//------------------------------//
// Chapter 13 
// Story: Hegira: Rising Omega 
// by Guardian_Gryphon 
//------------------------------//

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
December 9th, Gregorian Calendar

Aston

"Kid, you look genuinely scary in that thing."

Hutch gestured with his free hand in Alyra's general direction.  His other hand was preoccupied with keeping a pistol in a safe, but ready position.  He wasn't kidding.  Done up in the Genesist combat suit, that little Gryphon could put any Earthgov image of an intimidating power-armored trooper, or mech, to shame.  Without even trying.

Martins interjected her own commentary, her eyes never leaving the command center's main wall screen.  The Councilor was perched, arms resting against the dead holotank's edges, staring intently at the small translucent three dimensional icons that represented the colony ships, and their ascent trajectories.

"We designed the Gryphon armor to be intimidating.  Very intentionally.  Sometimes you want to negotiate, and it pays to have an air of power.  And when negotiation isn't an option..."

Silence hung for an ominous moment.  Just like her to think around all angles of a potential issue.  She was just the sort of person who would consider armor design as a factor in future negotiations with hypothetical alien governments.  Less hypothetical, in fairness, than they had once been.

Abruptly, the tension skyrocketed, as Alyra silently raised a fisted claw, one ear twitching furiously.  We all knew better than to ignore the kid's instincts.  She was one of the best soldiers I'd ever worked with.  

Better than her Dad as far as I was concerned, though mainly because I felt like he lacked discipline.  Alyra certainly didn't.

She paused for half a second, before gesturing towards the main corridor access hatch, and levelling her pistol purposefully.

Hutch fired his suit's pulse jets in two short, expertly timed bursts, pushing his feet and back against the wall, and flicking a control on his left gauntlet.  With a distinctly metallic 'thunk,' electromagnet pads in the soles of the boots, and the shoulder blades, pinned him place, providing an unexpected and highly advantageous firing position.

I loved it when he thought outside the box.

I rolled silently over the central holotank, and ducked behind a console near the port-side of the access hatch.  Martins wisely took full cover behind a rear station, readying both of her sidearms to fire after the enemy had become entangled with the others.

We didn't have to wait long.

Our intruders moved quietly, considering their size and weight.  But Diamond Dog Trolls weren't known for their stealth capabilities.  'Quietly' for them still shook your teeth if they were less than twenty feet away.

Peeking around the base of the console, I could see the two armor-clad canines enter the compartment.  They immediately fixed their eyes on Alyra, and began lumbering purposefully towards the central holotank, flexing their front claws menacingly.

She didn't even flinch, waiting until they had closed half the distance before opening up with her pistol like an Olympic champion.

The spray of fire forced the Trolls to dive for cover.  The first one practically came right to me, and got a face full of particle energy from my own weapon for his trouble.  The lance of blue went right through the weak point Alyra had made in the helmet's frontal plate, pulping everything inside instantly.

The second Toll ducked behind the holotank.  As he moved to shimmy around the side for an angle on Alyra, Martins popped up and peppered his chest with fire.  That was all the invitation Hutch needed.

As the Troll did his best to shift focus from Alyra to Martins, Hutch fired from his ceiling position, four solid shots to the Troll's spinal armor.  The force of the impacts pressed him to the floor, but didn't quite penetrate the stronger plating.  Their armor seemed to be weakest around the seams of the helmet, and the faceplate.  

Everything else was dense as hell.

The Troll made a vain scrabbling effort to rise, but two against four in a surprise ambush was overwhelming odds, no matter what you were, or what you were wearing.  Alyra had used the moment of distraction to amble around the other side of the holotank, striding purposefully on her hind legs.

She whistled sharply through her beak.  Her opponent turned reflexively at the sound, placing the pre-weakened portion of his helmet, that she had already hit once, right into her point-blank firing line.

If Alyra flinched, hesitated, or even gave a moment's consideration before executing the Troll, I sure didn't see it.  Just an ever-so-slight smirk at one corner of her beak as her pistol filled the room with blue light twice more in rapid succession.

I stood from my cover position, scowled down at the Troll draped over my console, and pushed him off onto the floor.  It took most of my upper body strength to shift him.  As the carcass collapsed into a heap on the deck, I leaned on the panel and let out my own long, low whistle.

"Kid, I think your dad worries too much.  Are you sure you aren't the one protecting him, instead of the other way around?"

All I got by way of a response was a raised eyebrow.  Or whatever part of the feathers was most analogous.

Maybe Hutch was right, I decided.  Maybe we needed to get ourselves some of those feathers sooner than later.





Fyrenn

Our pawsteps were completely silent against the deck, pads cushioning each step against the rubberized coating that insulated the metal of the panels.  The space still felt as if it was echoing.

Empty spacecraft meant for large crews had been the stuff of my nightmares as a kid.  I had always consumed an inordinate amount of science fiction, including more than my fair share of material that was age inappropriate.

Though I had gotten used to the greatly diminished sense of fear one felt as a Gryphon, mamalliam prey instincts long-since excised, I had not lost the ability to sense when something was not right.  If anything, that instinct had only grown stronger, and more accurate.

As Neyla and I quickly leapfrogged our way from bulkhead, to stanchion, to door-frame, and so on through the ship's cavernous empty corridors, the sensation that something was not right became overwhelming.  And I knew for a fact that it wasn't simply the eerie notion of walking alone through passageways intended to be filled with the hustle and bustle of life during loading and unloading.

