Blight.  That's a real lame way to go.”

“You might starve to death.”  The corner of Flynn's muzzle curved ever so slightly.  “Me?  I suspect I'll have plenty of food to live on for a month or longer.”

“Oh, real funny.”  Logan rubbed his muzzle again, glancing towards the northeast horizon.  “You don't suppose those chucklebucks gave us the wrong info, do ya?”

“Who?  The Kihutajans?”

“Right.”

“Why would they wanna lie to us?” Flynn remarked.  “It's their shipping lines that have been attacked and pillaged these past two years.  If anything, they should be rewarding us for this job.”

“That's just the thing,” Logan grumbled.  “There is no reward.”

“Yeah, well, there's technically no job either,” Flynn said, rowing.  He spat out some sweat from his face and continued:  “We're just doing this because we're such good... clean... altruistic heroes.”

“When you say it like that, you sound more cynical than I do.”

“Hey—kicking coral dredger butts and saving victims from Mudtop sounds like a Grade A way to add another hashmark to my legacy.”

“That just freaks me out...”  Logan shuddered slightly.  “What are slavers even doing this far west?”

“Isn't it obvious?”  Flynn clenched his jaw.  “The atolls out this way make for prime new supply lines so far south—establishing the Syndicate's hoof hold in the west.”

“Those hoity-toity fops in Kihutaja won't even know what hit 'em.”

“Right.  Colonialists just aren't used to dealing with pirates.  At least not this distance from Rust.  That's where we come in.”

“Yeah.”  Logan nodded.  “Maybe if we waited a decade, they would have drummed up a reward.”

“Y'know that's not how it works, Big Show.  Mortuana will reward us in her own way.”

“True.  But she never told us we can't benefit from the mercenary life.”  Logan pointed.  “Y'know, the others—”

“I just don't have it within me to be a bounty hunter,” Flynn huffed.

“Have it your way.”  Logan shrugged.  “Be poor.  Build your Princess Stardust out of toothpicks and use dolphins for propulsion.”

“Not a bad idea, actually.”

“Heh.  Hey... speaking of bounty hunters, do you suppose we're behind or ahead of the others?”

“By my calculations?”  Flynn squinted at the setting sun.  “I'd say we're half a day ahead.”

“Ah.  So—odds are—we're actually half a day behind.  Got it.”

Flynn sighed.  “Will you ever have faith in my math skills one of these days?”

“Not after that savage slobberknocker down in Cavern Prefecture.”

“You're never going to forgive me for that, are you?”

“That's the last time I ever try using one of your stupid-ass 'rocket packs' to get out of a scrape.  Nearly blew my Little Big Show off, ya butt muncher.”

“You should have paid attention to the instructions I gave you.”  Flynn smirked into the sunset.  “Y'know, I've been planning a Version Two!  Wanna see the specs?”

“Hell no!”

“Heheheheheh—”  Suddenly, a loud click issued from the left side of Flynn's face.  The stallion paused in rowing, giving the air a double-take.  “Whoah... whoahhhhhh...”

Logan sat up, his muzzle scrunched in legit concern.  “What is it?”

“Whelp... it was only a matter of time...”  Flynn reached up.  With a tiny jerking motion, he detached the outer lens of the mechanical viewer from the round base set within his skull.  “And that, fillies and gentlecolts, is the end of that... for now.”

“Awwwwwwwww dude...”  Logan shook his head.  “That sucks.”

“Eh... I have many other organs I'd rather not fail.  Plus, I'm sure it'll work again once we return home and away from the Blight.”

“Can you still row?”

“Pfffft... it's not my hooves that stopped working, fatso.”  Flynn reached into a satchel, produced an eye-patch, and placed it neatly over his left eye socket.  “Besides, I gotta pull my weight.”

“Well, at least you still got spirit.”

“Somepony's gotta carry it.”  Flynn, now eyepatched, faced forward into the burning horizon, squinting towards the nebulous destination.  “Blight, here we come.”






About three hours past sunset, and after switching row-duty four more times, they finally came upon a splotch of dark land that broke the reflected starlight across the massive ocean.  They approached slow and quiet, lying down in the body of the craft the entire time.  When they came close to the eastern shore, they pivoted north and slowly... slowly skimmed the coastline.  There were no lights... no fires... no signs of equine presence of any sort.

But then they spotted a glint of something past the waterline that was reflecting starlight.  Keeping their breaths steady, they approached the source—stumbling upon a lengthy object moored into the crook of a shallow lagoon.  It was a vessel—smaller than most sailing ships—but at least ten times larger than the rowboat that the two stallions had used to get there.  Metal railing and polished tools had reflected the starlight that exposed it to the pair of Job Squadders.

At first, they ran abreast of the vessel, floating still and silent, listening for anything stirring from within or beyond.  When they heard nothing, they gestured to one another.  It was wordlessly agreed that Flynn—the smaller of the two—would take a look first.  With the help of Logan—who hoisted him—Flynn climbed up the hull of the vessel and alighted its bow.  Logan tossed him a crossbow, and Flynn snuck stealthily across the deck, eventually finding a way into the upper cabin.

Logan remained on the smaller boat.  He hoisted his axe out of hiding and perched in silence, bobbing, breathless.

At last, a body returned.  Logan started—only to realize it was Flynn.  Flynn gestured to the stallion that the coast was clear.  Calmly, Logan rowed their boat just past the edge of the lagoon, mooring it behind two sandy mounds that obscured detection from both the southern shoreline as well as the heart of the island.

Hopping onto dry land, Logan hoisted both his axe and saddlebags for two.  He hurried—keeping low and hushed—through the shallow surf of the beach in order to best hide his hooftracks.  By the time he approached the strange vessel once more, he beheld Flynn's silhouette in the starlight atop the starboard hull.

A shrill whistle caught Flynn's attention.  He looked down and reached out in time to grab his saddlebag tossed at him.  Once he fitted it on, he slid down the hull and dropped until he was knee-deep in the shallow surf, crouching alongside Logan.

“So what's the deal?” Logan whispered.

“It belongs to coral dredgers, alright,” Flynn murmured, adjusting his saddlebag before tightening the springs of his crossbow.  “I could smell traces of the stuff.  Plus—signs of dredge coal.  The raw deal.  These buckers are working to start an entire friggin' enterprise out here.”

“You didn't inhale any of that shit, didja?”

“Not a chance.”  Flynn shook his head.  “Besides, wherever their actual supply is, it's been carted off long ago.”

“What the Hell does that ship run on, anyways?”

“Ponies, I'm guessing.”

“Huh?”

“The bottom cabin is filled to the brim with benches and oars.”

“Awwwwww buck me...”  Logan grimaced in the starlight.  “You're telling me that thing's a friggin' rowboat?”

“No doubt they're using the slaves from Mudtop to power the thing.”  Flynn said, scanning the shoreline with his one eye.  Several palm trees and thickets formed a lush barrier to the starlight.  “It's how they got so far west... and so quickly too.”

“There seems to be a lot of wear and tear on the hull of this thing,” Logan said, brushing his hoof along the outer shell of the vessel.  “The boat's seen a lot of action.”

“It's not newly-built.  That's for sure,” Flynn added.  “I spotted some maps inside the cabin that are dated back ten years.”

“Then these guys must have scoped this place out a while ago.”

“Seems like it.”

“So... is this it, then?”  Logan studied the same treeline with a look of disgust.  “Aegis Archipelago?  As spoken of by those thugs we bagged in Rust?”

“What the Hell else would it be?” Flynn huffed.  “I'm guessing the pirates took them inward—towards the heart of the island.”

“What?  The coral, coal, or the slaves?”

“All of the above.  They're all just commodities to these dickholes.”  Flynn frowned.  “I wanna crush this whole operation.  I wanna crush it super hard.”

“Easy there, chief.”  Logan muttered.  “We gotta rendezvous with the others.”

“Doesn't mean we can't do some reconnaissance while we wait,” Flynn said.

“Mrmmfff...”  Logan scratched his chin, looking once more at the tree line.  “...I dunno.”

“Who knows if the others went off-course or not,” Flynn said.  “Right now, we've got the cover of night—as we intended.  We should take full advantage of it while we still can.”

“You're not wrong.  Just... seems like a tough job for only two of us.”

“I know.  But I'm not saying we face all the punks on our lonesome.”  Flynn sighed.  “...I really think we should have brought the noobie.  This would have been a really educational job.”

“Yeah.  You're not wrong.”  Logan scratched his stubbled chins.  “But she's so green.  Plus... she's still recovering from what happened to her mother.  Hell, we all are.”

“Yeah...”  Flynn sighed.  He turned to look at the shadowed features of the island.  “There's gotta be at least thirty slaves stuck on this rock.  Getting them to Kihutaja will be a challenge...”

“I'm sure they'll be willing to row to freedom, even if it's the last time they all touch an oar,” Logan said.  He turned away from the large boat.  “Unless, of course, they're thinking of building a resort here.  I bet the crab meat is delicious.”

“Mrmmmfff... seriously, Big Show?” Flynn groaned inwardly.  “Must you?”

“Yeah yeah.”  Logan waved a hoof.  “Just trying to liven things up a bit, Flynn.  Is that such a crime?”

“When it comes to dealing with slavers,” Flynn grunted.  “I've got no room for snickering.”

“Yeah.”  Logan's throat tightened.

Silence—save for the crashing of waves.  And even those were subdued this deep into the Blight.

“Let's find where these melon bucks are lazing about,” Logan said, hoisting his axe over his flank.  “And then when the others get here, we'll kick their shit in.  What say you?”

“Sounds like a job and a half.”

“Right.  I'll take point.”  Logan crept towards show, eyes locked on the trees.  “You be the half.”

Flynn stifled a groan, keeping low and following after the larger stallion's stealthy figure.





The island's topography rose significantly as the two hiked their way inward under starlight.  As it turned out, only the outermost layer of palm trees was the densest.  As the two Heraldites moved inward, they encountered less trees and more boulders and rock croppings.  It was an uphill climb, and soon it became apparent that the entire island—a cozily tiny anomaly at best—capped off as a stout dome.

That is—it was almost a dome.  Towards the center of the conical peak, the terrain dropped sharply.  Flynn and Logan took their time, surveying the environment.  They discovered a massive dip in the center of the island.  It was too large to call a mere “hole,” bordering more on a “crater.”  The clearest way to descend was in spiraling downhill paths naturally covered with tall grass and lined with a smattering of sporadic palm trees.  There was a ring of starlight illuminating the hollow declination, and then the innermost core of the island sunk so low that it harbored its own shadows.

