//------------------------------// // Chapter 19: Mistakes were Made // Story: Brightly Lit 2: Pharos // by Penalt //------------------------------// The early summer sun shone down on the four Americans as they walked through the streets of Brightly.  Donavich and Sunday drew the occasional second look as they moved along in their army uniforms, but otherwise the quartet travelled along unremarked. “Hey,” said a man in passing, causing Donavich to freeze for a moment. “Hey what?” Mercury responded, a bit of a bite in his voice. “Nothin’, just ‘Hey, how’s it going?’” replied the man, twisting to look back at the uniformed officer.  “Sorry to bug ya, man.” “It’s okay, Sir. He’s an asshole,” Nao supplied with a laugh.  “We’ve tried to housebreak him, but you can only polish the turd so much.” “No worries!” laughed the man, who turned and continued his journey. “I do NOT appreciate being made fun of,” Donavich hissed, his face set in an expression of outraged disapproval. “You have never lived in a gorodishko have you?” Prism asked, walking behind Sunday.  “A small town.” “No, what does that have to do with it?” demanded Mercury, temper living up to his name. “It is…” the lean Slavic woman gave a shrug before asking, “Empress, can you explain it to this churka?” Nao had to bite her lip for a moment as she instantly translated the Russian insult in her head.  It took her a moment to make sure her voice would not reveal her understanding of the word before she explained, “Small towns go one of two ways with strangers.  Either completely shutting them out and ignoring them, or being openly welcoming to them.” “So… gullible and naive, is what you’re saying,” Mercury replied, taking an indicated turn to the right. “No,” corrected Nao.  “They will be open and welcoming, on the surface only.  On the inside, you’re still a stranger and have yet to prove yourself.  Considering all the changes this town has been through in the past few months, greeting randomly appearing strangers is probably the norm here.” “I see,” Donavich answered, his face shifting from angry to thoughtful, and the four walked along in silence until a group of soldiers marched around the corner, heading directly toward the American officers. This time it was Nao and Prism who stiffened in surprise, while Donavich and Sunday smoothly stepped forward, saluting the oncoming platoon of men dressed in mottled green pants and jackets.  The approaching Canadians, eyes drawn toward the military pair they found themselves moving towards, smoothed out their march almost instantly and as one pivoted their heads to the right, snapping out crisp salutes as they marched past. “Did you happen to catch their unit insignia?” murmured Donavich, after the Canadians had turned the corner to enter Brightly’s main street.  “You were in front of me,” Nao responded.  “But those were well drilled soldiers.” “They were Third Battalion, Princess Patricia Light Infantry,” Donavich stated, his voice even.  “Some of Canada’s best and most experienced line infantry.” “And JTF2 is rumored to have a detachment in the area as well,” Prism remarked, referring to Canada’s elite and rarely mentioned special forces unit. “Wow, the Canadians aren’t messing around, are they?” Sunday commented. “Which is why we need more information before we proceed,” was Donavich’s reply.  “How far is it to this asset of yours, Prism?” “Just around the corner is their place of work.  It would be best for me to handle the introductions,” Kyo answered. After a few more minutes of walking, the group found themselves approaching Brightly’s small medical clinic, which consisted of three portable units configured together in a ‘U’ shape.  Donavich, still in the lead, was just reaching for the door handle when it opened toward him and was greeted with a sight that made him very, very glad he wasn’t armed. Standing in the doorway was a snow white unicorn who the American major instantly recognized as Foxfire.  The unicorn was braced for battle, forehooves widely planted with a wreath of smokey purple energies wrapped around her horn.   “Whoa,” Donavich said, backing up a step and raising his hands to try to show he was no threat.   The purple forces the unicorn commanded intensified until a chastising voice from behind the the mare yelled, “Foxfire!  STOP!”     Within a split second the unicorn went from poised warrior to a cringing and shy looking equine.  A moment later a cream coloured pegasus with red and white wings came into view from behind the unicorn.       “You’ll have to forgive my patient,” Medevac stated, placing a wing over her subdued charge.  “She’s been overwrought lately.  I was about to take her to see a specialist in… melancholic humours.  Is there an emergency?”     “Nyet, no emergency,” Prism responded, stepping forward.  “I’ve just pulled something and I would like to have it looked at.  