I also knew Neyla was feeling the exact same sensation, without the need to verbalize any sort of question.  Scientists and mage practitioners alike insisted that neither Humans, nor Gryphons, nor indeed most species, were telepathic.

As far as I was concerned, that depended on definitions and semantics.  I'd experienced totally silent hands-free communication of complex concepts as a Marine, based on nothing more than common training and instinct, and God-only-knows what kind of quantum or pheromonal cues.

Other species knew and accepted the phenomena as well.  But everyone agreed, us included, that what Neyla and I had was a cut above average.  Even for Gryphons.  It wasn't unheard of, just rare.  Even IJ had commented on it once, with a surprising amount of admiration, both for her in particular, and for a truly telepathic individual in general.

As we approached the hatch leading into the forward torpedo racks, we didn't even exchange so much as a claw signal.  Neyla moved into a position to the right of the hatch, I stood just to the left off-center and back slightly.

She paused for a single breath, then gently laid one talon against the access control panel.  I raised my carbine simultaneously, placing the door firmly within the iron sights.

Perceived time elongated under my impetus as the door recessed into the wall with a slight hiss and a clank.  I was in no rush.  I carefully evaluated every square millimeter of the torpedo rack room as it came into view.  The sinking feeling in my gut grew with each inch the door retracted.

At last, the chamber was revealed in full.

Nothing.  Empty of life.

Vertical stacks of oblong gray warheads sat lined up in perfect rows, mag-locked into receptacles along the chamber walls to keep them safe.  Myriad smaller conventional-explosive torpedoes, and four larger slots for HASP strategic weapons.  One single space from among the latter was visibly empty, standing out like a hang-feather in a row of perfect primaries.

Not good.

Two enormous heavy duty robotic arms were folded into pits in the ceiling, their magnetic guide tracks snaking out into a pattern that would grant them access to anything in the room.  On the far bulkhead sat two large circular airlock doors;  The entry points to the firing tubes.

Just fore of the entry door sat a standing console within a painted rectangular cushion stripe pattern on the floor.  The rectangle extended backwards all the way to the entry door, marking the part of the chamber that it was safe to stand or walk in when the arms were active.

I scanned the space again, searching carefully for any place that a life form, regardless of size, might hide.  My ears twitched reflexively as I strained to hear anything out of the ordinary.  The slightest hint of breath, or the shifting of weight.

Silence.  Stillness.
Nothing untoward.  

Except the missing antimatter torpedo.

I lowered my carbine as Neyla's ears flattened, and her combat readiness posture evaporated into a stance that said 'frustration' about as clearly as the scowl I could feel forming on my own beak.

I stamped one back paw, fervently praying damnation on the conniving vile thing twisted up inside Astris' head, playing multiple moves ahead of me.

"Dammit.  Why would they take a warhead, and then leave?  Why not set them all off, or try to push one out manually?"

Neyla stepped into the chamber, striding purposefully down to the tube access hatches.  She rapped one fisted claw against the portals, and shook her head.  I picked up the meaning, even as she provided words to match.

"When Martins locked out the weapons grid, the tubes sealed.  It would take hours of slicing and yanking, even for something as strong as a Troll, to get one of these off.  Much easier to just do what they were going to do before, with the bombs.  Much bigger explosion too.  When the core goes, all of the weapons in here will too."

I nodded, and glanced back up the corridor, already starting mental calculations on the amount of time it would take to reach the main reactor chamber.  I tapped the comms activation plate on the side of my helmet, and narrowed my eyes.

"Forward torpedo rack is clear.  The intruders took one HASP before the lockdown came into effect, and moved on."

Coming to the torpedo rack had been a gamble, but one I felt was necessary.  It would take much less time to set off a torpedo there, than any sort of mucking about with the Matter/Antimatter Reactor Core itself.  We had no way initially to know whether the enemy valued a larger explosion enough to pass up the opportunity at a fairly substantial, smaller, but much more immediate one.

But it wasn't a question anymore.  Apparently bigger was better after all.

While the core could be much more devastating, the torpedoes had been a more immediate concern.  But the math still held.  We still had time to prevent a disaster.

Neyla and I attached our carbines to the hardpoints between our wings in almost perfect synchronization, dropping to all fours and breaking into a leopard-style lope down the corridors, too small and twisting to safely use the suit's thrusters all-out, which would have doubtless been much faster.  To say nothing of the drain on the suit's power cells.  Which I had a sinking feeling we'd need at full capacity.

Gryphons couldn't hope to keep pace with a Pony on four legs for very long.  All our endurance was centered in our wings, and in the muscle groups that would be most useful in close-up combat maneuvers.  But for a few minutes' sprint we could run with the best of any quadrupedal species, past or present.

I'd never been more grateful for the feline side of myself than that exact moment.

Decking flew away beneath us, support braces and corridor junctions whipping past, as Skye's reply came over both our headsets.

"We *just* lost access to the doors, cameras, and environmental systems in the engine compartment.  I don't think they have control either, they probably just pulled the right fuses to keep us from locking everything up, though the main doors will fail-closed in a power outage.  We managed to get the core controls locked down, but they won't care.  It will still take some work for them to get the torpedo setup for a manual detonation, and for them to directly physically disengage some of the antimatter containment safeties, if they want to increase their chances."

I growled deep in my chest reflexively as Neyla and I leapt up briefly onto a section of wall to help make a tight turn into a perpendicular corridor.