“A volcano?” Logan whispered.

Flynn nodded.  “From the looks of it,” he whispered back.

“Still active?”

“The entire basin is full of vegetation and trees.”  Flynn swatted at a dragonfly as the two crept amidst vegetation.  “Wildlife too.  This place hasn't spouted lava in eons.”

“So where are these punks holed up?”

“You ask me...?”  Flynn pointed down into the mouth of the descending pit.  “Downwards.”

“Seems like a lame place to pack it in,” Logan said.  “Not to mention obvious.”

Flynn glanced up at the ring of star-lit trees surrounding them up above.  “I'm guessing they ultimately plan to form a defensive perimeter.  Maybe in a few years and with enough supplies, they can do just that.”

“Guess it's a good thing we picked up on those rumors in Rust when we did.”

“Yeah.”

The two remained hidden in silence, squatting in the bushes as cicadas and other insects buzzed around the scene.  Between that and the echo of crashing waves filtering into the hollow hill from all sides, it was far from a quiet tranquility.

“Hell, we could probably sing an opera and still sneak up on these bozos,” Logan stated.

“Don't get any dumb ideas,” Flynn muttered back.  “If anypony gets a jump on us here, it'll be a real strain to gallop back to the boat.”

“How much further are we planning to go?”  Logan craned his neck.  “There's no sign of their encampment.  I wanna find it as much as you do, but if we go in too deep—”

“I know.”

“There's gotta be a path they took to bring their supplies downhill.  I bet if it was light, we'd find it.”

“Or if my horn worked, I could light it up.”

“Well, thankfully for both of us, you can't do that under the Blight,” Logan whispered.  “It'd give away our position in a heartbeat.”

“You mean like that?” Flynn remarked.

“Huh??”

“Shhhh...”  Flynn pointed across the dim air of the hollow.  “Look.”

Logan did.  Eventually, he saw it: a speck of flickering luminescence, slowly rising up out of the belly of the island.

“Verlaxion's sleet...”  Logan cursed.  “...is that a torch?”

“Good to know that you can still build a fire under the Blight.”

“Yeah.  I guess.  But what kind of an idiot would expose themselves like that?”

“A pirate who doesn't expect ponies like you and me to literally row their way out here from the nearest colonialist outpost.”

“Hrmmmfff...”  Logan smirked.  “Good eye there, chuckles.”

“Thanks.”  Flynn adjusted his eyepatch, blinking his one good socket.  “I try.”

“Seems like we have a volunteer.  Shall we jump 'em?”

“That's what I'm thinking.”  Flynn began creeping forward through the undergrowth.  “I'll take point this time.”

Logan shuffled quietly after him.  “You got a plan?”

“Not really, but I'm hoping they have less of one.”  Flynn crawled faster.  “Also, I'm the smaller of us both.  Figure I'll make less noise.”

“Got it.  Well, I won't be far behind.”

“I'm counting on it.”  Flynn moved faster.

Logan hissed after him:  “And whatever you do—try not to conk him out!  We'll need somepony to interrogate for info before the morning sun rises!”

“Right right right...”  Flynn made like a shadow, moving clockwise around the inner slopes, his eye locked on the flickering torchlight from a distance.





A surly pegasus stallion crept between bent palm trees.  His wingfeathers gripped the base of a burning torch as his sun-bleached limbs carried him casually uphill.  Scars and age-old bruises from countless scraps covered the pirate's deadpan muzzle.  He moved with muddled purpose, eyes scanning left and right in search of something.

At last, he found it—a tiny “encampment” marked by a small stack of crates along the northeast portion of the crater.  Beside the boxes, two planks of wood rested on a pair of rocks with a narrow space afforded in between.  Flies buzzed around the location.

“Hrmmfff...”  The pirate exhaled, slightly relieved to find the spot.  He shuffled to the side, finding a wooden stake in the ground with a hole notched in the top.  Placing the torch neatly into the stake, he turned and made for the makeshift bench.  He turned around and rested his posterior above the space between.  As his face relaxed, he slightly closed his eyes as his tail lifted and—

Schiiiing!

The sharp tip of a crossbow pressed into the back of his head.

The pirate's eyes widened as his every limb froze.

“Go ahead...”  Flynn whispered, leaning in slightly from where he had emerged from a throng of bushes.  “...finish your business.  Then we can get to more important matters.”

A pitiable whisper escaped the stallion's lips.  In no time at all, the air filled with a rancid smell.

Flynn did his best to keep from gagging.  “See?  That wasn't so hard after all.”  He poked the pirate threateningly, urging him towards the stack of crates.  “Over there.  No sudden movements.  Lift your wings and keep them still.”

The pegasus did as he was told.

“Now turn around and face me.  Wings stay up.”

Reaching the crates on stiff hooves, the pirate slowly turned around.

By now, Flynn positioned himself with the stake-torch behind, obscuring his forward features to the pirate.  “Your saddlebag.  Remove them.”

Slowly—begrudgingly—the stallion obliged.

“The knife and rope too.”  Flynn shook the crossbow attached to his right hoof.  “Toss them before my fetlocks.”

The pirate's nostrils flared.  As he threw the items towards Flynn's three planted limbs, he grumbled, “Continentalist bastard.”  He huffed in a raspy voice.  “Shoulda known.”

“I'm not sent by Frostknife,” Flynn countered.  “If the Six Tribes wanted you dealt with, you'd be dead by now.  They only send the Talon.”

“Then what is this?”  The pirate snorted.  “Hired hooves by a guild that Revan pissed on?”

“I'll be the one asking questions here.”  Flynn shoved the pirate's possessions aside while he kept his crossbow trained on him and his upturned wings.  “How many of you punks are stationed here?”

“... … ...”  The pirate merely glared at him.

“Don't test me, bud,” Flynn snarled, glaring down the sight of his crossbow.  “I'm a nerd with a mid-life crisis.  The homicidal thirst is unquenchable.”

“You only got one shot with that thing before you have to reload—”

“Yeah, and you only got one scrotum.  So you wanna take your chances talking smack?”

The pirate sighed long and hard.  Eventually:  “There are fifteen of us here.  Including me.”

“Uh huh.”  Flynn's one eye narrowed on the thug.  “And how many slaves?”

“Slaves?”

“Don't play dumb.  You haven't the leg muscles to row that bigass boat all the way here from Rust.”

“Maybe I'm a scout.”

“You'll be a pincushion in the next breath if it isn't giving me the info that I need.”

“There are... forty ponies here who are... not on the payroll,” the pegasus said.  “You want some of them?  We can negotiate.”

“Negotiate?  Cool.  I want all of them.”  Flynn's fetlock twisted, threatening to trigger the firing mechanism of the crossbow at any moment.  “Freed.”

The pirate snorted.  “You're shitting me.”

“Nah, you were doing a pretty good job of at that a minute and a half ago.”

“Just where exactly do you intend to take the bastards?” the pirate said.  “They're all spawn from Mudtop.  They have no homes—just as they have no lives.”

“We'll be the judge of that.”

“You and who else—?”

“None of your concern,” Flynn spoke boldly.  He took a threatening step forward, the crossbolt of his weapon glinting in the starlight.  “Next, you're going to tell me where your main camp is located and who's guarding—”

Suddenly...

...two dark bodies dropped down from the palm trees above.

Flynn jerked to a stop.  He looked over his shoulder, his one eye discerning equine shapes.  “What—”

“Httt!”  The pirate made a mad dash for him.

“!!!!”  Flynn squatted low and fired.  Thwffft!

The crossbolt merely grazed the pegasus' withers.  Blood kissed the air hotly as the pirate growled and threw his charge into a full-bodied dive.  “Raaaaaaaaugh!”

WHUMP!!!

The pirate slammed Flynn onto his flank.

Quick in reflexes, Flynn bucked the pegasus off him completely.

The pirate went tumbling sideways.  His body ragdolled through the stake in the earth.  The torch fell loose, its flames burning a swath through the tall grass.  The air lit up, and the soiled faces of the two ambushing equines rushed straight towards Flynn.  Within the next breath, their hooves were on him.

“Rrrrgh—!”  Flynn clenched his jaw, struggling to reload the crossbow.  The forelimbs of the other two complicated his efforts.  Their fetlocks were thin and gangly, but he nevertheless struggled to fight them off.  “Goddess damn it!”  He pivoted his body and swung the frame of the crossbow across one face.  “Get off—!”

As the one pony fell, the other leapt upon him in a desperate pounce.  The two struggled as the fire spread around them, bush by bush.

By now, the pirate had gotten up.  Snarling in anger, he rushed to his discarded things and grabbed a serrated machete.

Flynn sputtered, his one good eye reflecting the pirate's incoming figure.

“Been running low on rations...”  The pirate spat, then raised the blade over Flynn's exposed neck.  “You should feed us or a day or two, even if there isn't much meat on ya—”  A metal talon suddenly clamped over his muzzle from behind.  “Mrmmmffff!”

“!!!” Flynn gasped.  The pony wrestling with him similarly locked up

“Mrmrrrrrrrrrr—!”  The pirate's eyes widened as a shadowy griffon hoisted his body up in a violent arc, suplexing him viciously into the latrine at the center of the encampment.  Smassssh!

The pony atop of Flynn let out a whimpering sound, just before—Claaaang!  A metal staff knocked him upside the head.  He fell aside Flynn like a sack of meat.

The third pony got up, hyperventilating.  He turned and fled downhill—only for the staff to sail towards him like a javelin, pinballing his figure into the trunk of a palm tree and knocking him out cold.

A huff of breath.  Flynn watched as Bard trotted into the firelight, cracking the joints in his neck.  “Whew...!”  He smirked down at the one-eyed Heraldite.  “Y'know, for a bunch of yokels with an open-air shitter, that was a pretty dayum good woodshedding.”  He extended hoof down.  “On yer hooves, buddy.  This train ain't stoppin' for no breathers.”

Flynn blanched, nevertheless accepting the Desperado's gesture.  “Bard...?!”  He stumbled upright before the pegasus.  “This is one of Mortuana's directives.  What the Hell are you doing here?”

