Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Twelfth Month, Seventeenth Day, Celestial Calendar
Alyra
Dad was nervous, and he wasn't even trying to hide it. He has very different tells when he's nervous, and trying to hide it. When he isn't, he fiddles absently with something, anything, but preferably something mechanical or kinesthetic.
He does that when he's thinking too, but the energy is different. More relaxed; Like he's taking the thing apart and rebuilding it in his mind, or admiring the way the light plays off the surface.
When he's nervous, it's fidgety. Like he's just trying to put motion, and energy, into *something* so he doesn't start to spiral mentally.
He hadn't touched his donuts. I was on my fourth already. He seemed content to 'walk' the spoon that had come with his cup of coffee back and forth across the talons of his right claw. It made a satisfying little 'click clack' with each flip.
I don't think he even knew I was staring at him, trying to figure out exactly what was wrong. He was too busy watching raindrops on the diner's big glass windows. It had been pouring since before dawn; Rain sleet, and a little snow to boot.
Rain was something we both still found ourselves completely entranced by, more often than not.
On Earth, rain was almost always more acidic than not, and had a nasty kind of pallor. Snow and sleet too. In Equestria, it had a sharp, cold, fresh smell, and an achingly clear, clean aspect. The ways it reflected light as it ran down glass, even on a gray and somber day...
You take nothing for granted when you grew up in a lifeless concrete hellscape.
Every single thing about breathing the air of a living, vibrant world becomes precious. Beyond words.
You also tend not to take moments for granted when you grew up lonely, and frightened.
Mom and Dad didn't know it, but I'd seen them dozing together, wedding planning documents forgotten in a heap, a warm tangle of wings, and feathers, fur, and tails laid out in a heap on the cushions.
I couldn't help but smile at the memory.
I reached forward across the table, and tapped the side of Dad's coffee cup lightly. It was Gryphon-sized, amazingly. Apparently 'Pony Joe' stocked cutlery for all kinds in his diner; He had been cheerful, and even a little excited to see a couple of Gryphons in his establishment.
The rest of the morning crowd that had begun to filter in were more of a 'mixed bag.' Some were nonplussed, others were clearly a bit awed. And a few even turned up their muzzles.
Dad didn't seem to care.
Dad didn't even seem to notice, though I'll just bet he did. Gryphons notice everything. We can't turn it off. It's like asking a fluent speaker of a language to *not* read and understand written words put right in front of them.
The soft sound of my talons against ceramic brought him back to Equestria, from whatever weird, or dark place his mind had wandered to. He turned to look down at me, and smiled.
"Sorry. I'm... Not 'with it' this morning."
He took a long, slow sip of his coffee. I did the same. I blame him, solely and fully, for helping me to form *that* habit young.
I peered at him with a mock glower over the top of my mug as he finally took a bite of his first donut. He paused to savor the treat, rolled his eyes, and sighed, before giving me what I wanted.
"It's not the wedding. Not really. I..."
He let out something halfway between an exhale, and a small chuckle. Thinking about the wedding seemed to give him the same kind of 'warm fuzzies' that it was giving me. He shook his head slowly, cradling his mug in one claw, and turning back to face the window as he continued.
"...I feel a lot of *anticipation* about that. Maybe even a little nervous at the size of the guest list, and all the fol de rol that neither your Mother, or I, ever really wanted to deal with..."
After another short pause, he turned back and locked eyes with me, giving me his full attention.
"The truth is, I am worried about *today.*"
I nodded slowly. I had some idea where he was going now, but I wanted to hear the rest. Wanted him to feel like he could talk about the rest, for his own sake. I was relieved when he forged ahead after another sip of his drink.
"When the Kingdom's armies arrive, it's going to make a very big impression on the people of this city. There's gonna be a lot of nervous Ponies. But it's what they're bringing with them that gives me pause."
That sealed it for me. I nodded again, and took a short dive into my own coffee mug, using the brief lull in his unburdening to contemplate what he had said, and the general direction I knew the conversation was about to head in.
Dad did not disappoint. He never did. Philosophical to a fault. His eyes wandered back to the window, and the rain-soaked streets beyond.