"How long?"

Skye's voice came back firm, even reassuring.  But I could still detect a tiny hint of worry.

"Three to five minutes."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Twelfth Month, Tenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Carradan

My world was speed.  Towers, spires, weather vanes, windows;  It all stretched out into an elongated tube of 'holy spit that's fast!'

My hooves had provided the initial force to get me moving, but it was nothing compared to what happened when my wings beat for the first time after I cleared the shower of window glass.  I thought I'd moved at a pretty good clip in the past.  I'd shown up the Gryphons more than once in a straight line contest.

My whole perspective got rearranged in a hurry.  

Suddenly everything I'd ever done before was slow as a tar drip on a cold February morning.  I finally understood why we Pegasi needed to be able to see things in 'bullet time.'

Gryphons needed it to fight.  We needed it to fly.

By the time I'd gone one block, I was movin' so fast that I knew a Human brain woulda got me killed in a hurry.  I didn't need fancy math to know that reaction times at what I guessed was around six hundred kph were trash for a monkey, no matter how new and advanced the model.

For me, that one block of street seemed to pass in about four seconds.  Judging by the way everypony in the street below was goin' in extremely slow motion, it had been a hay of a lot shorter than that in real seconds.

And I was still accelerating.  Hard.

I knew what a Mach number was.  Most Humans probably did, supersonic business and military jets were pretty ubiquitous.  Fyrenn had gabbed enough about military aviation to give me a bit more know-how, but it wasn't much.

I did know what a moisture cone was tho.  Not all of the exactly 'why,' but most of the 'what' at least.  So I knew what it was when one started to form just off the tip of my muzzle.

And I had the faintest idea what would happen next.

That did nothing to prepare me tho.  Let me tell you.

In an instant, every part of me felt as if I'd taken a muzzle-first impact into concrete.  And then the bone-jarring sense of velocity vanished.  Air currents that had felt like they wanted to rip my feathers out by the stems suddenly became smooth, undisturbed flow.  Like passin' through water almost, but not so thick.  Or wet.

Everything outside of me seemed to cut its own speed in half yet again.  I had plenty of time to wonder if that was the speed at which Gryphons saw things in combat, before suddenly realizing that I couldn't hear much of anything.

The roar of the wind going past my ears had vanished into quiet low hiss, like a gentle afternoon breeze.

Suddenly, the word in front of me was cast in bright cyan and salmon colors.  Very familiar colors.  I didn't dare to turn my head, for fear of breaking my aerodynamic profile.  Fatally.

I had plenty of time to scope out the parade.  The new armor looked just as nice as I'd hoped it would...  It was a pity some face-stealing bucker was wearing it.  And my face.

I had plenty of time to spot the Gryphons in their hidden perches too, and to see their eyes track towards me in surprise.  To see IJ, already turnin' her head towards my doppelganger.  And was that an angry snarl on her muzzle?

It was at that moment that time ran out.  I tucked my wings, rolled slightly, and made darn sure to wave as I passed within about two inches of face-steal-mcgee's shocked mug.

Damn, did I ever have a nice looking jaw.  The white coat and blue mane were actually pretty dashing too, especially in the new armor.

My own jaw stayed firmly attached, grinnin' like the devil as I pulled into a shallow bank climb, and finally started to bleed some speed.

As my turn brought me around enough to see my dupe's face again, his jaw was decidedly worse for wear.  The force of my blow-through pass had not been kind to my beautiful face, no siree.

But there could only be one Stanley Carradan at the party, and *I* was not gonna be the one to change.





IJ

I knew it wasn't Stan.

I had known for almost four full seconds before the infiltrator realized that I knew.  All I needed at that point was an opening.  A moment to strike in such a way that he would have no time to recover, or to detonate himself, or to stab the Princess.

Nothing could have prepared me for the way in which Stan, the real Stan, presented that opportunity.  A blur of color, streaked with the distinctive natural hues of his coat, mane, and tail, whipped past within a tenth of a second.

My training kicked in quickly enough to spare me any real harm, but not quite speedily enough to save my ears a great deal of pain.

The after-image of Stan's passage was followed very quickly by a bone-rattling explosive sound, and a bright flash of teal and pink in a radiant shockwave that overwhelmed the sun for a brief moment.

I'd spent plenty of time around Pegasi.  *As* a Pegasus.  I had enough time to know what was coming.  By the time the leading edge of the sonic rainboom hit, my eyes were already squinted, and my legs locked.  Pegasus eyes weren't quite Gryphon eyes, but they still had much better shock and flare tolerance than any other kind of Pony.  Or Changeling.

Forcing my perceptions to slow, I watched as the wake of Stan's low-pass tore at the infiltrator's head, dislocating his jaw, splitting his horn, and ripping him from his place in the formation.

The moment the physical shock passed, I whipped out the hidden blades on my foreleg gauntlets, and struck without hesitation, or mercy.  

My blades plunged into both sides of my enemy's head before his body even hit the ground, even as it began to revert from white fur to black chitin.

And then I heard another loud 'CRACK!'





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
December 9th, Gregorian Calendar

Neyla

The first bolt came as a slight surprise, but not enough to land an impact.  I still had plenty of time to move my head slightly to the left, and let the streak of angry black and purple energy pass by harmlessly.  I felt the tiniest nip of static electricity on the tuft of my left ear.

Bleeding speed into the deck with a grunt, I breathed a silent prayer of thanks that the designers had coated the plating in a 'coin patterned' grippy hardened rubber.  