“Jee...”  Bard tipped his hat with a scowl.  “Yer mighty welcome.”  He turned and whistled aside.  “Yo Dubya?!  Ya done suplexin'?  Get these blazes out already!  Dayum slowpokin' ostrich...”

Wildcard waved back.  After dragging the pirate's unconscious figure safely away from the flames, he reached into his bandoleer and produced a series of capsules.  These—he flung into the flames, which burst in white clouds of extinguishing mist.

“Kaff!  Kaff!”  Bard moved himself and Flynn away from the fumes as the torchlight died down.  “Whew-wee!  I hate explosions.  Dun you?”

“I... I knew Wildcard was coming along,” Flynn said, still panting and licking his wounds.  “But I figured he'd be bringing along Remna.”

“Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint.  Remna couldn't make it.”

“Why not?”

“Dubya said she was feelin' 'under the weather'.  Whatever that means.”  Bard glared at the griffon.  “Y'know how he gets.  Rambles on and on like a true blue parrot but never gets to the point.”

A metal middle talon reflected the last remaining flickers of flame.

“Yeah yeah love ya too, murder penguin.”  Bard looked towards Flynn.  “Anyways, he decided to drag along me in her place.  He's mighty persuasive like that.”

“There's no mercenary pay in this, Bard.”

“So?”  Bard smirked.  “Freein' pony folk is pay enough.  Ain't that what you Herald yahoos are all about?”

“Actually, we're holding out to escort a pony who's destined to save the world—”

“Yeah.  Uh huh.  In a pig's eye.”  Bard adjusted the weight of his guitar, stifling a yawn.  “Anyways.  Where's Big Show?  We done crushed this island's only shitter, so he can't be up to his usual habits.”

Huffing and puffing, a fat stallion galloped up the hillside, dragging his axe.  “Dammit, Flynn!  I leave you alone to be a hero for one measly second—”  He scuffled to a stop, sweating and blinking.  “Ah dip.  It's the minstrel show.”

“Speak of the dumpling!”  Bard struck a smug pose as Wildcard shuffled up to stand beside him.  “Dang slowpokes!  We've been on this island for half-a-day now!  And still you gone and nearly screwed everythang to Blight's bottom!”

Flynn stammered.  “I had no idea the one dude had... drop buddies in the trees.”

Logan turned to gawk at him.  “You let two pirates get the drop on you?!”

“Look—they were silent as cats and they took their sweet time before jumping—”

“That's no friggin' excuse!  You're getting sloppy with a capital 'S'!  For 'suck shit and die'.  You're lucky you're still breathing!”

“Big Show...”

“Honestly, Captain Nerd!  Did you drink some of the seawater on the way here or what—?!”

Wildcard talon-signed in the air.

Flynn gave him a double-take.  “What do you mean 'they weren't pirates?'”

“Can't fault ya for not noticin' in the midst of that slobberknocker...”  Bard trotted over to where one of the ambushing ponies lay unconscious.  “Maybe you noticed how frail-like their limbs were.”  He turned the pony over in the starlight, exposing hollow cheakbones and poor teeth.  “See?  Malnourished as all hell.”

Flynn grimaced.  “Cheese and crackers...”

“I'll be damned...”  Logan muttered, his eyes wandering to permanent burn marks around the lower fetlocks of the specimen in question.  “Mudtop spawn.”

Wildcard whistled.  He reached down, lifting one of the pony's eyelids open as the figure twitched slightly on bordering consciousness.  The cornea was bloodshot and red.

“Coral huffers too, from the looks of it.”  Bard looked at the others.  “Well, reckon that's one way to keep yer prisoners doin' yer bidding.”

“They got their own slaves doing guard duty for them?” Flynn remarked.

“Not a very good job at it, all thangs considered,” Bard said.  “Three more of 'em got the jump on Dubya and me back when we first landed.  Didn't require much of a fight to take 'em down.  The way I see it, they ain't got long to last on this island, so the thugs make use of them and feed 'em coral to ease their passin'.”

Wildcard nodded.  He gestured:  “Then they get fresh bodies from Mudtop and bring them here as well.”

“Rinse and repeat.”  Bard's nostrils flared.  “The only true cargo that's precious to them at the end of the day is the dredge coal they're harborin'.”

Flynn rubbed the back of his neck.  “At this rate, they'll have enough dredge coal to supply equine traffickers and pirates who'd intend to terrorize the Kihutajan Archipelago for years.  Maybe decades.”

“That'll cement the Syndicate's hoofhold this far west for sure,” Bard said with a nod.

Logan sighed long and hard.  “Where are all the slaves who were brought to this island previously, I wonder...?”

“Dubya and I didn't find no graves.”  Bard shrugged.  “But—then again—who buries slaves?”

Wildcard gestured something.

Bard muttered back, “Now that's just bein' redundant, Dubya.”

Wildcard shrugged.

“You said you were jumped earlier,” Logan said.  “What did you do with those ponies?”

“Dubya and I bound 'em nice and tight.  We left 'em in the shade out by where we made landfall.”  Bard tilted his hat back.  “They're mighty far from the center of the island, not to mention a comet's throw from where these pirates make port.  Even if they had the strength to shout, I doubt anypony would hear 'em.”

“The thug said there were fifteen pirates total on the island, and about forty slaves,” Flynn stated.  “After all this nonsense, I'm a bit doubtful of the authenticity of those numbers.”

Wildcard talon-signed to Flynn:  “Did you find out where their main camp is?”

Flynn sighed and shook his head.

“Of course you didn't.”  Logan muttered.  “Now that we're back to square one, we should be ready for anything.”

“It's not exactly 'square one',” Flynn grumbled.

Logan went on:  “If baldy hadn't royally bucked up the interrogation process, I'd have stepped in and really gotten us some good intel.”

“The Hell is that supposed to mean?!” Flynn blanched at Logan.

“No offense, bud...”  Logan gestured at the unconscious bodies and still-smoldering bushes.  “...but this didn't go nearly as pristine as your steamboat diagrams—”

“No, not that.  'Baldy!'  The buck are you on about?”

“Pfffft...”  Logan snorted.  “Are you farting straight into my face right now?”

“I've got an okay mane of hair!”

“You've got yerself a comb-over at best, partner,” Bard said.

“So it's a little thin in the front.”  Flynn huffed.  “So what?”

Wildcard gestured: “It's a comb-over.”

“Might as well stop fightin' it, bro,” Logan said.  “Buzz it all off.”

“Or wear yerself a hat,” Bard said.  “It makes ya look badass.”

“Either would work better than a comb-over,” Logan said.

Wildcard nodded in agreement.

Flynn fumed.  “Dudes, I can't believe we're having this conversation.  This is hardly the time or the place!”

“Damn skippy.”  Logan gestured.  “A domed shine like that will give our places away in the starlight!”

Wildcard gestured:  “I fear the fire has done just that.”

“Nah... his chrome skull is worse.”

Wildcard shrugged... but eventually nodded.

“Rrrrnghhhh...”  Flynn shook in place, stamping a hoof.  “I am not buzzing it off!”

“Not now you ain't.”  Bard looked at Logan.  “We've still got ourselves a camp to clear out.”

“Right.  Seeing as I have seniority among the Job Squad—” Logan started.

“Pfffft!”  Bard bore a sarcastic smirk.  “Excuse you!”

“... … …and I'm also a card-carrying member of the Herald.”

“Hah... sure...”  Bard waved a hoof.  “Go ahead...”

“I'll be taking charge from here on out.”

“How about you take a flying leap into the surf?” Flynn muttered.  “Displace the entire Ocean into the crater and flood the creeps out.”

“Oh!  That's royal!”  Logan scoffed.  “That your best comeback, baldy?”

“Big Show...”

“Can we just make a game plan here, fellas?” Bard waved his wingfeathers.  “Comin' from a longtime bounty hunter, a certain bit of professionalism is what it takes at a time like this—”

Wildcard let out a shrill whistle.  Everypony looked at him as he swiftly talon-signed:  “Bind these three ponies.  Retrace the pirate's steps downhill.  Find the entrances to the camp.  Get a headcount.  Locate the prisoners.  Plan an attack.  Minimize casualties.”

“... … ...errr... yeah!”  Bard smirked, pointing at the other Desperado.  “What he said.”

Logan and Flynn exchanged nodding glances.

“Works for us.”

“Sure thing.”

Wildcard gave a metal thumb's up.

“I'll go fetch the other slave,” Flynn said, trotting downhill.

“Yup!”  Bard called out after him.  “Could ya fetch my staff while yer at it too?  There's a good bald spot!”

“Rrrrrrrgh...”

“Hey, the less strands that take root, the more room for eggheading!” Logan said while tying up the pirate and other slave.

“Shucks, I missed these snappy motherbuckers.”  Bard looked at Wildcard, folding his forelimbs with a smirk.  “Nice strategizin', by the way.”  He arched an eyebrow.  “Prattlin' off for days at a time, and for once you say somethin' concise and orderly just to show me up.  Huh?”

Wildcard's talons blurred in response.

“Oh go blow your beakholes.”  Bard rolled his eyes.  “You'd be miserable without me.”  His staff flew—thrown uphill—and slammed into his gut.  “Ooomf!”

The griffon huffed a mute laugh.





As it turned out, with four combined trackers of shared veteran experience in infiltration working together, it didn't take very long for them to find out where the pirates had been holed up.  They split into two groups—Heraldites and Desperadoes—and rotated their way cyclonically down the crater, both clockwise and counter-clockwise.  They passed each other twice, silent as shadows, and ultimately met in the center.

Coincidentally enough, it was there in the belly of the crater where they first found signs of the camp's location.  At first, it was a passing streak of light—then a persistent glow.  Wildcard spotted it first—naturally.  He stole Bard's attention who alerted Logan who then alerted Flynn.  The latter-most stallion of the group found himself creeping up to an earthen mound, behind which all four squatted.  There—hunched and hidden—they peered into the mouth of a cave.

The soil and vegetation gave way to obsidian rock and smooth volcanic glass.  Despite its dark polished surfaces, the interior was quite well-lit.  At just the right angle, the group could make out multiple burning torches.  And—what's more... multiple ponies.  Far more than they initially had the faculty to quantify.  The Job Squadders remained huddled there for an extended period of time, making the best headcount possible from what little they could see of the interior.

“That's... a lot more ponies than the punk said, isn't it?” Logan murmured.

“Hard to tell,” Flynn replied, squinting.  He craned his neck left and right.  “Which are the pirates and which are their slaves?”