"I used to think that technology could solve *any* problem. When I was your age?
He glanced at me with a small, sad smile that I returned, abruptly caught up trying to imagine what he would have looked like... What he would have *been* like at my age. His childhood had been so different from mine. We were as separated in that experience as any two beings could be, while still coming from the same planet.
He sighed, and stared down into his coffee, idly poking at the bubbles between the meniscus of the liquid, and the inner surface of the cup, murmuring softly all the while.
"Technology was an obsession for me at that age."
Dad looked up and pierced me with his gaze again. I could almost see flashes of memory playing out in his eyes as his tone firmed up, but his volume stayed low. Almost conspiratorial... Or perhaps penitent.
Though it was just an allusion to events he rarely discussed in detail, I had the sickening feeling that the horrors of murder at the behest of the Earth's government were horrors that we mutually knew all to welll.
"It wasn't until I started spec-ops work that I really began to understand what technology *means* to a society. And especially the ways it can hurt us."
He kept one claw on his mug, but reached out with the other to clasp one of mine, holding my gaze as if with a magnetic field as he went on.
"It wasn't until I saw what it was doing to us at a very personal level..."
He clenched his eyes shut for a brief moment. I knew what was playing out on the backs of his eyes. It was the same dark, acidic, blood-tinged memory that was flashing before my eyes. The image of a little girl with her spine laid open, stuck through with metal protrusions crawling, inside and out, with trillions of tiny machines...
I shivered. He did the same, and opened his eyes again. I half expected to see tears there. There were none... But his voice did crack ever so slightly.
"...I finally started to understand. At a deeper emotional level. Not just spout a hackneyed line about 'it can be good, and bad, it is what you make of it.' "
He squeezed my claw lovingly, then released it, and sat back, cradling his coffee to his chest feathers with all eight talons, and staring at an ephemeral point in space above my head. The tone of his voice turned deeply thoughtful, and measured.
"I started to understand that there is a red line. A threshold. When you cross it, the danger of self-annihilation, whether through WMD exchange, or through a civilization-ending mistake, whether instantaneous like a malfunctioning particle accelerator, or long-running, like greenhouse emissions..."
His eyes found mine again, and I saw something new in them that struck a chord of nervous, insistent energy in me. An urgency. As if he were suddenly desperate for me to understand the point he was building towards. As if the future depended on me understanding.
The same urgency found its way into his voice in a way that perked my ears.
"...That danger begins to outweigh any benefits you get from other applications of the technology. My whole life I though the 'degrowth' and 'ecosocialism' crowds were cracked, and off their shit..."
His eyes moved slowly away, briefly resting on each of the other occupants of the diner as he almost reverently completed the thought. All Ponies.
"...Until I saw how people lived over here. And with that perspective? The world I once knew turned from a technological paradise, to an ashen prison in my mind's eye. I could finally see the Earth for what it truly was. The dead, gray thing we had made of it."
His eyes ended back on his coffee, as if the answer to his agonizing was somewhere at the bottom of the vat of dark brown steaming liquid. Or maybe just a brief solace in its pleasant smell, and sight.
When he spoke again, he didn't look up. His voice dipped to an almost oracular register; Deep, calm, and very nearly regal... But also sad. And very, very certain.
"There is an old Cree prophecy; 'Only when the last tree has been cut down, the last fish been caught, and the last stream poisoned, will we realize... We cannot eat money.' "
I blinked slowly, and shivered again, looking quickly for that same solace in my own coffee cup. The grim, inescapable thought that the prophecy had, for Earth at least, come true, was not lost on either of us.
After a long sip of the hot liquid, I murmured aloud to myself.
"Is'e be-at'a na tìre taeoar n'an dai'on."
It was something old-Gryphic that they had taught me in school. 'The life of the land is the wellspring of the people.'
Dad nodded, and acknowledged me with an inclination of his head, and a visibly proud half-smile. A half-smile only because of the dour nature of our conversation, I knew.
He inhaled deeply, and then continued, going back to fiddling with the coffee cup spoon again as he did so.