We can come back.”     “Kevin!” Medevac called, over her shoulder.  “You’ve got some patients!”     “Right, send ‘em in,” was the reply.     “If you’ll excuse us,” the medical pony stated, drawing Foxfire with her, who seemed to be leaning against the pegasus for support.  “My partner can take care of you.”     “Well well,” commented Empress, studying the body language of the two ponies as they walked away, drawing several conclusions from the encounter.     “You coming?” Sunday asked a moment later, and the CIA officer tore her gaze away from the retreating ponies in order to join the others.     “Now, what can I do for you?” asked Kevin Banta, a leanly built man with sandy hair.  He wore a jacket that read “BC Ambulance Service” on it, as befit his status as Rescue Two of Brightly’s fire department.       “I think I have a case of BI-lateral epicondylitis,” Prism declared, placing particular emphasis on the first syllable.  Banta’s eyes grew wide, his gaze flicking between each of the four people with him in the small intake area of the clinic.     “Have you tried using a splint on the affected area,” Kevin replied, a moment later.     “No, I think surgery is indicated,” Prism responded, to which the ambulance driver’s face became angry.     “What the hell are you people doing here?” Banta demanded, quickly locking the entry door and turning off the “open” sign.  “My only contact is supposed to be through email.”     “Sorry Rider, but we need up to date information about the state of affairs in Brightly,” Nao replied soothingly.  “We wouldn’t have come here if this wasn’t important.  I’m Officer Nao Takamura.  With me is Officer Pjetrovic, and our two uniformed friends are Major Donavich and Captain Sunday, US Army.”     “Thank you for being of service to the United States,” Donavich offered, extending his hand.       “Fuck you,” was Banta’s response, looking at Donavich’s hand as if it was something that dogs had been rolling around in.  “I wouldn’t be in this fix if your country didn’t have such a crappy healthcare system.”     “Mr. Banta has a grandmother in Louisiana with small lymphocytic lymphoma.  Her prognosis isn’t good and her health insurance and personal savings are already expended,” explained Nao, her face and voice full of sympathy for the ambulance attendant.  “In exchange for regular reports about what’s going on in Brightly, the CIA has robustly supplemented his gran’s medical care, ensuring that she is enrolled in the latest clinical trials for any new treatments.  How is she doing, sir?”     “Better, for now,” Banta admitted, huffing a breath out.  “The new therapies are shrinking the nodules but…”     “SLL is almost invariably fatal, but aggressive treatment can throw the disease into remission, sometimes for years,” Nao continued to explain, placing a gentle hand on Banta’s upper arm.  “Mr. Banta agreed to supply us with information, but we also agreed not to ask for anything classified from him.  For the past few weeks he has kept the Agency well informed of events in Brightly.”     “The past couple of days have been a little crazy, which is why I haven’t sent in a report,” Banta added, deflating into a slouch.  “Sorry.”     “We understand,” Nao replied, coating her words in tones of comfort and support.  “But we have an important mission here in Brightly and we desperately need your help to avoid making any foolish mistakes.  Can you help us?”     “There’s a new interferon treatment coming out of John Hopkins in a few weeks,” Banta said, looking Nao in the eye.  “I can help you.”     “And we can help her, for you,” Nao responded, nodding.  “First off, what exactly happened yesterday with the portal?”     “God, was it only yesterday?’ Banta asked rhetorically, marshalling his thoughts before launching into a detailed description of the attempt to move the gateway to Equestria, its collapse, and Foxfire’s role in it.     “How do you know about what Princess Luna did and said, and if this umbral did what you claim it did, how do you know about it?” questioned Donavich sharply, wary for some sort of deception.     “Jean told Jessica all about it.  Everything that thing did to her, made her feel and did through her, she told my boss about,” Banta explained, face twisted in an unreadable expression.       “But how—” Donavich started to repeat. “Look around you.  This ‘clinic’ is basically three shipping containers converted into a medical facility.  It’s meant to be a temporary setup until something more permanent can be made,” Banta growled, before adding, “It’s been here for fifteen years and it’s still the best we’re going to get here.” “Now who’s talking about ‘crappy medical system’,” said Sunday, drawing a sharp look from the ambulance driver.  “Pot meet kettle.” “Yeah,” Banta continued after a long moment, conceding the point.  “Thing is, the walls are thin, and I’d come in early to inventory supplies after yesterday.  I heard everything and they were both so deep in their conversation they never noticed me until a lot later.” “Bohze moi. True mental conditioning and mind control,” Pjetrovic marvelled.  “Is she still capable of doing that to others?” “Magic is all but extinct now,” Banta stated, bluntly.  “So no.” “Wait, no magic?” Sunday asked, surprised.  “But we've seen ponies, and Foxfire had magic.” “And what about those three young ones that we saw with the Power Ponies, who are they?” Donavich demanded.  “You should have reported all this right away!” “Mr. Banta isn’t a member of the military, and he has his own priorities that are very important to him,” Takamura soothed, drawing a grateful look from Kevin for the support.  “Besides Major, he’s reporting now and giving us extremely valuable information.  Aren’t you?” “Yeah, I am,” Banta replied, and the Empress of Psy-Ops could see that her asset was realizing exactly the price he was paying for his grandmother’s medical care.  Looking Nao directly in the eyes, Banta gave a thorough and detailed explanation of the aftermath of the portal’s collapse, along with its effects on Brightly and the pony population.  And while the two CIA operatives found themselves worrying about the long term usefulness of their asset Ebon Donavich couldn’t have been more pleased with what he was hearing.   “No magic, which means that Foxfire is just a small horse with a smoking horn.  No threat at all,” the major stated, smiling.  “And three actual Equestrians up for grabs as well.  This couldn’t be a better situation if I planned it.” “You can’t be thinking of taking them back to the States with us,” Nao countered, concerned.  “That would be kidnapping.” “Would it though?” Donavich asked, with a chuckle.  “They have no guardians and there are no representatives of their government present to object.  It could be explained that we were taking them into care for their own good.” “Under Canadian law abandoned children without guardians are considered wards of the state by default,” Kyo stated, her Slavic accent tightly controlled now. “But we aren’t in Canada at the moment.  We are in the Brightly Autonomous Zone, a joint protectorate of Equestria, Canada and the Hieltsuk First Nation,” Donavich offered, not seeming to notice the horrified look on the others' faces.  “There are no precedents, no extradition treaties, and no authorities that could order us to return these… Cutie Mark Crusaders.” “I will not be a party to kidnapping!” Banta declared hotly, turning to Nao.  “I don’t care if you cut off my gran’s medical support, you aren’t kidnapping those kids!” “Don’t worry, he won’t,” Nao promised, shooting daggers at Donavich.  “This is why I hate working with you, Ebon.  You always come up with these insane schemes and forget that real people have to pay the cost for your glory.” “Fine,” the army major conceded, as he realized that even Sunday was looking at him as if he was some sort of monster.  “Besides,” Nao continued, doing her best to reduce tensions, “it would be far better for us to simply ask the Equestrians if they would like to see the US and provide transportation should they be willing.  After all, we were going to make that exact same offer to Skylark.” “You were?” Banta asked, surprised. “I have a personal written offer from the Commandant of the Air Force Academy for Skylark to come visit their facilities,” Donavich replied, mind working.  “The offer includes a flight with the Thunderbirds.” “Wow, she’d love that,” Banta said.  “Why the heck didn’t you lead with that?” “Unfortunately, the major tends to look at things from a certain direction, but in my work it pays to look at all the possibilities,” Nao answered, patting Kevin’s hand.  “Thank you for your report, ‘Rider’, it was extremely helpful.” “No problem,” Banta said, and Nao thought he was about to add something before the ambulance driver added,  “I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.” A few minutes later the quartet had left the clinic and were headed back the way they came, the two army officers in the lead.  As they walked back to the small house the agency had managed to rent on the outside of town, Donavich leaned over to Sunday and quietly asked, “By the way, do you have any fast injector kits?” “Several, and I've already loaded five with a fast acting ketamine derivative, in case we had to deal with Foxfire.  One for each of us and a spare,” Sunday murmured back, realizing Ebon was trying to be covert.  “Why?” “It pays to be prepared, Cassandra,” Ebon whispered.  “It pays to be prepared.”     Humanity’s history is replete with “happy accidents”, as a certain painter would say.  