“We're not gonna get anywhere just huddling behind this mound and squinting like a bunch of freaky Midnighters in daylight,” Logan said.

“Hey...”  Bard grunted.  “Watch your muzzle.”

“Pffft...”  Logan smirked at Bard.  “What do you care?”

Bard let it slide with a sigh.  “Thankfully... some of us came prepared.”  He reached into his saddlebag and produced a spyglass.  He extended the telescope and adjusted it while holding it before one peering eye.  “Even if somegriffon can't use it on account of his 'edgy and mysterious' goggles gettin' in the way.”

Wildcard merely huffed.

“So...?” Flynn blinked up at the pegasus doing recon.  “What do you see?”

“Hrmmmm...”  Bard hoofed him the spyglass.  “Take a gander for yerself.”

Flynn did just that.  With his one good eye, he stared down the telescopic lens.  Deep inside the cave, he discerned bodies of ponies shuffling and milling about.  Both stallions and mares sat casually around crates of supplies and makeshift furniture.  A few equines were slightly more muscular and healthier than the others, but other than that—he could scarcely tell the difference between the captors and the captives.

“Gettin' a good view, baldy?” Logan stabbed.

Flynn ignored him, observing more details.  He spotted a blurry structure in the far distance of the cave.  Adjusting the telescopic lens, he focused on the object in particular.  It turned out to be an elaborate cage built out of wood and bamboo.  What was striking about it—however—was that the “jail cell” door was wide open.  While a few ponies lingered inside, several others trotted leisurely in and out, making it even more difficult to ascertain who was who.  After a prolonged period of observation, he noticed black “marks” to the fetlocks of most of the ponies lingering around the cell and other spots of the cave.  It wasn't long after that Flynn noticed several small shapes galloping about, chasing one another gleefully.  He adjusted the lens once more, and no less than half-a-dozen tiny bodies came into focus.

“Awwww buck me,” Flynn hissed.

Logan sat up straight.  “What is it?”

Flynn—scowling—hoofed the large stallion the spyglass.  “See for yourself.”

Logan held the telescope to his squinting eye.  He adjusted, focused, then exhaled.  “Damnation.”

“Problem?” Bard asked.

“Yeah.  Little snot-nosed ones.”  Logan lowered the spyglass.  “They've got foals in there.”

“Shucks...”  Bard took his hat off and scratched through his brown mane.  “If that dun complicate things a heap.”

“Could the Syndicate sink any lower?” Flynn frowned.  “To ferry child slaves to this place?”

The Desperados were dead silent.

Logan wasn't.  “They weren't ferried here, dude.”

Flynn blinked at that.  He seemed at a lost to pronounce his own thoughts.

“It's not that big a stretch,” Logan muttered.  “You yourself said their boat's at least a decade old.  This camp feels a bit lived-in too.”

“Didja get a headcount?”

“I... uhm...”  Flynn fumbled for a moment, his mind still wandering.  “Maybe sixty ponies.  Several of them sport the dark branding of Mudtop breeding on their hooves.  But otherwise it's hard to tell them apart.”

“Sounds sorta like what I counted.”  Bard craned his neck, looking towards Logan.  “What about you?”

“I'd say less.  Maybe fifty or so.  But—then again—we can't see the whole cave from here.”

“About how many littl'un's?”

“Six.  Eight.  Roundabouts.”

“This... totally rules out a full frontal charge,” Flynn declared.

“Pffft.  Please...”  Bard snorted.  “Dubya and I alone have handled more.”

“Yeah, but the innocent casualties...”  Flynn gestured.

Bard rubbed his chin.  “Hrmmmm... reckon t'ain't so easy to cast lots in this here shindig.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we already dun clobbered five of the ponies that the pirates reeled in here,” Bard said while Wildcard nodded.  “Odds are there are more of them coral-huffers nested up in the trees around us.  That means plenty of unseen ponies we gotta weed out both inside and outside the cave when all is said and done.”

“That makes this entire island a potential booby trap—both for us and for the ones we're trying to save.”  Flynn exhaled sharply.  “I dunno, guys.  I think this requires a friggin' army.”

“These ponies aren't getting an army,” Logan grumbled.  “They've been gathering here for over a decade and neither Frostknife nor Kihutaja give enough shits to do anything about it.  We leave this place for 'reinforcements,' and that's just buying the Syndicate more time to screw the livelihood of the colonialist populace.”  Logan threw a determined growl towards the cave entrance.  “This up to the Job Squad.”

“Alright.  Fine.  Let's kick ass.”  Flynn sighed.  “Question is... how?”

“How else?  I'd say we stick to the Herald's best, oldest, and most successful tactic.”  Logan smirked at the others.  “Send in Wildcard.”

“Yeah, yer real funny when yer lazy and stupid,” Bard muttered.  “Besides the fact that he's only occasionally overpowered... we have one chief problem.”

“Yeah?  What's that?”

Wildcard whistled lightly.  He held his left limb up.  The metal prosthetic dangled uselessly in the starlight.

“Awwwwwww...”  Flynn's ears drooped as he shuffled over and cradled the griffon's limp limb.  “That's a crying shame.”

“Yeah!  What the Hell?!”  Logan cackled in the shadows.  “It was working earlier!”

“That's because I built in a backup electrobattery system.”  Flynn examined the digits in the prosthetic, then looked at Wildcard's face.  “But I'm guessing—after the manacore gave out—it didn't last very long in the leeching Blight.”

Wildcard exhaled slowly, giving a defeated nod.

“Well, shit.”  Logan shrugged.  “Our resident badass is a bench-sitter.  What's our tactic, then?”

“Brainstorm!”  Bard beamed, reaching back to his guitar.  “How about I whip out this baby, squat before the cave, and lure 'em all outside with an entrancin' melody?”  He winked.  “Then y'all get the jump on the thickest of the thugs and we go chargin' in on what's left?”

“Pfft...”  Logan waved a hoof.  “That's your lame answer to everything.”

Bard pouted.  “Well somepony's gotta live up to his name!”

“I agree that it'd be nice to lure most of the thugs out of the cave,” Flynn said.  “But not with music.”  He looked up at Wildcard.  “If I may.”

The griffon nodded.

With a twist—and assisted by the Desperado—Flynn detached his metal limb.  Crk-Crkkkt!  “Okay... lookie here...”  He waved at Wildcard assuringly.  “...and I promise to fix you up with replacement parts before we part ways.  But for now...”  He cradled the prosthetic talon, pried at a panel with a tool, then opened the arm to expose a dormant manacore.  “...the Blight may have snuffed out the leylines in this thing, but I'm certain the dust and lubricant lining the inner chamber can still be of use.”

“Care to hurry it up, baldy?” Logan insisted.  “Not all of us can egghead at the speed of geek.”

Flynn carried on:  “Well, torches work out here, right?  So I'd say it's a safe bet that we're not so deep in the Blight that basic chemistry is completely bucked.  I can repurpose some of the fluids in Wildcard's prosthetic to act as a burning agent.”

“To what end?” Bard asked.

“Well, I brought some smoke pellets and incendiary grenades with me,” Flynn explained, looking at the others.  “If you give me a minute and a half, I can mix and match to conjure up some noisy fireworks for luring the guards out—and then a burning batch of materials to fill a good portion of the cavern with smoke.”

“Then the rest of us can jump in and make quick work of those who come to snoop around,” Bard said.

“Now you're getting the idea.”

Wildcard clenched his beak.  With his good hand, he twisted claws left and right in uncertainty.

“Gotta agree with the death pelican,” Logan grumbled.  “Ya sure this can work, Flynn?  Seems a bit of a gamble.”

“Hey, I won't do this unless we're unanimous about it,” Flynn said.  “It's just the best plan I can come up with.  If you guys have any better ideas, I'm all ears... since I can't be all eyes.”

“We've got a brainiac who's half-blind...”  Logan rubbed his chin.  “And a griffon who's one-quarter-lame.  None of us can fly or use magic, and we gotta liberate a cave full of punks and drug addicts.”

“Yeah, but the sun's gonna rise eventually.”  Bard gestured.  “Sooner or later, them folks inside the cave will figure out that six of their familiars are no-shows.  We already done galloped off the starting line.  Reckon it's only fittin' we finish this one way or another.”

“I assure you...”  Flynn looked up, already extracting materials from the prosthetic.  “I can get the explosives to work.  What really matters if we're all up to accomplishing the rest.”  His good eye thinned.  “If we plan and coordinate things perfectly, we should still be able to do this.”

“I'd say it's worth it!”  Bard stood up straight, smirking.  “Hell—don'tcha believe in miracles?”

Wildcard nodded vehemently.

Logan's nostrils flared.  “Right.  Bard and I are the biggest muscle.  We'll throttle the punks who get drawn out.  Try to keep it nice and clean.”

Bard snorted.  “What do you mean 'try?'”  Cl-Clakkk!  He extended his staff and rested it over his neck with a smarmy wink and smile.  “We got this, pardner!”

Logan looked at Flynn.  “You and the bird can use the moment to leap through the fumes and chaos, scour the cave's interior.  Make quick work of any assailants who remain inside.”

“Work our way back to the mouth of the cave?” Flynn said.

“Right on.”  Logan nodded.  “We do a clean sweep of the cavern.  Once all the thugs are down, we escort the rest of the ponies out—foals and mares and whoever else—then once they're safe, we go about sweeping the rest of the island and getting everypony to safety.”

“What about the dredge coal and coral and whatever-the-hell-else the Syndicate's got stashed here?” Flynn asked.

“Priorities are priorities,” Logan declared.  “The most important thing is getting these slaves to freedom.  We'll also have imprisoned punks to deal with.”

Flynn nodded.  “We can make them row the families back to Kihutaja.”

“Exactly.”

“Boo-ya!” Bard hissed, slapping his hoof against Wildcard's talon.  “Tie that up with a pretty bow and we'll be back in Rust for moonshine!”

“One keg at a time, red-nose.”  Logan looked at Flynn.  “Can ya really handle the boom?”

“I've lived around your farts long enough, haven't I, Big Show?”  Flynn grumbled as he fished grenades out of his saddlebag, defused them, and mixed with the compounds being extracted from the prosthetic.  “I think I know a thing or two about dangerous fumes.”

“Works for me.”  Logan looked towards the mouth of the cave.  “Goddess, I hope this goes well.”