"King Siidran once told me that he hoped the addition of the Human spirit to the Gryphon psyche might help us to learn to grow, and expand. Not just in thought, and culture... But in numbers... It wasn't until now that I started to understand that he, like almost everyone else, in both worlds, is wrong. About almost everything we do in the process of civilization building. About growth. About our future."
He looked up again, and gestured to the room with his eyes, and then his whole head.
"Everyone except the Ponies. Though even they're only half-right, I suppose. They still have money, even if it does come second to many things."
Dad snorted, in that way he always does when something is funny to him, in an ironic way.
"In our own way, we're halfway there too. Or we are when we're born. Or made."
He raised one eye-crest and his eyes settled back on me as he put down the coffee spoon, and began drumming his talons on the side of his mug.
"However we Gryphons were made originally? Whatever person, or force, or will imposed our shared limitations on us? They knew *exactly* what they were doing. And they were right about everything they chose to make us. And it would be a hell of a mistake to try to tinker with that balance in any significant way."
I nodded slowly, and silently. His words were a touch confusing at first, but by the second sentence I already had an idea how he was going to tie it all together. He stopped drumming his talons, sipped his coffee, and then sighed deeply.
"I used to wonder about the point of it all. Some of it seems obvious; The moral compunctions and action limitations are intended to keep us unified in our purpose as defenders of the innocent. Incorruptible guardians instead of unstoppable conquerors."
That much made sense. To everyone who had ever been, or talked to, a Gryphon. Even the best Human scientists agreed with the assessment. Dad's next words matched my train of thought, though that wasn't surprising. These issues were inevitably part of any discussion of our biology.
Dad held up one talon and waggled it slowly.
"But what about the other things? The set binary genders, the physical reproductive limitations, the almost palpable compulsion to *avoid* having large numbers of fledgelings that serves as a second 'soft' reproductive limiter... To the point that many couples don't ever choose to have them."
Any sociological or biological discussion of our kind always inevitably touched on these issues that were, bafflingly, controversial amongst Humans. I understood the base reasoning as to why the way we worked bothered some people... I just didn't understand why they wanted to blame us for something that was 'hard-wired' into our nature.
"Do you know what a replacement rate is?"
Dad's words shook me from my reverie, and I nodded, spouting off my own paraphrasing of the dictionary definition that I'd once seen on one of my stolen DaTabs years before.
"The reproductive numbers required to balance natural, and unnatural mortality to keep a population's numbers steady, at minimum."
He nodded once sharply in approval, pressing on without much pause as he got up a head of steam.
"We've always hovered at, or just below that threshold as a species. Going as far back as I can find."
He inclined his head again, and stared into my eyes as he got around to his conclusion at last.
"It finally hit me. Lying there with your mother this morning..."
Well. Apparently I hadn't gone as unnoticed as I'd thought.
Figures.
Mom's a good teacher. And no one, but *no one* gets past her.
Once again, Dad's words recrystallized my thoughts, and my focus, like a dash of cold water.
"The best possible theory I can come up with for all the structural constants that tie us to set binary genders, attractions, and resource-limited reproductive methods?"
I had some idea what he was going to say, right before he said it. He'd done a good job of laying out all the pieces. And I had plenty of my own half-formed speculations. Suddenly, even as he said it, everything came together.
I blurted it out before he could.
"Someone wanted to make sure we could never be a growth-focused species."
He nodded slowly, and raised his coffee mug, responding with just one word before taking a deep pull from the container.
"Exactly."
As soon as he'd finished his draught, he set the mug down, and began to drum his claws on the table, speaking in the same clipped, almost scientific tone of his previous single word response.
"Forced systemic limitations to ensure that we would avoid the growth trap. You ever hear of something called the 'Great Filter?' "
I shook my head. It sounded vaguely familiar, but I'd never heard anyone describe the principle outright. I knew it had something to do with astrophysics, or anthropology... Maybe both.
Dad elaborated.
"To make a long story short, statistical mathematics tells us that there *should* be a myriad of intelligent species all around us. In any universe. And at least some number of them should be sufficiently advanced to have made an impression on the world that we can detect."
I inclined my head, my words coming out as a strange hybrid of prodding question, and half-deduced certainty.
"But... Aside from Equestria..."