I switched to a bipedal stance, drew my carbine, aimed, and fired in a single smooth motion.  Particle weapons were unlike anything I'd ever fired before.  And I had certainly fired my share of Equestrian and Human armaments, of every shape and size.

The main oddity, and main benefit to me, was the greatly diminished kickback relative to the weapon's stopping power.  Railguns and well calibrated crossbows could be quite precise in a Gryphon's claws, but slight errors induced by kickback, machining tolerances, gravity, wind, spin-drift, and coriolis effects, could still result in a loss of a few millimeters of precision at range.

Not so with a particle weapon.  The bolts did produce a slight pushback in the weapons, but they were otherwise affected so little by environmental conditions that one only needed to worry about gravitational or coriolis effect at extreme range.

I could see the enemy preparing to return fire; Three Trolls in full black armor, with peculiar spiky rock-like particle weapons of their own.

With the flick of a talon to the control pad on my left foreleg, I deployed the heavy plating of my armor, and spread both wings into a defensive shell for Fyrenn.

The maneuver blocked several follow-on bolts from the aggressors as my first shot hit home, and Fyrenn pivoted to stand back-to-back with me, fully protected.

I scanned my targets briefly before settling on the first one to kill outright.  Six more lances spat from my weapon in less time than it would take to describe in simplest terms, perforating the Troll's helmet through-and-through, each bolt hitting exactly the same spot as the previous.

The Genesist particle weapons were indeed strange, but they were certainly effective.  Our weapons could overmatch their armor, and in turn theirs seemed to be having more trouble depleting ours.  

I decided I liked both the weapon, and the armor, very much indeed.

My power cell spent, I tucked the heel of one back paw, and exchanged places smoothly with Fyrenn, walking in reverse up against his back as his armored wings provided cover for me to reload, while he fired and advanced.

In the time it took me to eject the spent power cell and ram a new one into the receptacle, Fyrenn had forced the other two Trolls into cover with a withering hail of particle beams, expending his own power cell in the process, and gaining us twenty feet of corridor. 

We spun again, exchanging places once more, and I grinned to myself as I picked out the new enemy cover positions behind the corridor's farthest support stanchions.  If battle was to be the closest I'd come to dancing with my love, then battle was to be savored.  Even more than usual.

As if in response to my thoughts, he spoke as I kept up the stream of fire, and he reloaded.

"You know, if we live through this?  I think I at least owe you a real dinner date, and a real dance.  Just the two of us."

I shifted firing tactics to a suppressive barrage.  Neither of the two remaining Trolls seemed keen to pit their lumbering low agility against our unfailing aim.  They wanted to force us into melee range, where they would hold a more equal standing.

Nonetheless, it wouldn't do to allow them to poke out their heads unnecessarily, and we had ammunition to spare.  So I varied rhythmic groupings of shots between the edges of each Troll's cover position, both hidden behind thick corridor support braces, making it impossible for either to so much as peek the tip of their helmet out without losing their head.

Because of my intense combat focus, it took me almost a full second to comprehend what Fyrenn had said.  The words elevated my heart rate farther than usual, even for the heat of battle.  Hope bloomed beneath my chest feathers, fiery and sweet, lending me a kick of energy akin to being touched by a live wire.

I knew he meant what he'd said.  Fyrenn did not play vapid games with words when dealing with matters of the heart.

As we switched places once more, I smiled broadly, even though I knew he could not see my face.  I simply couldn't help myself.  I knew the sentiment carried as much in the tone of my words, and in the words themselves.

"That would give me enough joy, and reason to live, to finish these mongrels all on my own with nothing but my beak and claws.  I will hold you to it."

He fit his response in between the hiss and snap of his own shots.  From the surprising lack of tension in his back muscles, I could sense that he was truly at ease.  A miracle for which I breathed a deep prayer of thanks.

"I know you will.  Best that we both live to make it so."

I held my smile, feeling the edges of my beak twist ever so slightly as it morphed into a predatory grin.  I pressed on with added vigor, pivoting ninety degrees as we came level with our opponents, and unloading the remainder of my slotted power cell into the Troll's presumably quite stunned face.

As the particle lances bored a hole into his helmet, I could hear Fyrenn unleashing a similar barrage to my rear.  An impact shock to my back an instant later told me that his Troll had been slightly more prepared than mine, and had engaged him paw to claw.

I could feel the heels of Fyrenn's back paws dig in, and I seized the opportunity his relative stability afforded us.  With an angry hiss, I scissored my wings outwards, and pressed down hard with my back legs, pushing me into a backflip over the top of Fyrenn, and the second Troll.

When the moment was perfectly right, I reached out with my claws, snagged the Troll's helmet, and fired my suit's impulse thrusters in full reverse, beating my wings hard to add every last possible erg of thrust.

As always, Fyrenn knew what I was planning, and had sunk his own claws into the Troll's throat in preparation for the maneuver.  His own pulse thrusters came on at exactly the same moment as mine.

The Troll's head left his neck with a satisfying 'POP!' accompanied by a raspy 'CRACK!' as the alloy of his thinner, more flexible neck plating gave way almost immediately to the torsional stress, along with his spine.

Normally such a feat against something so strong of bone would have been almost impossible, even for one of our kind vested with above average strength, but the impulse thrusters in the suits provided a quite significant amount of force.