“You and me both, big guy,” Bard said.  “But we've been through worse scrapes before.”

Wildcard gave a light whistle.

Flynn slowed slightly in his task.  His eye glanced up at the lip of the crater in the starlight above them.  Then—after a shuddering breath or two—he returned to his work with hurried motions.





An hour later...

Flynn and Wildcard crawled through the underbrush looming right above the mouth of the cave.  A curved mound of earth allowed them to perch atop the entrance like some natural balcony.  There, they hunched down low—with the equine one of the two carrying a load of freshly-prepared concoctions across his flank.

“Hrmmmfff... never figured I'd be the group's Kepler for a night,” the unicorn muttered.  He looked aside at Wildcard.  “How are you holding up?”

Just prior to moving to their planned location, Flynn had manipulated Wildcard's inactive limb so that all but two joints had completely locked up.  If the Desperado twisted the mechanism just right, he could use it like a rigid peg to stand on.  With deft precision, the rest of it could be made to bend at a right angle.  Other than that, the elaborate construction was rendered useless by the Blight.

In response to Flynn's query, Wildcard produced a thumb's up with his one natural arm.

Flynn exhaled.  “I know you're used to going in, all big and badass,” he whispered.  “But I'm gonna have to take point this time.  You cool with that?”

The griffon calmly nodded.

“Weird, I know.  End of the world, even.”  Flynn reached for his freshly-conjured grenades... and paused.  “... … ...”  His one good eye traced the starlight lingering above the crater around them.  He breathed quietly—tense and still.

Wildcard snaked into view, looking him straight in the muzzle with a worried expression behind his goggles.

Flynn gulped.  “Nothing,” he murmured, quieter than a feather fall.  “Just... got a feeling I guess.”

The Desperado attempted gesturing something with his remaining limb.

Whether Flynn “read” him correctly or not, it mattered little.  “The others are counting on us.  We've got a task.”  He gestured into the mouth of the cave beneath them.  “I toss the fireworks.  We all wait for pirates to come out.  Our two partners jump them.  Once the fight engages, we leap down... rush into the cave... take out any stragglers... then fight our way back to the mouth of the cave.”  His eye narrowed.  “Slaves and innocents get corralled into a safe spot of the cavern.  Then—once we're all grouped up—we'll sniff out any remaining flankholes.”

Wildcard was already nodding.

“Glad you like the plan, at least.”  Flynn grasped three canisters dangling with leather bags.  “Okay.  Give 'em the signal.”

Wildcard pivoted his stiff prosthetic in the starlight.

They were still for a few seconds.

A dozen meters away—hidden in underbrush—a metal object glinted starlight back at them.

Flynn exhaled.  “Good.”  He crawled until he was hanging off the very lip of the earthen mound above the cave.  “This is it.”

As he approached the edge, he could hear the raspy voices of ponies down below.  They muttered to each other in a Seven Seas accent.  There was even laughter—followed by coral-dusted wheeze or two.  Hooves scraped.  Somepony yawned.

Flynn dragged a leather bandanna over his muzzle.  He sensed Wildcard doing the same behind him as the griffon held the unicorn's lower limbs steady.  Wasting no more time, Flynn dangled his head and withers over the earthen ridge and lit the three canisters.  Then—one by one—he tossed them so that they landed a few meters out in open starlight just before the cave's entrance.

The makeshift grenades burned and hissed for half-a-minute.  Then—one after another—they brightened, flickered, and ultimately exploded in a flurry of noise and sparklers.  The sheer noise of the objects was the loudest sound Flynn and his compatriots had heard in hours, and it sent a thunderous echo across the entire island crater.

The reaction to this bedlam was immediate.  Wildcard pulled Flynn back.  The two hunched closely above the cave, craning their ears to a bevy of clopping hooves and scraping metal.  Voices shouted to one another and sailor curses lit the burning air.  It didn't take long for six... seven... eight... and finally nine total ponies to come running to the entrance.  There, just beneath the two Heraldites, they all stood with spears and scimitars at the ready.  The equines blinked confusedly at the pyrotechnics as they continued to bristle and thunder with chemical fury.

“The flippin' blue buck izzat?”

“Those some of ours?”

“Oi!  Red Shanty!  You think this is funny?!?”

“I... don't think this is Red's doing...”

“Well, when did ya lumps seem 'em last...?”

Wildcard emphatically patted the back of Flynn's neck.

The stallion nodded, already dropping the next few grenades.  These—he didn't have to throw.  He just let them fall limp past the lip of the cave's mouth.

Cl-Cl-Clink!

All canisters landed on the obsidian surfaces just behind the nine thugs.  They immediately spun about with surprised expressions.  But not long after—

Hisssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!

The canisters released their contents, filling the air with a thick steamy haze.  The pirates stumbled every which way, coughing and hissing through the sudden cloud.

“Bloody hell!”

“Verlaxion's sleet!”

“Everypony!  Quick!  We're being att—!”

The ground rumbled.  Flynn and Wildcard looked to see Logan's big hairy mass thundering into the fog.  He barreled through four bodies shoulder-first, knocking all of them to the floor.  “Hrnnnghh—!”  The steam twirled like a cyclone as he swung his axe.  CL-CL-CLANKKKK!!!  The lopped-off pieces of scimitars flew up out of the cloud and settled back down.  Not long after—

“BOO-YAAAAA!”  Bard came sailing in—considerably less stealthy—and he became a spinning tornado of madness, smacking skulls with his bo-staff and tripping pirates down to the floor.  “Rrrrgh!  Come dance, ya scurvy scrotes!  The weather's fine!  Hrnnntt!  Mostly cloudy with a chance of woodshed!”

There were no rebuttals to this—instead grunts of pain and wheezing gasps as more and more bodies dropped to the floor.

Flynn and Wildcard waited.

The fight turned into a wild flurry of limbs amidst spreading smoke.

Flynn and Wildcard waited...

Galloping hooves echoed across the cave.  A fresh slew of pirates rushed into the mess, squaring off with the large shapes of Logan and Bard.

That was it.

“Go... go!”  Flynn pounced like a cat.  Wildcard glided right behind him.

Flynn landed awkwardly on the stone floor.  Cussing into his leather mask, he nevertheless pulled himself into a full gallop.  One bruised pirate turned to gasp at him, then aimed a spear to skewer the unicorn—

THWUMP!!!  The griffon landed hard on his body, slamming him to the floor.  He gave his chest a savage kick then took off as soon as he curled over to wheeze for breath.  Together, the Desperado and the Heraldite dashed into the depths of the cavern.





The obsidian hollow of the cavern opened wide with a raised ceiling.  Bodies stirred nervously in the flickering torchlight, casting shadows against the already dark-and-polished surfaces.  As a result of this, Flynn and Wildcard had difficulty telling the difference between actual equines and just the torch-made shapes of them.

The two scuffled to a stop in the center of the cavern.  There was an awkward pause as they stood, surrounded by blinking faces, expecting thugs to rush them—and yet with nothing happening.

Flynn—sweating—shook traces of smoke off his body and pulled his bandanna down.  “Don't worry!” he sputtered, short on breath.  His ears tickled with the fight happening at the cavern mouth behind him.  “We've come to rescue you!”

The ponies only looked more confused.  Those with predominantly blood-shot eyes reeled dizzily on their hooves.

Flynn felt his one-eyed vision quivering with each heartbeat.  He was about to say something else, when a pair of sleepy ponies shuffled up from the left.

“Nnnngh...” One of the two stallions stifled a yawn, using a crossbow like a cane.  “What in the bloomin' stars is happening here—?”

Wildcard saw his weapon.  “!!!”  Instantly, the Desperado went into badass mode.  Spinning his weight on his stiff prosthetic, he produced a billy club and flung it like a missile with his good talon.

“Dubya—!”  Flynn stammered, his gaze locked on the blank-faced slaves.

Swoooooooooooosh!  CLANG!!!  Blood spouted out of the pirate's muzzle as he stumbled backwards from Wildcard's thrown projectile.  “Grkkk!  Buckin'—!”

WOOOOSH!  Wildcard dove towards him, knocking his quivering body to the ground.

“Damn you!” the other thug drew his scimitar out and swung it towards the griffon.

Wildcard raised his locked prosthetic like a shield to block.  Clank!  A twist of the forelimb, and he locked the dormant metal wrist around the pirate's weapon.  He soon wrestled with the thug in a tense struggle.

Meanwhile, Flynn heard gasps and shrieks of distress from the ponies witnessing the fight.  He spun towards them, shouting:  “Please!  We mean you no harm!”  He got no response.

The pirate—wrestling with Wildcard—threw a frenzied look at the crowd.  Pushing his weight against the griffon, he spat to the echoing air:  “Whatcha standin' around for?!  These salty buggers have come for the coral!!!”

Several of the Mudtop-branded ponies exchanged worried glances.  Within seconds, four of them came charging angrily at the two Heraldites.

“Awwwwww sh—!”  Flynn swiftly switched into a defensive stance.  He tripped one pony, punched a second, whipped out his crossbow in time to block a third's approached, shoved against him, then fired a crossbolt into the tail-hairs of the fourth.  Thwifft!

“Grnnngh!”  The fourth slave stupidly pushed and flailed at the full length of his stuck tail.   His bloodshot eyes twitched as he practically foamed at the mouth.  “You're... ruining... everything...!”

Before Flynn could respond—

WHAM!  The first slave had gotten up and uppercutted him.

“Ooomf!”  Flynn fell onto his backside.  The first and third slave dove at him.  He used one Mudtopper's weight to propel the equine over him—smashing his body into a stack of crates.  Flynn somersaulted before the third could hit him.  The slave's body reeled, too weak and skinny to maintain balance.  Flynn gave him the “lightest” smack to the back of the neck he could afford and then aimed his crossbow at the second slave as he got up from the initial punch.

Chhh-Chhhtnkkk!  Flynn spat over a freshly-loaded crossbolt.  “I don't want to hurt you!” he emphasized.

The slaves—including the frenzied coral-huffers—took count of all the equines Flynn had just dropped.  They soon retreated towards the wall, trembling noticeably.  All except one burly stallion—who didn't have black marks on his fetlocks.

Flynn's one eye widened on the anomaly within the crowd.  “Hey!  You—!”

Exposed, the pirate cursed under his breath.  He galloped briefly under Flynn's sight-lines, slid towards a cluster of foals, and raised a tiny yelping colt by the neck, using him as a shield.