He nodded again, and stared out the window, his cadence never missing a beat.
"We haven't. That's called Fermi's paradox. The Great Filter is a proposed solution to the paradox."
I could see him tracing the routes of every drop on the window, simultaneously, scanning back and forth furiously, the pace of his eyes matching the pace of his thoughts. His words were slightly less frenetic, though perhaps no less energetic.
"It posits that there is a near-universal constant; A barrier. Something which all sapient life eventually runs up against, by its very nature, that leads near-inevitably to a totality of extinction. Something that snuffs a species out before it can reach the stars in ninety nine thousand out of a hundred thousand cases."
He sat back in his seat, and moved both claws back to the coffee mug, gripping it tightly to instill warmth in the digits as he paused to collect himself, before continuing in the same tone as before, but at a slightly slower, more somber rate.
"The Wars of Chaos nearly ended all life on this world. Not that different to the way that our own weapons nearly ended life on Earth dozens of times. Even our best efforts to help undo our climatological follies almost killed us. And now..."
We both shared a moment of pained silence, eyes averted from all else. The words were unspoken, but no less poignant; And now Humanity had finally succeeded in dealing itself a fatal wound.
Only time would tell if we could staunch the bleeding enough to save some survivors.
That horror seemed so far removed from the brightly lit, happy interior of the diner; At once nostalgic, and layered in the scents of sweet fresh hot food and drink.
Yet the horror *felt* paralyzingly close. Like some kind of hidden demon manifesting as a wisp of pale smoke over our shoulders. Watching. Waiting.
Dad sighed again, the deepest, slowest one yet, and inclined his head slightly. His voice had dropped back to an almost reverent, prophetic note.
"If I had seen my species make it through this kind of gauntlet? The hell that the survivors of Earth's last, and worst war will remember until their dying day?"
I filled in for him again as his theory began to coalesce for me once more.
"I'd do whatever I had to in order to make sure it never, ever happened again. No matter how advanced my species became."
He nodded, and seamlessly moved into his final thesis.
"If I were in the process of designing a new species? Well. I'd do whatever I could to ensure that they never got caught up in the Filter, based on my cultural understanding of it, and my opinions. Say, for the sake of the hypothesis... Make it endemically untenable for them to be growth-focused. Or conquest-minded. Or even materialistic. Limit the population. Focus the culture and mentality on one set kind of family structure, and program it to always be that way. Simplify and limit viewpoints to ensure permanent internal deconfliction on critical issues, and unconditional acceptance of fellow members of the species."
It was my turn to exhale slowly, and deeply, as the concept of engineering an entire species finally registered with me in all its enormity. Dad paused only briefly before pressing on towards his conclusion.
"Humanity's worst struggles have come out of either competition for resources, whether through greed, or desperation... Or from conflicts of ideology. If I wanted to make a species that was immune, or as close as could be, to both of those risk surfaces?"
I couldn't resist finishing his thought yet again. He paused as if he wanted me to, even, so I obliged, almost breathless at the weight of the concept.
"...You make them so that they *can't* have ideological disagreements severe enough to want to hurt each other. You make them empathetic. You force a set moral code on them. And you make it mentally unpalatable, and physically difficult, for them to be growth-focused."
He nodded sagely. I sat back in my own chair, and took another long sip of coffee, before murmuring aloud.
"Holy shit."
Auntie Skye was starting to be a bad influence on my vocabulary.
Dad's gaze and mine came together again, and I had to suppress the urge to shiver. His voice matched the hollow, dark void that seemed to have snuck up and subsumed the usual fire in the molten gold of his eyes.
"I'm frightened, Alyra. I'm frightened that we are disturbing the balance. In ways that should be left well enough alone."
He sighed, a deep sad sound of frustration, and resignation, pinching his nares between two talons.
"But I don't see how I have any choice at this point. We will either adapt, and advance... Or we'll lose."
I shook my head and reached out with one claw to grasp one of his forelegs. I squeezed insistently until he met my eyes again. I only spoke once I knew he was truly listening.
It was my turn to be urgent.