Once my back paws had reached the deck again, and all had settled, I took a moment to examine the deceased's head and helmet with mild interest.  The material was as much like polished basalt as anything else.  Incredibly strong against sharp objects or projectiles.  Less so against shearing stress perpendicular to its isotropy, or blasts of particle energy.

I grunted, and tossed the helmeted head over my shoulder, breaking out into another grin as I noted Fyrenn's expression.  His visage was painted with an appropriate combination of amusement, awe, and something else.  Something much deeper.

I raised an eyebrow and gestured down the corridor with one wing.

"Our dance awaits."





Hutch

"Got it!"

The most incredible sense of relief hit me as Skye shouted triumphantly from her position at the operations console.  She and I had returned to man the bridge while Aston, Martins, and Alyra looked after Mission Ops.

My fingers flew over the Captain's console, my eyes only occasionally darting up to keep an eye on the data being projected to the main holodome.  I'd never cared for typing classes, but adrenaline always seemed to boost my actions-per-minute somehow.

Skye's voice continued, her explanation lodging itself in the back of my mind as I scrambled to open communications with someone, anyone, before the enemy figured out what we had done.

"I got one of the ground security teams to patch a short range comm into the base fiber trunkline.  From there I tunnelled into Alexandria's SatVision ground station.  As long as they don't cut our local communications, which they may or may not be able to do without jamming themselves, then we have an uninterrupted connection to the outside."

At last, I coaxed what I wanted out of the system.  Skye's workaround had made establishing an initial link to an encrypted endpoint slightly more complex, but I wasn't about to look the gift horse in the mouth.  Literally, or figuratively.

I shot a smile, and a nod her way as I addressed the panel, and hopefully the officer on the other end.

"South Dakota, this is Hutchinson: JRSF hotel echo seven four five eight.  Emergency.  Priority one alert.  Put me in touch with Actual, ASAP.  My authenticator is tango niner six five echo three two six.  Day-word is Amberjack."

The return voice from the console was clipped, professional, and reassuringly serious.

"Standby.  Authenticating."

A soft click, and a series of tones, told me that my call had been transferred, and the opposite endpoint had switched to encrypted flag-level communications.  That was a good sign.

"Hutch, this is Brendt.  What the hell are you doing calling from a tunneled connection out of AfCom?"

I shook my head reflexively, forgetting that Captain Brendt couldn't see me.  I'll just bet he heard the urgency and frustration in my voice though.  I never did do much to hide it, even on the good days.  Anyone who knew me well knew not to take it personally.

"Brendt, we're in deep shit here.  We have a *flying* capital tonnage enemy object doing its damndest to poke holes in Lucapa with some kind of energy weapon.  They're teleporting assault troops around the place like its an episode of Star Trek, and we can not return fire because if we unlock our weapons systems, they are going to torpedo the African continent with antimatter warheads.  We need air support.  And we need it now."

Brendt was, as far as I was concerned, our only hope.  Earthgov Airforce planes out of Lagos would arrive faster if they left immediately, but not by much.  If they left immediately.  Which they wouldn't.  Earthgov had increasingly begun to blackball JRSF officers in the crunch, routing our support requests through thicker and thicker stacks of red tape each time.

The Genesists were just about as unpopular as we were with the Council writ-large, to make matters worse.

South Dakota was Navy, and Navy belonged to the JRSF.  Brendt was a Gryphon convert.  And a long-time acquaintance.  Simple math.

"XO, Bring the battlegroup up to combat alert alpha.  Launch ready-fighters, have them link up with the CAP and standby for deployment coordinates.  Have Akagi flush her bombers for immediate launch with heavy anti-armor payloads.  Spin-up railguns and missile ordinance for long range surface bombardment support.  Prepare Marine strike squads one thru five for hot deployment."

Hearing his orders over comm was soothing to my soul.  Like good Equestrian comfort food after a long, awful day.  I had to grit my jaw and remind myself that the day wasn't even close to over.  Not yet.

"First-wave air support will be on station in fifteen minutes.  We can launch bombardment support as soon as you feed us coordinate data.  Marine strike groups will arrive in forty five to support mop-up.  Callsign for first inbound air squadron is 'Menace.'  Carrier Ops will send you the data for a direct comm patch."

I grinned and shook my head again, gripping both sides of the console out of force of habit more than anything else.

"Hold off on the artillery until we give a go-ahead.  The enemy is using some kind of energy deflection system.  We put a good dent in it, but I don't think a strike from your end will do us any good until we take it entirely offline.  We're trying to avoid damage to the facility as well.  We're hoping to have our own weapons back before your planes arrive.  If we time it right, we can push the enemy away from the facility, alpha-strike with your first air wave, our own weapons, and your artillery support.  If not, your planes can perform targeted strikes and knock out the shield to clear a path for artillery."

There was only a brief pause before Brendt's voice came back over the line.  I could hear him grinding his beak in that way Gryphons sometimes did when thinking hard about something.

"Acknowledged.  Keep close contact Hutch.  We'll have this cleaned up in time for dinner."

I sure hoped he was right.  A silent nod and smile from Skye did help to bolster the feeling that we might all scrape by with our skins intact one more time.  Just maybe.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Twelfth Month, Tenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Kephic

I had heard much about the 'sonic rainboom.'  Fyrenn refused to use the name, he preferred the Human scientific term;  A Thaumatically charged supersonic shockwave.