Flynn sneered in frustration.  He locked the crossbolt on his figure, marching icily forward.  “Drop him!”

“Like Hell I will!”  The pirate shouted over the sobs of the colt in his grasp.  “Oi!  Birch Belly!”

Another thug hobbled up from the thick of the crowd, brandishing a spear.  He stood squarely beside the pirate and his hostage.  “How 'bout you boys turn tail and leave?”

“Not happening.”  Flynn hissed back.  “Now let go of the kid before I aim at something that won't grow back.”

“You can't scare us,” the pirate growled.  He pulled a dagger out of a bandoleer and pressed it to the kid's neck.  “You're not the Talon!  Only Talon members actually kill their—”  His voice was cut short by the tossed body of an unconscious thug slamming into him from afar.

Both Flynn and the other pirate gasped.  They looked aside.

Wildcard—standing beside another unconscious pirate and still reeling from his heavy throw—broke into a breathless sprint and pounced at the remaining thug.

“Eeep!”  The trembling thug raised his spear lengthwise defensively.  “Verlaxion—!”

CRACK!!!  Wildcard came thundering through the weapon with a massive dropkick.  The spear shattered and the thug's body slammed into the ground at a disgusting angle.  Wildcard slumped to his knees, panting and sweating profusely.  A whimpering, freed colt ran behind him, trembling.

Meanwhile, the pirate who had held the foal hostage threw the weight of his unconscious partner off him and stood up—Thunkkk!—only to have a crossbolt from Flynn impale his front left fetlock, pinning him to the cavern floor.  “Aaaaaaaaaaaugh!” he shrieked in pain.

Wildcard panted, panted, looked up at the bloodied thug, seethed, and—WHAMMM!!!—clobbered him with a massive metal uppercut.

A sound resembling windchimes issued from several of the pirate's teeth littering the cavern wall.  The rest of his body fell like a sack of potatoes with occasional twitches.

Flynn, catching his breath, reloaded another crossbolt and cocked the weapon in his grasp.  He turned to glare across the crowd.  “Any more punks hiding about who want a trip to the dentist's?”  Cht-Chttkkk!  He aimed threateningly into the torchlight.  “Don't make us count all your fetlocks.  We'll find you.”

After a few seconds, multiple slaves split their ranks, stepping aside and outing trembling figures.  In total, three lasting thugs were forced out of hiding.  They looked nervously at the attackers—mostly at Wildcard—and tossed their weapons into the center of the cavern before squatting submissively low on their haunches.

Flynn exhaled in relief.  He marched over and stood above the pile of weapons, keeping his crossbow aimed at the three surrendering stallions.  “That's more like it.”  He threw his gaze towards the mouth of the cave where signs of a fight still echoed.  “Dubya, help me restrain these punks so that we may join the others—”

Woooosh!  Wildcard sprinted towards the mouth of the cave.  Brandishing two billy clubs—one in his good talon and the other in his beak—he leapt violently into the melee and helped the other two Job Squadders overwhelm the remaining pirates.

“Oh.  You got it.  Sure.”  Flynn shuddered, facing the surrendered pirates once more.  “That works too.”

One pirate dared to speak while his colleagues looked worriedly at him.  “We were only doin' our jobs, mate.”

Flynn frowned.  “Wrong Squad, ya sea turd.”  He brandished his glinting crossbow in the torchlight.  “Now shut up before I remove your voice box for you.”

A mare wheezed from afar, holding two frightened foals close.  “Have you r-really come to take us away from here?”

Flynn's good eye glanced over.  “Yes.”  He looked down at the dirt-faced colts and their trembling expressions.  His vision danced back to the mother.  “And you won't be going back to Mudtop.”

A whimper escaped the mare's throat.  Similar sounds came from other ponies.  Flynn watched as several of the slaves collapsed to the floor, sobbing with a mixed measure of emotion.  Others simply stood in a coral-dusted haze, looking at the bodies of pirates lying unconscious across the cave floor.

The Heraldite's ears folded back.  The sounds of combat from the mouth of the cave ceased, but he didn't bother looking over there to discern the outcome.  His gaze lingered on the scared foals clinging to their sobbing mother.





An hour later...

Thwump!!!  Logan tossed an unconscious thug—bound and gagged—against a dark stretch of the cavern wall beside eighteen of his comrades.  A veritable pirate pile of writhing, restrained bodies glared daggers at their vanquishers.

“Whew...!”  Logan dusted his fetlocks off and stepped back with a tired smile.  “...this many pirates nabbed—ya think we stumbled upon a salt quarry!”

“They're just punks,” Flynn muttered, squatting on a bolder near the cave entrance and fixing the minor damage done to his crossbow in the fight.  “Be glad they weren't real fighters.”

“You mean like those crazed freaks who nearly tore Remna's head off in Dust Prefecture?”

“Miserable bastards spent all their time shoving slaves around.”  Flynn's good eye glared back at the captured crowd.  “Never been in a real fight.  Never met a soul like Wildcard.”

“Mrmmmf-mrmmmfrrrfff-mrmmfffkkt!” one thug cussed into his gag.

“Easy for you to say.”  Logan gave him a heavy kick to the gut.  Whump!

“Mrmmmff!” the pirate wheezed and keeled over.

“You think it's bad now—wait until you guys start shitting on yourselves.  It'll be a smelly ride all the way back to Kihutaja, ya dog humpers.”  Logan turned and strolled casually towards Flynn with a smirk.  “You were off in your count, by the way.”

“So were you,” Flynn muttered.

“Yeah, well... better to be half-perfect than quarter-perfect.”  Logan suddenly winced, rubbing his rear left fetlock.  “Sonuva...”

“Something wrong?”

“Yeah.  One of those ocean-pissers hit me really good.  Think it's gonna bruise.”

Flynn's nostrils flared as he returned to his crossbow.  “You're a tough guy.  You'll walk it off.”

Logan arched his eyebrow.  “Somethin' wrong, baldy?”

“Stop calling me that...”

“This whole job went like cake!” Logan exclaimed.  “All of the pirates got clobbered!  Wildcard swept the island for the last of the slaves and freed them!  Bard's gathering the captives by the shoreline for rescue as we speak—!”

“Several of the Mudtoppers attacked me when we entered the cave,” Flynn said.

“Yeah...?”  Logan cocked his head curiously to the side.  “And you think you're the only one?  Bard and Wildcard had their limbs full—”

“It just... weirds me out.”  Flynn blanched up at Logan, ears folded back.  “These slaves have spent so much time with the pirates.  They... became like family.”  He gulped.  “They even foaled some of their children...”

“And imagine what kind of a bucked-up generation of sociopaths they would have made hadn't we rowed our way in and rained on the captors' parade?”  Logan gestured out the cave towards a faint haze of morning light.  “There are families of Colonialists out there who'll owe their livelihood to what we've done here today!”

“Still...”  Flynn clenched his jaw, gazing deep into the dark of the cave.  “...given enough time, the absolute worse qualities of ponies can become 'normal.'  Then what about do-gooders like us?  We're just the bad guys in their eyes.”

“Are you for real?” Logan snorted.

Flynn hung his head, sighing.  “I'm sorry, Big Show.  I was the least heroic of us overnight.  Guess if I was a but busier, I'd have less ugly memories to parse through.”

“Heh...”  Logan rested a hoof on his shoulder.  “Dude, we're the Herald—”

“Bard isn't.”

“Most of us are the Herald,” Logan grumbled.  “And the odd thing about promising to save the world... is that it doesn't mean that the world will want to be saved.”

Flynn slowly exhaled.  “I committed to being a hero a long time ago.  I was younger.  More naive.”

“You had more hair.,”

“Point is...”  Flynn looked up at Logan.  “If I had known that the job wouldn't always come with feeling like a hero...”

Logan arched an eyebrow.  “A little late to be picking the flowers, don't you think?”

Flynn looked into the dark of the cave again.  “... … ...do you suppose they'll actually come in our lifetime?”

“Who?  The Austraeoh?”

“Yeah.”

“I dunno.”  Logan scratched the back of his neck.  “I mean... maybe?”

“... … ...I'm starting to hope that they don't,” Flynn said.

Logan's forehead furrowed curiously at that.  The large stallion fumbled for a question to address it—

—when galloping hooves echoed into the mouth of the cave.

Both Heraldites turned to look.

“The Hell...?” Flynn stammered.

“Bard?” Logan craned his neck.  “That you?”

They could scarcely tell from the blinding dawnlight wafting in through the cave.  However, the frantic silhouette turned out to be much smaller and ganglier than they anticipated.  Before they had the wherewithal to stop her, a mare rushed in and embraced one of the bound pirates.  There was a trembling, emaciated little filly clinging to her withers.  The mother was a sobbing mess.

“Wavetrot!  Wavetrot!”  She nuzzled and kissed the pirate several times before yanking the gag out of bound thug's muzzle.  “Look what they've done to you!  Verlaxion damn these horrible monsters!”

“Mrmmff!” the stallion wheezed into her smothering kisses.  At last, the bruised thug found the opportunity to wheeze:  “Calm your teats, Carnatia.  It was only a m-matter of time...”

“They w-were going to take us away, Wavetrot!”  The mare shook and trembled, her bloodshot eyes filling with tears.  “The one in the hat!  His griffon servant!  They were wanting to haul us to some Colonialist dump!”

“Maybe... uh...”  The pirate's eyes darted multiple times towards the two Heraldites.  He writhed in his restraints.  “...maybe you should let them, Carnatia.”  He threw on a nervous smile.  “Take care of the little tyke while you're at it, aye?”

“How can you s-say that?!?” the mare howled.  “After all you've done?!  After all you've worked for?!”

Flynn rolled his eye towards Logan.

“Okaaaaaaaaay...”  The larger stallion was already marching over to the scene.  “Drama theatre's canceled for the day.”  He reached over and placed a hoof on the mare's shoulder.  “Now how about you go back to shore where you'll be cared for and fed—”

“No... NO!”  The mare spun with a frenzied shriek, slamming the full weight of both front hooves directly into Logan's crotch.  WHUMP!

“Grkkkkkk!”  Logan dropped like a sack of meat on four bound pirates, making them all wheeze and groan.

“Holy sh—!”  Flynn stumbled up to his hooves.

“I won't let you do it...!”  Carnatia galloped wildly into the cave.  “I w-won't let you bastards take all the coral!”  The filly on her back gasped, holding onto her mother for dear life with panicked eyes.