"I've seen some of your designs. I've seen other Human ideas, and technology begin to creep in, even in the short time I've been here... We aren't over that red line yet. Not even close."
I held his foreleg, and his gaze, for a long moment, making sure that what I was saying was resonating before driving my point home.
"If we don't win this war? We'll never get a chance to do it right. We have to make it to survival first. We can worry about how to thrive afterwards."
He nodded silently, and I released his foreleg. We both took another sip of our drinks, and he began to forlornly munch on his second donut, before I spoke again.
"Besides... I don't think we can avoid inventing things for the indefinite future. Anything that *can* be invented... Eventually..."
He sighed, inclined his head, and swallowed before finishing the axiom for me.
"Will be."
I dipped my head in the same way, and held up one insistent talon.
""Right. But we *do* have a choice, as far as how we use it. That's not trite, or hackneyed. Not in *this* context. In starting over? We have a chance to build the foundation in a way that changes our course entirely."
I dipped my head even further, placing my eyes in his line of sight again.
"All these things you fear? They come from the systems of the society we lived in. The feedback loops."
I sat back into a more comfortable position, and he kept eye contact, smiling. Sadly at first, but with increasing pride, and peace, as I finished my argument.
"We don't live in that hell anymore. We don't live on that planet anymore. We don't have to build things here the way they were built there. We can do it differently."
I held out one claw. He placed one of his much larger ones in it, and I squeezed lovingly.
"We can do it *right*."
His smile broadened, and the cloud that had hung over him finally seemed to dissipate. The warmth tinged his words, and I knew that I'd gotten through.
"If people like you are our future? I know we will."
It was my turn to smile. Sonya had been good to me. A good sister. In some ways a good mother. But she wasn't exactly brimming with compliments, and her primary goal had been protection. Even at the expense of growth.
Mom? Dad? Kephic, Varan, Skye, Stan? All of them... They were always so supportive. Complimentary. They called me on my flaws, but built me up on my strengths, both in ways I'd never experienced before.
It was fundamentally life-altering, and life-giving, in a way that's so hard to do any justice with words.
I hoped my expression conveyed my love, and gratitude. The radiance of Dad's smile told me that it did, and reciprocated in kind.
He snatched up the last donut, quaffed the last of his coffee in one gulp, and then removed a frankly obscenely large tip from his messenger bag, plunking it on the table with the soft 'thunk' of gold against oak as he stood.
"C'mon. Your Mother's wedding present is arriving with all the rest of the gear today... But it's missing the last piece. You fancy giving your wonderful aesthetic advice on a little shopping trip?"
I gulped down the last of my coffee, and jumped up, excitement rising in my chest.
"You're getting Mom a wedding gift?!"
He smirked, and shrugged with both shoulders, and wings, as he made for the door.
"Well... It was going to be for Hearths' Warming. But I've still got time to figure something else out for that. I didn't know I was going to come back from Earth an engaged man."
I chuckled, and exhaled softly as he pushed the door open, watching my breath crystalize in the cold wintry mix as a fog, before raising one eye crest, firing back a retort as we both stepped outside together.
"If you hadn't? Uncle Kephic and I were planning to beat you into submission."
He smiled again, almost brightly enough to beat back the clouds overhead. The rain began to hit us in earnest as we stepped out into the street, but it wasn't intense enough to get past the water resistant oils in our feathers and fur.
"I don't deserve you..."
I returned his smile silently again, at a loss for words. Sometimes it was hard to find words to express how much I loved him. Loved them all. He reached down and ruffled the feathers of my crest, between my ears, taking care not to create a path for water to get in and soak the skin.
"...But I would sure as hell never part with you. Justified beatings and all."
Skye
"You said this was urgent..."
I could feel my face light up when I saw Taranis at the door, and heard him speak. Finally! Someone who would understand! Or at least... I hoped so. If nothing else, someone I could force to share my torture.
Misery loves company.
I pulled the door wide, and gestured into my guest quarters with one hoof. I didn't bother to try and manufacture a polite tone, so my response came out half as urgency, half as mild annoyance.
"It *is.*"
I bounded back into the room, and stood with both front hooves against the side of the bed, glowering menacingly down at the offending object nestled inside a paper and fiberboard box.