Regardless of nomenclature preference, I knew it was a rare, but not entirely unheard of feat.  Pegasi could fly at supersonic speeds for the most part, in Equestria if not on Earth, but their magic reduced the shockwaves and accompanying sounds significantly.

A 'sonic rainboom' was a phenomenon that only occurred under unusually intense acceleration, when a flyer hit the equivalent of what the Humans called 'Hypersonic' for a very brief moment, or 'Brushing the Mach Five Threshold briefly' as my brother liked to say.

From my place atop a small boutique's rooftop eaves, I watched as Stanley Carradan became a record-holding Mach Five streak of color, sound, and speed.

In decelerated time, it was easy for me to watch every last tiny detail of the moment as it played out, from the initial formation of the shockwave that drew my attention, to the pinwheel of pink and teal that radiated out in a magical shockwave from the point at which he'd just managed to hit the coveted threshold.

Forks of magical lighting, white hot and blistering in intensity, raced over his wings as magic flowed through them.  I understood almost immediately the logical consequences of Stan's presence both above, descending at just over six thousand kph, and below, smiling in the formation of Day Guards, albeit from behind a white coat and blue mane instead.

I raised my thunderblade, and acquired a sight picture, starting my corrections early as I saw the telltale signs of movement in IJ's hooves and muzzle as well.

Carradan, the real one, blew past his doppleganger at incredible speed, streaks of lightning leaping off his wings and splitting the intruder's horn as they came within no more than a couple inches of each other.  Though the worst effects of Stan's shockwave were contained to the immediate few inches around him, it was more than enough to do further damage.

The interloper's jaw was nearly ripped from its socket, and the stress began to force a demorph as I looked on.  To her credit, quick and crafty as she always was, IJ knew what had happened, and she was ready as the light and shock from the rainboom passed, taking a great many windows with it, and ruffling everyone's manes, crests, and tails.

She stabbed the infiltrator so hard, I wondered if she had already done my job for me.  But I could still see twitching in his eyes.  That was plenty good enough reason to fire.

Correcting for the cross-breeze, gravity, bullet weight, distance, and even the infiltrator's backwards momentum was pure simplicity itself.  I squeezed the trigger, perfectly satisfying in both weight and engage point, until the weapon spoke forth with a loud shockwave of its own.

The round sailed straight and true, sinking right into the brainstem of the infiltrator, before passing through the other side of the neck plating, and into the cobblestone below.

It was no RAC, but it was certainly much faster, and more damaging, than any crossbow I'd ever seen.

Another resounding report less than a quarter second later told me that either my Prince, or my brother had spotted a secondary threat.  The absence of any further fire told me that the threat was likely lying in a pool of its own viscera, in spite of the rising panic in the crowd below, who had only just begun to perceive what had happened.

Indeed, a sea of colors seemed to be tidally rushing out from the square as Ponies, and a few visitors from other kinds, raced screaming away from the loud sounds, bright flashes, and distinct smell of blood, any one of which was a strong panic trigger for an untrained Equine on the best of days.

I stood and waved to IJ, who yanked her blades free, and inclined her head in reply, before rushing to Celestia's side and taking up a precautionary defensive position with the other guards.

I exchanged a relieved smile with Varan, and then Sildinar, before sweeping the square below for whatever was left of the second target.





Carradan

I could feel time goin' back to normal almost as quickly as I could feel myself losing speed.  And energy.  I hadn't exactly been starting from an ideal place in terms of juice, and my body was starting to let me know just how ticked it was.

As I banked back around, shedding kph faster than a drag car with the chute out, I had just enough of the time altering dope left in my system to watch my doppelganger eat a bullet from one of Fyrenn's new fancy gun-axe-swords, in Kephics claws, right before Sildinar put a similar shot into a second target tucked into the shadowed mouth of an alleyway.

As the Day Guard fell, his white fur began to melt away into dark gray chitin, and a sickly green bolt of energy that had been building on the tip of his horn fizzled and died.

I knew from a lotta experience that killing a Changeling in a single shot was tough, even when they were morphed most of the way.  Either he'd been fully transformed, or those gunblades of Fyrenn's packed a hell of a mighty punch, and Sildinar was a god among mortals with his aim.

Maybe all of the above.

I tucked my wings and dove, regaining a little speed without having to put in too much energy.  A last second flare brought me up just beside IJ, much to the consternation of the rest of the guards.

Judging by their shift in posture, and expressions, I was gonna get magick'd, bucked, and wing-smacked into the next century if I took one more step.

After a tense half second, Shining put out a conciliatory hoof.

"He is a friend.  Regroup for an about face!  We're returning to the palace!"

IJ raised an eyebrow as I fell into the formation.  I might not've liked parts of it, but I'd retained a little somethin' from our brief Guard training.

As our formation of Pegasus guards began to rise around Celestia's chariot, and pivot back towards the palace, leaving the Unicorn guards behind to handle the chaos in the square, I grinned and nudged IJ.

"So.  When did ya figure out it wasn't me?"

She did her best to keep a smile off her muzzle.  But I could see it tugging at the edges of her lips.  Humor was a good sign.  IJ never did humor unless all was well, or unless death was a foregone conclusion, and things seemed to be moving much more toward the former.

"Several minutes ago, actually.  His remarkable ability to keep his muzzle shut gave it away."

Ouch.

My body might've been tired, bruised, and otherwise ok.
But my spirit was bleed'n out on the ground.

With a speed that took me completely by surprise, IJ leaned over, and planted a very quick, but very passionate kiss on my muzzle.