“Damned... friggin'...”  Logan hissed, rolling off the pirates and curling up on the cave floor with a severely pained expression.  “...hell harpy... guh...!”

Flynn rushed over to him.  “How in Verlaxion's sleet did you not see that coming, bro?”

“Like h-how you don't see your own concussion coming, ya little nerd-puke?!  Guh!”

Just then, Bard came galloping to the mouth of the cave, wheezing and panting for breath.  “Say, y'all... did a crazed coral-huffer come gallopin' up here, carryin' her helpless little sea-sprout?”

Logan lifted his angry muzzle to howl:  “Does Wildcard spit or swallow, ya worthless farm turd?!?”

“Whoah whoah whoah...!”  Bard backtrotted with a raised fetlock.  “Did I stumble into a heated moment or what?!”

“What.”  Flynn stood and frowned at Bard.  “What the Hell, dude?!  I thought you had all the slaves corralled!”

“I did!  But the hooves on this lady...!”  Bard leaned against a rock wall, wheezing.  “She started losin' her shit and runnin' off like a crazed banshee!  Even Dubya couldn't keep up!  We lost her in the bushes.  I reckoned she might have come back here...”

“Well, she did.”  Flynn gestured at Logan's prostrate figure.  “Much to his balls' chagrin.”

“Well, shucks... where'd she head off to?”  Bard squinted into the dark cavern.  “In there?”

“Yeah...”  Logan wheezed, struggling to sit up.  “...galloped in, all piss and vinegar.”

“Can ya see where she went in there?”

Flynn stepped into the darkness, peering.  “It's too flippin' dark.”  He threw a disgusted look over his shoulder.  “Why'd you extinguish the torches?”

“Why else?!  We done pulled all the slaves out!  Plus, figured we'd need the resources for the first of many trips to Kihutaja—”

“Yeah—and you just gave her a huge place to hide!  Dammit all...!”  Flynn grabbed a nearby torch and held it in the crook of his hoof.  “I'm going in.”

“Lemme go with you—!”  Bard started.

“No!”  Flynn called back.  “Stand by roley-poley and wait to grab the Mudtopper once I've flushed her back out!”

Bard shouted something back, but Flynn couldn't hear.  He was deep into the darkened cavern at this point, with only the dim aura of the torch to guide him through the obsidian bowels.





It took Flynn an embarrassingly long time to fully explore the depths of the cave.  He and his fellow Job Squadders had already scoured the interior once, but that was back when all of the torches were still fully lit.  Now, the Heraldite had only one source of light to guide him, and it was a nebulous maze that rippled and bowed for him into twisting directions with each step he made.

It also didn't help that each time he hollered into that echoing domain, he was gifted no response.

“Hello?!?” Flynn shouted, peering about with one eye.  “Hey!  Lady!”

Echoes.  Echoes.  Echoes.

But no reply.

Flynn clenched his teeth.  He was far beyond the point of coddling or befriending this mare.  The coral-huffer had complicated their entire job, not to mention put her own daughter in danger.  Certainly, kicking Logan in the crotch was a plus, but he wasn't in the mood to forgive her.

“You've got it all wrong!” he hollered, greeted immediately by the sonic reverberations of his own outburst.  Flynn moved into the noise, almost in a futile exercise of echolocation.  He briefly wished he was a midnighter for once.  “We're the ones who have come here to help you!  That pirate who you...”  He fidgeted in midstep.  “...that pirate who took advantage of you!  He doesn't want what's best for you and your child!  But we're gonna take you to a place where you can live out the rest of your lives in peace!  Far away from Mudtop!  Far away from murderers and enslavers!”

The echoes reverberated.

Then silence.

“Don't you want that?!”

The echoes reverberated.

Then silence.

Flynn sighed heavily.  He shone his torch around, marking a bend in the cave.  He trotted around the turn, ducking low when he needed to.  The torchlight flickered heavily with a rush of air.

“The moment I drag her out of here, I'm making her kick Logan again—”

Flynn's front fetlock bumped into a tiny body.

“Gahh!!!”  He jolted to a stop, looking down.

A pair of sad eyes gazed up at him.  A trembling figure.  It was the filly whom Carnatia had dragged along with her inside.  Now she stood on her tiny hooves with noticeable spasms, staring straight up at the stallion.

“... … ...”  Flynn blinked his one good eye.  “Uhm... hey there, kiddo.”  He raised his torch high, gazing across the spacious interior.  From the sights of stacked crates and supply containers, he realized he was in the portion of the cave that housed the pirates' supplies.  That meant he must have trotted in circles three times before getting there.  “Perfect.  Just perfect.”  Steeling himself, he lowered the torch and looked once again at the filly.  “Don't you fret.  We're going to have you out of here in a jiffy.”

The filly sniffled.  “Why?”

Flynn's mouth hung open.  He fought for words, ultimately clearing his throat.  “Did you... see where your mother went?”

Something swung out of the darkness above the filly's head.

Flynn looked—only to receive a muzzle-full of crowbar.  WHANG!

Spitting blood, the stallion fell back.  He lost grip of the torch, which rolled across the cavern.  Pitch blackness rolled over, accompanying the ringing in his ears.  He covered his throbbing head with tense fetlocks, ready to fight off further blows.  But none came.

An eternity later, he hobbled up to his hooves, dizzy and nauseous.  He felt a body clinging to him and he almost kicked it—stopping the moment he realized it was the trembling filly.  A voice was shouting in the distance.  A stab of light flickered in the Heraldite's peripheral.

Weak and dazed, Flynn looked towards the source of the light.

It was Carnatia.  The coral-crazed slave had picked up his torch and was approaching a far wall of the cave.

“It's okay, Wavetrot,” her voice echoed across the chamber.  “Won't let them take it.  Won't let them...”

“Hey...”  Flynn barely whimpered.  He rubbed his head, squinting towards the bead of light.  “What...?”

At last, the stallion's one-eyed vision came into focus.  He saw Carnatia—and the torchlight—approach a stack of raw flammable dredge coal.  Her hoof raised—blackened with the brand of Mudtop—and she dropped the torch into the belly of the material.

“I love you.  Sweetie I love you so much—”

“Wait—Don't!”  Flynn shouted, but already he could see the sparks illuminating the far end of the cave.  He darted towards the scene—but scuffled in place at the sound of a tiny shriek by his fetlocks.  Holding his breath, he hoisted the mare in one fetlock and galloped blindly the opposite way on three hooves—

KABOOOOOOOM!!!

The initial blast wave threw Flynn forward.  Somehow—with miraculous poise—he hugged the filly's body to his chest and curled around her.  Milliseconds later, he struck a wall of the cave, then fell like an anchor to the cold floor below.  Everything around them lit up as bright as the sun, then blacked out as the ceiling collapsed in portions, sealing the two of them away from the heat and chaos.

And into a grave filled with thunder.





At some point later...

Flynn couldn't begin to guess.  Lifetimes?  Dozens of them?

Light peaked into the alcove where he lay curled, cold, and nearly crushed.

Muffled voices issued overhead.  He heard Bard's.  Logan's.  Voices of ponies he didn't know.

His eye fluttered open, peering into the stabbing beams of daylight.  Images came into focus through stacks of crumbled rock:  Wildcard's beak.  Bard's hat.  Blackened hooves and the worried muzzles of slaves.

An entire company had gathered to dig Flynn out from the rubble.  He couldn't guess how long they had carried on with such an epic operation, but he wasn't in the condition to care.  His forelimbs trembled, pushing a limp little body in their direction, making sure they saw the filly first and foremost.

“Mrmmff... take...”  He wheezed for breath.  Soot rained from his horn and noze.  “T-take her...”

At last, their voices became clear as dozens of limbs reached down, raising the two of them out of the crushed remains of the cave—and into a blinding noonday sun.

“We got ya, Flynn.”

“You in one piece, there, partner?”

“He's got her!”

“He's got Carnatia's child!”

“She...”  Flynn shook in a fitful daze, his eye locked on the tiny body as she was carried gently into the arms of several slaves.  “...having trouble breathing.”  He gulped.  “Think sh-she's asthmatic.”  A wave of hyperventilation.  “Tried... tr-tried resuscitating her.  For hours.”  He sputtered.  “C-could barely move...”

A pair of mares rushed up to the sun-lit scene, embracing the child.  They held her out in the open as Wildcard moved in, leaning close and examining the filly.  He reached in with a functioning talon, and his goggles' black lenses reflected a lifeless pair of eyes under those weak lids.  The Heraldite's beak clenched.  He looked towards the others.

Logan sighed.  He hoisted Flynn up to his hooves and was patting his withers.  “You... uh... you did the best you could, Flynn.”

Flynn was already blanching.  “Goddess damn it...”  He clenched his watering eye shut and shook his head towards the floor.  “Goddessdammit!  Goddessdammit!”

“Flynn...”

Bard trotted over.  “Why dun'tcha sit down and get some air—”

“Rrrrghh—!”  Flynn shook every limb loose, flaring a rabid sneer at everypony.  “BUCK OFF!!!”  He trotted away—only to realize that one of his front fetlocks was broken.  “Graaaaugh!”  He leaned away from the excruciating pain, limped, then hobbled off in an adrenalized march.  “Mrmmmff... grnnnnngh—goddessdammitall!!!”

He made it about a dozen feet, nearly tripping over the corpses of three pirates lying side by side with impacted skulls.  His shaking vision raked across their rock-pelted figures, but the only expression he could make out was hers.  Staring up at him with beaded eyes.  Asking a question filled with terror yet only one word.  And he collapsed—threw himself against a rock, where his angry growls melted into a chorus of repeated sobs.

Bard made to rush to his side, but Logan held him back with a strong forelimb.  He looked at the other two Job Squadders with a calm expression, ultimately shaking his head.  The group gave Flynn space, taking the opportunity to dig fresh graves in the interim.  When the time was right, Wildcard drew Flynn from his tear-stained spots and made a proper splint for his leg.





Sunset on Aegis Archipelago.

Fresh graves formed soft mounds in the earth.  Most were dug inordinately beneath a smattering of palm trees.

But one grave lingered on the western edge of the island—right at the lip of the crater—where the last light of the setting sun would bathe it the longest.

This was where Flynn stood, with his left front leg hung in a sling.  The stallion was covered with bruises—some on the outside.  He stood facing away from the sun, his back to the Blight.