Oh how I hated that damn thing. The sight of it was repulsive!
I gestured emphatically, and fixed Taranis with a sharp glare as he entered, glanced down at the blue and white lace dress within the box, and raised one eyecrest scale in clear confusion.
"I am *not* wearing this frufru nonsense to one of the most important days of our lives!"
My words didn't have quite the effect I was hoping for. Oh well. Company for my misery it would be then!
It was my turn to raise an eyebrow as I set my front hooves back on the floor, and Taranis spoke with the kind of dazed, bemused tone of a being that only ever wore combat armor, or nothing at all. The Gryphons had the same issue.
No fashion sense, whatsoever, outside of military hardware.
"Given the lack of stigma for going without clothing as a Pony, you are technically under no obligation to wear anything."
Wow. I really liked Taranis. But I'd hoped he would be at least a tiny bit less clueless about this specific venue of high society than every other being in my life. Ouch. Oh well...
I did nothing to hide my indignation. If anything, I did my best to make it painfully clear, both on my muzzle, and in my tone. *Somebody* was going to help me with my fashion crisis... Taranis was the lucky victim that was easy to-hoof.
"I am *not* showing up to this ceremony wearing the same nothing that I do every average day either!"
The big blue lunk rolled his eyes, and I had to put down the insistent urge to chuckle. It was a funny expression. He sighed inwardly, and gestured with one enormous claw.
"Then I fail to understand why you have asked me here. You do not wish to go in the dress the Royals have provided. Nor do you wish to go without clothing entirely---"
I waved a hoof dismissively, and it was my turn to sigh, and roll my eyes. Oh boy. This was going to be harder than I thought.
"Of *course* you would say that. You look awe inspiring and spectacular without anything on."
Well. Shit. A moment of silence descended. Taranis raised one eyecrest scale again. I grinned sheepishly, and backpedaled in as deadpan a way as I could. Dammit... That brain-mouth filter degradation was getting worse as I got older, not better. Figures.
"That came out wrong."
Oh thank sweet merciful heavens; Taranis inclined his head with that magnificent dispassion, and said the best possible thing to help stifle my embarrassment.
"Point still taken. I am not a clothing expert. I still fail to see why---"
Somehow, in spite of the immediate sense of relief that followed the sensation of abject panic and embarrassment, my brain-muzzle filter did not re-engage, and I blurted out my frustrated stream of consciousness right over the second half of his response.
"Because you are interesting! And a creative thinker! And a fighter at heart!"
Ok, ok... That could have been *much* worse! I levitated the dress box's cover in my thaumatic field, and gently reseated it over the dress. The gesture gave me a second to think about how to best follow-up my little outburst.
I sighed, and turned to lock eyes with the blue Dragon as I spoke up again, this time with a steadier, and less shouty tone.
It took a physical effort to keep from shivering; He was sure as hell easy on the eyes. And there's just something about being in the room with a creature so enormous... And lethal...
"I need you to help me to find something to wear. Something practical. But striking. Dramatic, but not overdone. Maybe even a bit martial. Just... Anything but this light-forsaken pile of lace and satin."
I could see he wasn't entirely convinced by the way he cocked his head ever-so-slightly. Right. Turn up the charm just a hair. *Just* a hair.
I stuck out my lower lip a tiny bit, widened my eyes, and matched the cant of his head, staring right into his eyes, and adding an exhausted, defeated, frustrated quaver to my voice that was only a tiny bit of an exaggeration.
"Please."
Taranis inhaled deeply, considering for a moment. That seemed to be his default response to just about anything outside of clutch battlefield moments; Careful, thoughtful, unhurried consideration. I guess a lifespan measured in potential millenia will do that to you.
When he finally opened his muzzle to respond, I knew I'd won, just from his expression.
"Very well."
Hah! Bingo.
Maybe today wasn't going to be an emotional spiral into depression after all!
I started to wave my hoof dismissively even as he hurried to qualify his acquiescence.
"But I haven't the foggiest idea where to start. I am only here to offer a critical eye, and scathing words of cut and dried advice."