Boy did I ever wish I had the energy to do that time-slow thing again.

Still.  It did wonders for my spirit, and my exhaustion.  Almost as much of a miracle as the uncommonly warm smile she gave me as she pulled away, back to her appointed position in the formation.

Right then and there, that moment made the whole ordeal, start to finish, worth it.

So worth it.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
December 9th, Gregorian Calendar

Captain Brendt found himself pacing, in spite of all efforts to the contrary.  His Human and Pony subordinates all seemed to find the habit distracting, sometimes even intimidating, so he'd made a consistent effort to tone it down.

South Dakota's CIC had been extensively refit to accommodate not only new advances in technology, but the presence of multiple species in relative comfort, which certainly helped make everyone, Captain included, feel more at ease.

Being a Gryphon, Brendt still found it mildly claustrophobic, even though most of the roof and walls comprised a huge high resolution holo-dome.  It just didn't feel like real sky, not the least reason being the abundance of digital markers, tracks, and indicators that peppered the image.

"Firebrand one-five, Akagi Central, clear forward on launch path six starboard.  Join formation at point three.  Cat-shot on your signal.  Squawk two eight four six echo for joint group coordination AI.  Good luck Airstream."

"Central, Fire-brand one-five - Airstream.  Path six starboard, join formation at point three.  Squawk two eight four six echo.  Launching."

Brendt's eyes snapped reflexively to the CIC's port-side just in time to see the FB-77 hurl off the carrier's starboard-most magnetic catapult, and engage afterburners shortly thereafter.  The holo-dome didn't have enough resolution for Brendt's eyes to lock onto the pilot, but he recognized the convert's voice all the same.

He made it a point to know everyone in the battle group by name, face, and callsign at the bare minimum.

As he watched the triangular colored icons representing Firebrand bomber squadron take up a wedge formation, and snap to a north-easterly heading, the green and gray Gryphon tapped the microphone control on the side of his headset.

"Strike group co-ordination AI, South Dakota actual.  Report status of strike teams."

"Actual, StrikeCon AI: Fireteam leaders report ready for deployment in two minutes.  Final heavy-armor loading in progress."

Brendt nodded, and gestured towards his operations officer with one claw, a young Human woman whose gaze was primarily locked to the CIC's central holotank.

"Deployment for strike teams is authorized.  Launch VTOLs as soon as StrikeCon reports ready.  Where are we with SatVision telemetry?"

The lieutenant commander shook her head, allowing the tiniest hint of a frown to slip onto the left side of her lips as she narrowed her eyes, and her fingers flew over her keyboard.

"Heavy signal jamming in the vicinity of the AO.  SatVision and Keyholes have nothing on LIDAR or X-Band.  Shipboard SPY-Five also reports no-lock.  SatVision nineteen will have optical tracking in four seconds."

The captain's gaze moved to one of the upright display screens as the orbital telemetry link blinked into existence.

In spite of himself, Brendt whistled through clenched beak.

"That is one very big ugly frakker.  TAO, Actual, priority one.  Prepare for railgun heavy assault operations.  Standby for command-level authentication to strike inland target with heavy bombardment profiles.  Double the previous VLS cruise missile allotment and place equivalent tonnage follow-on packages into your reload pool.  Hold for target profile and telemetry from Shenzhou Ops."





Fyrenn

"We'll have air support in ten minutes.  If you can get them out of our systems before then, we can punch a hole for 'em in that thing's defenses, and then all that's left is cleanup."

I nodded, and exchanged a brief glance with Neyla as she likewise processed Skye's words.

She left it to me to respond.  I tapped the communications control on my helmet, and pivoted into a ready position beside the hatchway doors.

"If you don't hear from us in five, then don't wait.  Activate scuttle procedure and abandon ship.  Let air support find its own way in."

There was a long pause before her response came back.  I could almost envision the expression on her muzzle.  Probably equal parts worry, sad acceptance, and determination.

"Expecting to hear from you in less than five."

I shot Neyla another glance across the hatchway.  From the tilt of her ears, the tension behind her eyes, and the way she held off a slight downward turn at the corners of her beak, I could tell she was running through the same mental scenarios, and reaching the same conclusions.

If we didn't succeed in extricating our enemies from the reactor room, then our chances of going down with the ship were high.  Scuttle procedure involved the use of carefully placed demolition charges to annihilate the ship, the reactor, and all warheads aboard, without touching off any secondary antimatter explosions.

Not the worst way to die.

Not exactly the best way to end a day either.

I sized up the door between us.  The main entrance to the Antimatter Core chamber.  Half a foot thick, fifteen feet wide, and ten feet tall, it was designed to allow passage of some very heavy equipment.

It was also sealed tight as a drum.

I reached over my left wing, and tried the seal on the emergency access port.  The metal plate popped away with a slight hiss, followed by a clank as it dropped against the bulkhead on its lower hinges.

Doors on the Shenzhou were designed to Navy standards, and then some.  Doors would fail-closed incase of decompression or power loss.  None of the 'shooting a panel makes the door do something random' crap from every science fiction holovid I'd ever seen.  

Every single set of hatches had a manual mechanical override control that didn't need power to function, and could be activated with appropriate access codes, even when the central computer was locked out or taken offline.

I knew it, and Neyla knew it.  So we both knew there was no chance Astris didn't also know it.

We would be expected.