Many times through the centuries great strides have been made when someone tried something on impulse, or was attentive enough to notice when happenstance changed the expected into the serendipitous.       Often the phrase, “that’s so crazy it just might work” has been the prophetic herald of a new era in some field of scientific or industrial endeavour.  Things like the microwave, or teflon, or safety glass all came into being because someone, somewhere, did the unexpected.     Less celebrated however, are the times when someone tries something crazy and it turns out to have been a very bad idea indeed…     “C’mon, what could possibly go wrong?” insisted Nic “Nuc” Williams, a paunchy man in his late thirties.       “Oh, I don’t know, maybe another Three Mile Island incident?” shot back a willowy blond who was only a few years younger.     “Look Bryanna, DARPA handed this to Texas A&M and by god I… we, are going to come through for them,” Williams argued back.     “DARPA asked us to research the Equestrian gem they were able to track down, not irradiate the thing!” replied Bryanna Swift, who was nominally his assistant, but found herself being ignored constantly by the older, heavier man.     “You read the same reports I did about what happened up in Canada,” Williams responded, moving forward to invade the personal space of the woman who was a constant thorn in his side.  “A ruby absorbed twenty years worth of electrical power and discharged it in a single burst.   Gigajoules worth of power, contained and then released on command.  The implications and applications are HUGE!”     “None of that changes the fact that you want to take an orange diamond that is one of the only forty or so that are still extant in the world, immerse it in a pool of radioactive water just above the core of the university reactor and then bring that core online, JUST TO SEE WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN??” Bryanna shouted the last, drawing the attention of several grad students checking over the controls of Texas A&M’s research reactor.   Most of them had seen or heard of the arguments between Swift and Williams before and turned back to their notes or consoles with little more than a shrug at the repeat of a drama they had seen played out many times in the past. “Look lady,” Nic stated, looming over Bryanna in an attempt to intimidate her with his size.  “I’m the one in charge of this installation, and as such it’s my call.  We go forward with the test.  Got it?” “This is a university and not that nuclear sub you swam around in for a few years.  Experiments have to be authorized.  They have to have clearly defined protocols, methodologies and processes,” Swift continued to insist, utterly unfazed by the sweating man who had nearly a hundred pounds on her. “My hands-on experience with nuclear reactors in service to our country is why the university made me the boss of this place,” retorted Williams, with an air of finality.  “And we’ll use the standard sample trays and the standard procedures that are already in use for these things, which is why they are standard procedure.  As for duration, we’ll start with a ten minute exposure, and double it as needed until we see results.” “You can’t make this up on the fly!” Bryanna declared, switching tactics.  “You go through with this and I’ll have no choice but to file a formal protest with the University President herself.” “You do what you gotta do,” was all Nic said to her, before turning away to address the room.  “Okay folks, startup procedures.  We go hot in ten minutes.” Bryanna looked around her as the room began to bustle with activity.  A few of the grad students and staffers gave her embarrassed glances, but no one would meet her eyes.  In spite of the fact she was both Nic’s deputy and the reactor safety officer, it was obvious that they were going ahead with Nic the Nuc’s insanity.       “God help you all, because sure as hell I’m not going to,” Swift muttered, and she strode out of the room to find someone who could shut this depravity down.       “Reactor output steady at one megawatt,” one of the grad students was saying, twelve minutes later.       “Looks like  Professor Naysayer couldn’t get anybody to shut us down, hey boys?” Williams asked rhetorically, drawing a few mild chuckles from the room.  “Keep the core steady while I go out and make some more history for Texas.”     That comment drew a better response and cheers followed Nic out onto the balcony that overlooked the massive pool of water that held the reactor core itself.  Texas A&M’s reactor was a type known as a TRIGA reactor, a nearly foolproof design created by Freeman Dyson and Edward Teller, the man known as the “Father of the Hydrogen Bomb.”     As Nic loaded the large orange diamond into the tray used to irradiate material samples, he once again took a moment to marvel at how such power could be held in check with a simple pool of water, as opposed to the massive array of pumps, pipes and containment shields that he had trained on as reactor specialist aboard the USS Texas.       “Time to show Bryanna what a real man can do with a nuclear core and the balls to use it,” he muttered, lowering the tray into the water until it rested just above the core.     “One percent drop in power output, adjusting control rods to compensate,” came a call from the control room.       As Williams watched, the blue glow of Cherenkov radiation surrounding the sample seemed to pulse for a moment before steadying and settling down into normal operation.   Long minutes passed with absolutely no change at all until at last one of the controllers reminded him that ten minutes had nearly passed.     “Pulse the reactor,” ordered Williams.  “Push us up to thirty megawatts.”     One function of TRIGA reactors is that they can be pulsed, or temporarily pushed up in power for a brief period of time.  An inherent safety factor of the TRIGA designs forces the pulse to be short lived by automatically shutting the reactor down as the core heats up due to the specially blended material of the fuel rods.       “Pulsing in three… two… one… “ called the grad student, whose name Williams couldn't remember.      There was a grinding sound, immediately followed by a blue burst of light as the increased reaction triggered a surge of radiation and heat.  To Williams’ amazement though, the flash of light was followed a moment later by an answer spark from the gem down in the water below.  Then there followed another burst from the reactor and a second response from the Equestrian gemstone.     “I only called for one pulse,” Williams called back.  “What are you idiots doing?”     “We only did the one, why?” answered the grad student, and looking back through the open door to the control room Nic could see the budding physicists begin to scurry around when a third call and response from reactor to diamond pulled his attention back to the pool.     “Oh shit,” murmured Nic, which quickly turned into a yell of, “Shut it down!  Scram the reactor!  Take it offline now!”     “Yes sir!” yelled one of the students, hands hammering down on switches meant to slam graphite rods into place, absorbing the flow of free neutrons and shutting down the process of nuclear fission.       A fourth flare of blue light, followed swiftly by a fifth had Williams running into the control room yelling, “I told you idiots to scram the damn thing!”     “We did!  Look at the switches!” screamed back a panicked student, waving to the controls in question.  The flashes of light from the reactor pool were visible now through the doorway of the control room, the gap between them clearly growing shorter and shorter.     “Neutron flux at ten to the thirteenth, and climbing!” screeched another student.           “It’s pulsing on its own!” yelled a third student, all eyes focusing on him.  “Reactor output peaking at twenty megawatts… thirty… forty…  Still climbing!”     “What do we do, Professor?” demanded yet another controller, eyes wild.       “Uh… “ Nic the Nuc prevaricated, trying to decide on a course of action.  “Flood the reactor pool with water.”     “The pool is already full!” shouted back the man who had attempted to shut down the reaction with the control rods.  “We add more water and we could flood the whole campus with radioactive material.”     “Uh… “ Nic muttered again, mind freezing up as the light of Cherenkov radiation started to become the next best thing to a strobe light.     “EVACUATE!” screamed out a student, nerve breaking as he ran for the door.       Seeing one of their fellows running for the door broke the resolve of the rest and as one, the dozen or so students hurtled out of the control room.  One of them lifted a cover and slapped a hand down on a large red button as they fled, triggering the emergency alarms to sound across the campus.       Sirens began to wail, along with automated messages of, “Please proceed in an orderly manner to designated shelter locations.  This is not a drill.  Please proceed in an orderly manner…”     “Nothing should have gone wrong,” Williams muttered, staggering back out of the control room, the strobing radiance from the core and diamond was blinding now, even with his eyes shut.  “I didn’t do anything wrong.  I would have showed them all…”     The light continued to grow and grow, enveloping Nic Williams and the entire reactor building until it became as bright as a star fallen to earth.  A star that heaved and breathed and shuddered, until, with one final pulse of light it leapt skyward to return back to the heavens above where it belonged.   All that was left behind was a crater, and the afterimage of a blue spear of light imprinted on the minds of the hundred million people who saw it blasting for the sky.