I grinned, and nudged his shoulder with mine as I passed him on the way to the door. He couldn't resist a tiny smile in response. I gestured out into the hallway, throwing my words over my shoulder as I went.
"Perfect. It just so happens that I *do* have an idea where to start."
Taranis chuckled, very briefly, almost imperceptibly, and it was at that moment that I knew it was going to be a *good* day. His deadpan sarcastic retort took me by surprise as he followed me out into the corridor.
"The Palace armory?"
I smiled back over my shoulder, and shook my head. Stars above... his sense of humor was just fantastic.
"Not quite. Ever hear of a place called Canterlot Carousel?"
Kephic
There is something truly special about the practiced, smooth, deadly dance of warriors in formation. A kind of special bond of minds and bodies that defies conventional limitations of reflexes and coordination to turn the individuals of the group into seamless parts of a whole.
And it was undeniably comforting, and exhilarating, to see Ponies and Gryphons training together, filling the Castle's main courtyard in ranks upon ranks, defying the steady downpour of nasty frigid precipitation to put on a ballet of alloy, steel, and blades worthy of any storied epic.
Day Guards and Night Guards alike were clad in the new batches of enhanced alloy armor that would soon become the standard for all Equestrian military forces; Their absolute uniformity was offset by the asymmetry and uniqueness of the fifty High Guards' cladding.
"I can only hope that we will have more time. It seems like every hour our forces can train with your High Guard, they are ten times better prepared than the last."
Shining Armor's voice pulled my mind and thoughts back to our small group, standing on the Castle steps just above the choreographed mayhem below, a light steam rising from the parts of our fur and feathers that were exposed to the morning's precipitation.
The High Guard Captain nodded once curtly, a tiny grin tugging at the edges of her beak as she spoke in a very familiar tone.
N'sala was possessed of a disposition very much like Varan's, albeit somewhat less dispassionate on the whole.
They certainly shared the same sense of humor, and of dry, deadpan acceptance of whatever might happen in life, good or bad.
"They are swift to learn, and eager to serve. I will grant you that. Give it a few months... Your Royal Guard will make a fighting force the equal of anyone else on the continent, save ours."
My brother spoke next, as if somehow goaded by my unspoken thoughts of him.
"I hope we do indeed have that time. It could make the difference between victory, and defeat."
I blew a short, sharp breath upwards from my nares to clear a group of stray rain droplets that had begun to migrate from the tip of my helm onto my beak, and then added my own opinion to the pile.
"In either case? They will certainly be prepared to make the enemy pay for every inch of ground. Dearly."
The somber note of both the thought, and the way I'd spoken it, created a silence between us. The air was heavy with the sound of sleet, and clashing steel. And the silent, but somehow deafeningly heavy roar of existential consideration.
"Talking of happier things... While we still can..."
Varan was the first to stick his claw into the tension, slicing it apart neatly with that comforting tone of unworried, unhurried calm surety that had given me untold strength to go on. On more than one occasion.
He turned to face the rest of us as he mercifully proffered a query to fill our minds with the task of considering much, much happier things.
"...How are the wedding preparations coming along?"
N'Sala smiled outright, an ever so brief flash of genuine happiness, and nodded sharply again.
"I think we've worked out a routine that will not soon be forgotten. If there is one thing both your kind, and ours, know how to do without any added instruction, it is putting on good pageantry with armor and weapons."
Shining Armor shook his head slowly, and grinned, snorting to clear his nostrils of ice. The gesture sent a great gout of steam up from his muzzle. When he spoke, his breath came out as a cloud of fog.
"This will be a sight to remember."
N'Sala's next words threatened to undo Varan's good turn, and ruin the mood entirely. She missed it, or at minimum refused to acknowledge it, but I shot her through with a brief, but cold glare.
"Shame that the first time in living memory our nations get to do this together... May well be the last."
Again, to the surprise of everyone else, save me, Varan blocked the dark line of thought like a shield carrier deflecting a bolt with practiced ease.
"It will not be."
The rock-solid tone of his voice seemed to truly register with the others; Shining Armor and N'Sala both blinked back at Varan in silent surprise. I couldn't resist the urge to throw my weight in behind my brother's sentiment.