Neyla knew that too, judging by her expression, which had hardened into the battle-ready hawk-like almost-sneer I had come to expect from her.  The stuff of nightmares for any but her closest allies.  And then sometimes even for some of us nonetheless.

Glancing at the access panel once to memorize the layout, I shifted my gaze to the center of the hatch, and began to work the override toggles by feel and memory.  They were large rubberized switches that made a satisfying tactile 'CLICK' as they shifted between numbered positions, unlocking the door mechanically rather than electronically.  There were fifteen, allowing for a fairly extensive set of possible permutations.

As I set my left claw on the last switch, I tightened up on the grip of my carbine with my right, and locked eyes with Neyla for the briefest of moments.

We were ready.

With a click, followed by a much louder metallic sound, and the hiss of a broken seal, the hatchway unlocked, and began to retract to a partially open state.

I pivoted around the frame in perfect synchronization with Neyla, acquired my first target as I moved my left claw back to the carbine, and fired.





"Sir?  We just pulled this image off SatVision nineteen."

General Norris straightened the hem of her shirt reflexively as she stood, and leaned over the lieutenant's shoulder to see his DaTab.  

The quiet beeps, clicks, and chirps of the new Global Military Command Center's alert operations were broken by an announcement over comm-loop one even as the images on the portable display registered.

"GMCC, AWAC niner six.  South Dakota just switched from tactical to assault railgun profiles.  JRSF centcom logged flag-level authentication for an inland heavy bombardment order."

Norris gestured to the DaTab, and pierced the lieutenant with her gaze.  The steel in her eyes left no room for interpretation, nor backpedalling.

"This is high-confidence?  What does analytics say?"

The lieutenant nodded, and suppressed a nervous sigh as he responded.  

"AI and visual analytics techs confirm.  Confidence is high.  Whatever it is, it is mobile, flighted, not of Human design, and using directed energy weapons *and* defenses both.  GlobeInt's working group thinks its a scenario X-five.  Their AI concurs."

Norris moved her gaze outwards to sweep the GMCC's central operations room as she listened to the report.  Six rows of semi-circular consoles, equipped with physical buttons, touch screens, and holo projectors radiated out and down from her primary command dais at the rear of the room.

On the opposite wall a five story holo-screen displayed multiple maps, helmet cams, schematics, and telemetry readouts from all over the globe.

Though still relatively new, the center was already functioning at peak efficiency.  The lack of Equestrians had a great deal to do with it in Norris' view.  No retraining, no interspecies relations concerns.  Just the most experienced veterans of Humanity's air and land forces.  She felt that even without her years of HLF experience, her feelings wouldn't have changed very much.

Nor would the Council's.  At least half the review board for her appointment had known exactly who she was, or were more than half-sure.  Even if the rest had known, most would probably have turned a blind eye.  They needed her experience, plain and simple.  And her determination.

The General fixed her eyes finally on her own administrative console, and nodded once sharply as she spoke, confirming the telemetry she needed once more for surety.

"Lieutenant, get on a secure line to the GSC-plus-nine and update them as I issue orders.  Call Council security and order them to move to Night-Watch CoG plan three, just to be safe."

Though the man's face blanched, to his credit he didn't show his fear in any other conscious, or unconscious way, snapping off a salute and turning quickly on one heel.

Norris tapped her headset controls, switching to comm-loop one and opening the microphone.  She swept the room again with her gaze as she delivered her orders.

"GMCC top-levels, break, break.  This is Central.  Standby for priority one orders."

The general paused, confirming that the loop was clear, before reaching into her right sleeve, and removing a small authentication index chip from its rubberized wrist-strap.

"AfCom Ops;  Which DSOB is closest to kill-box Two Kilo?"

Norris locked eyes with the man as he looked over his shoulder from his own station, and spoke into his headset.

"DSOB Two six 'Hatchet' sir."

With a curt nod, Norris inserted the authorization index into a specially made slot on her panel, pinching the biometric access pad of the small gray rod with a thumb and forefinger to let it sample her DNA.

As she began entering her ID and authentication codes on a physical alphanumeric panel, the defense condition two alarm sounded throughout the room, and the facility's central AI spoke.

"Defense Condition One.  All personnel;  Defense Condition One.  Permissive Action Link is open and awaiting input."

Norris toggled her mic on again with her free hand as she finished entering her personal authenticator sequence.

"Strike Ops, I am declaring scenario X-five.  Advanced extraterrestrial threat has breached global defenses."

The General pulled open a small drawer as it automatically unlatched at the behest of her access codes, and pulled out the first in a line of red plastic cards encased in clear polycarbonate cases.

Snapping the case open, Norris memorized the contents swiftly as she continued to speak.

"This is a nuclear mission order.  Repeat, this is a nuclear mission order.  Contact Deep-Stand-off Bomber wing twenty six 'Hatchet.'  Order then to deploy to launch point at Echo two sierra eight five to strike priority target in Two Kilo with warhead package three.  Standby for additional telemetry optical targeting package directly from GMCC.  Collateral damage is understood and authorized under X-scenario protocols."

Norris looked up to take in the mixture of horrified, frightened, and resolved expressions as she relayed the final half of the order.

"Under the single-point-command emergency rule, I give the order to strike, with high confidence from GlobeInt AI for concurrence.  Day-word:  Faraday.  Action-word:  Beliskner.  Nuclear Strike Authorization follows.  Two.  Echo.  Echo.  Mike.  Niner.  Seven.  Golf.  Sierra.  Seven."