When Logan trotted up the hillside, Flynn scarcely registered the sound of his footsteps.  Nevertheless, the larger Heraldite cleared his throat and spoke:  “We've made a camp by the lagoon.  The plan is—for the moment—that you and I will take off with the rescued captives at sunrise tomorrow morning.  We'll take it slow... take turns on rowing duty... indulge in the bounty of rations.”  A shake of the head.  “We should get to Kihutajan shores in no time.”  He gestured.  “You can get that looked at.  And then... perhaps some R&R, huh?  I'm pretty sure Morty would be on board with it.”

“... … ...”  Flynn stood in silence.

“In the meanwhile, Bard and Wildcard will stay here and guard over the pirates.  Once you and I show the colonialists proof of what's been going down here on Aegis, they're bound to send ponies with us for the trip back to confiscate what's... left.”  He cleared his throat.  “There's no reason for any of the slaves to return.”

“... … ...”

Logan sighed heavily.  “What...?  You want me to dig you a grave too or something?”

“We came here to stop a bunch of punks and rescue enslaved ponies,” Flynn muttered.  “In the end, we killed three of the pirates and murdered two of their captives.”

Logan stepped boldly forward.  “A crazed lunatic mare endangering herself and her child over her husband's brainwashing boner hardly counts as 'murder' on our parts, Flynn.”  His nostrils flared as he shrugged.  “As for the three pirates caught in the cave's collapse—can't say I'm particularly weeping over them.”

“This was supposed to be a clean job, Big Show.”

“Well, sorry to break it to ya, baldy, but not all jobs are!”

Flynn turned to scowl at him.  “And why not?”

“Uhhh...”  Logan shrugged with bitter sarcasm.  “Cuz them's the breaks?”

“We were sloppy, Logan!” Flynn snapped, his teeth showing.  His hoof swung painfully in the sling, but he turned the wince into a snarl:  “We got big-headed and lazy and we made stupid mistakes!”

Logan sighed, rubbing his face with a tired muzzle.  “I didn't come up here to be grilled by the karma police...”

Flynn paced in angry circles, spitting:  “We extinguished the torches before pulling all of the pirates' supplies out!  We dragged them across a wide and spacious island, assuming they'd be on board with leaving!  And Bard and Wildcard—how on earth did they just... let that crazy bitch gallop away?!”

“Hey, she wasn't just any run-of-the-mill whack-job!  She took down an entire cave!”  Logan threw on a crooked smile.  “Even worse—you saw the number she did on my groin—!”

Flynn marched towards him, growling up into his face.  “Don't even joke about it!”

“... … ...”  Logan frowned coldly.  “What else can I do?  This shit happens...”

With a defeated grunt, Flynn resumed frustrated pacing.

Logan continued:  “Yeah, I know we're not perfect, Flynn!  But at least we're out here doing something!  Would you rather none of these slaves have made it off this island?!  Huh?!  You've seen the shit that goes down in Rust and beyond!  The pirates would have grinded these ponies to dust with all of their labor and rape and—”  He pointed at the earth.  “Do you honestly think she's the first of her kind buried here?!  At least we had the good sense to mark it!”

“I can't j-just... let her go...”  Flynn stumbled to a shop, overwhelm with shakes.  “...you say you marked it?  Marked it with what?  Nopony on this island even knew her name!”  He turned to gawk at Logan.  “Am I suppose to just let her be another statistic in this ugly world?!”

“No, but you are going to let the weight of her go, pal,” Logan said.  “Or else you'll get—”

“Oh buck off with that—”

“You'll get bogged down over all the stuff you couldn't do!”  Logan frowned.  “Instead of being urged forward with the memories of all the ponies you have saved!”  He slowly shook his head.  “That's what we gotta cling to in order to keep up with this crazy game!”

“Oh yeah...?”  Nostrils flaring, Flynn marched boldly up to Logan.  “I bet you wouldn't be saying all of this if it was Luram buried beneath all that dirt!”

WHAM!!!  Logan's hoof flew savagely across Flynn's face.

The unicorn fell hard on his back.  His injured fetlock slipped out from his sling.  Conscious—but seeing stars—the smaller Heraldite sat up, hissing in pain.

He wasn't the only one wincing.  Logan made to move towards him, but stopped in place.  He rolled his eyes towards the reddening heavens, then sigh... rubbing his fetlock with a sullen expression.

“Look... I'm sorry for all the times I called you 'baldy.'”  Logan snorted.  “There.  I said it.  You happy?  You're not just some... thin-mane'd geeky egghead.  You're a priceless member of the Herald, and my best friend.”  He looked up at him, glaring.  “That being said...”  He pointed threateningly.  “Some things... some things can't be joked about.  Won't be.  Or else.”  He rubbed his fetlock too.  “Too dayum tired to bury you too, pal.”

Flynn merely sat there, grimacing in pain.

Logan saw it, and he rolled his eyes again.  “Oh go... g-go walk it off.”  He turned and trotted downhill with a grunt.  “...that's all the likes of us c-can ever do.”

He bumped into Bard along the way.  Bard blinked at Logan, ultimately watching him trot downhill.  After a sigh, he turned and approached Flynn, smiling lightly.

“Hell in a hoofbasket—is this the Mangled Marathon?  Reckon yer miles past the finishin' line, buddy.”

Bard squatted down to help put Flynn's hoof back in the sling.

Flynn grumbled, shoving Bard off.  “I got it...”  And he shakily attempted to do just that, fumbling and wincing in the process.

“... … …”  Bard remained squatting by the unicorn, staring at him quietly.  Thoughtfully.  “Y'know...”  He tilted his hat back.  “...bein' clobbered by yer best friend ain't entirely somethin' to frown on.  It usually means ya said the right thing.”  A wink and a smirk.  “Ya just said it to the wrong pony.”

“Logan will never understand where I'm at,” Flynn grumbled.

“Ya sure ya wanna die alone on that hill, partner?”

“Rnnngh...”  Flynn hissed as he struggled to put the hoof back into the sling.  “...for once in my life... I want to feel like the hero that I'm supposed to be.”  He sighed, ears folding.  “But each time I move towards it, I only sl-slip further and further away.”  He looked forlornly at the nearby grave.  “One of these days... I'm going to be required to be at my very best.  We all are... but we really won't be anything but a miserable failure... just another filthy piece of this filthy world that I'm supposed to save.  How can I expect to be anything better?”

Bard took his hat off, dusting the grass between them with a sigh.  “... … ...y'know... reckon I dunno much about this crazy high-fangled 'Herald' business that Dubya and the rest of ya are entangled with.  Doubt I'll ever live long enough to figure it all out, nor do I have a mind to.”  He planted his hat back on.  “But—and no doubt y'all have heard me prattle on about it—I see life as... as this train we're all on.”

Flynn looked up at Bard.

Bard gestured with a bittersweet smile.  “And there's just... no gettin' off of it.  Even when we want to.  Even when... those around us we care about have long fallen off... and it's awful temptin'-like to join them.”  He gulped.  “Not until our ride has run its course.  Like it or not, you're on for the long-haul.  And you've got plenty of flank to kick along the way.  The rest of the ponies on the train may not thank ya for it, but nothin' can change the fact that yer makin' the ride much... much better for them.”

Bard reached in.  With gentle hooves, he put Flynn's limb neatly in the sling.  He didn't even have cause to wince.

“Yer gonna move past what happened today... even if you dun get past it.  And there's no rule written that ya can't bawl like an infant over it.  Trust me—the rails get a mighty shine.  But in the end, fact of the matter is—you'll be ridin' that train long enough to help other ponies not have to deal with the same mess.  Now ain't that worth the ticket?”

Flynn leaned back where he sat in the grass.  He sighed into the sunset, his nostrils still smelling dirt.  And blood.  “I hate it,” he finally said.

“Reckon ya do.”  Bard stood up.  “And we all have ways of dealin' with that pain.  Me?”  He tipped his hat.  “Fancy myself somethin' of a songwriter.”  He gave the guitar on his flank a tiny shake.  “But I bet you have far more useful ways of spendin' the ride.”

“I wouldn't know.”

“Maybe not now.  Next sunset?”  Bard shrugged and turned around.  “Who the hay knows.”  The Desperado trotted downhill, humming to himself.

It was a curiously playful tune, rosy and hopeful—like the skies above.  Flynn's tongue clicked with it.  With a dull-eyed gaze, he looked at the injured fetlock resting in its sling.








Minutes After Rainbow Dash and Her Party Left to Rendezvous with Lexxic




That fetlock now flexed easily and healthily, although age-old stars still lingered in the twilight.  Flynn's mechanical eye rotated inward and outward, looking as dull and emotionless as his natural eye.

“What now, brrotherrs?” Kepler asked, pacing his voice between the eerie heartbeats of the slimy ocean that bordered the Dihmer village.  “Shall I prress into the goblins morre forr rresourrces and inforrmation?”

“Well, that's a start,” Logan muttered, stifling a yawn.  He and the other two huddled under torchlight as emaciated, expressionless ponies milled about across the unkempt streets.  “Damned if I'm gonna just sit here and get stared down by these heartless emojobs.”

“We must push them farr frrom ourr thoughts, I fearr,” Kepler declared, adjusting his spectacles.  “It's clearr wherre theirr prriorrities lie.”

“Pffft.”  Logan scoffed, “You mean nowhere?”

“Prrecisely,” Kepler said in a melancholic tone.  “I fearr ourr only way of assisting Rrainbow Dash shall come strrictly frrom negotiating with these hyperrcapitalist imps.”

Upon hearing that, Flynn looked up from his scarred fetlock.  Across the way—as if designed by fate—he saw a hauntingly familiar dihmer with a stubby horn.  She was off carting junk around, minding her business.  But even from afar, Flynn could re-imagine the color that her eyes beheld.  Dull.  Rosy.  Bloodshot.  Somewhere else, it would mean something pitiable.  But here... amidst so much malaise and purposelessness—

“I think I know somepony who can help us,” Flynn murmured.

Logan and Kepler turned to blink at him.

“What's that, baldy?” Logan asked.

“Yes, do speak up.”  Kepler smiled through his tusks.  “Tell us what you have in mind, brrotherr.”

“Oh... nothing much yet.”  Flynn sighed, standing up straight and humming through a bittersweet breath.  “Just thinking about a song.”