You have to believe you'll win. There is a difference between the foolishness of Hubris, and the absolute necessity of confidence. If you believe you're going to lose a fight? You'll find some way to make sure you do, in the end.
As I spoke, I turned my gaze back to the mock combatants in the courtyard. A small grin started at the corners of my own beak, in spite of all efforts to the contrary.
"If I were the betting sort... I'd bet on my brother. He's rarely wrong."
Fyrenn
The train drivers were treating the engine's horns like horns of war.
Force of habit I suppose, in spite of the fact that we Gryphons don't really need, nor commonly use war horns. That, or perhaps just a concession to the terrible visibility that day; It was pouring a slow steady wintry mix of rain and sleet, with an occasional far off thunderclap.
Regardless, the more I thought about it, the more the whole scene made a strange kind of sense. There was a historical poetry, and symmetry to the situation that both warmed my bones, and chilled my spine, somehow simultaneously; Two 'iron horses' with fire in their bellies, bearing the future of war inevitably towards us.
The chill suddenly overpowered the warmth, and I shivered.
I exhaled into the frosty, gray morning air, watching the dull sunlight backscatter through the fog of my breath, the droplets of rain, and the soft glint off the lead engine's window glass.
Technically, the trains weren't what you might call true Gryphon machines of war; We'd stolen them from a Diamond Dog pack known for its slaving operations.
'Stolen' is perhaps a poor word choice... We massacred them and strung their heads out on pikes, quartered the bodies, and shipped the pieces to each of the next-nearest packs as a warning.
The trains were just a bonus acquisition.
The Trolls had originally cobbled the machines together from boilers and drive components made by Ponies for their own passenger trains, sturdy industrial wheels and chassis forged by Yaks on commission, and haphazard armor plating and weapons of their own less-than-stellar make.
I'd seen to it personally that both engine vehicles were stripped down to their proverbial marrow bones, serviced and rebuilt with the usual Gryphic eye for quality and durability, and capped off with an entirely new skin of our best alloy plating, painted in thick coats of dull gunmetal gray.
Each engine bore a simple emblazoned Gryphic numeral; the equivalent of "01" and "02," alongside which some enterprising Gryphon had amusingly painted names.
"Ta'Andarra" and "Te'Aintea."
Thunder and Bonfire.
We'd had to rebuild most of the carriages as well, though more for the sake of accommodating our standard crate sizes, as well as a couple of entirely custom cars that took up the middle third of each consist.
Someone had bothered to slap 'good enough for military work' coats of the same dull gunmetal gray on the carriages, and white index sequences like "01-A01" and so forth, all down the line.
A few of the boxcars, both engines, and both cabooses had extra armor plating, and top-mounted revolving turrets holding a Gryphon apiece staring down the sights of a claw-cranked chemical round eight barrel fifty caliber belt fed gatling gun.
Above the train was a flock of Gryphons so large that it very nearly blotted out the morning's rain clouds with the forms of armored feathers and fur moving in perfectly arranged military parade formations.
Most of the soldiers in the thirty thousand strong army still wore their personal or family armor, and carried their claw-forged weapon of choice.
A few at the leading edge of the formation instead wore something wholly new; Mass produced standardized second-generation-alloy armor in the Kingdom's colors, with impact resistant hybrid gel layers, magnetic gear attachment hardpoints, angular projectile deflecting surfaces, and light flexible kevlar undergarments that covered and protected everything except the very tips of the tails, and the faces and beaks.
The latter didn't exactly need much protection, hard and resilient as our beaks were.
And to a one, new or old armor, each and every Gryphon sported a Thunderblade strapped to their back, and a munitions belt of preloaded eight shot fifty caliber reload clips slung across their breast.
The dull synchronized thud of their wingbeats was thunderous enough to compete with the weather itself, and with hiss-clank-thud of the locomotives; The Capital must have been practically emptied of all but its youngest, oldest, and a few additional defenders. And the same for every settlement for leagues besides.
Nearly the whole entire fighting force of our species, minus the defensive battalions, any who were absent to Earth, the youngest children, and the oldest elders. And most of them were probably armed and armored to defend their homes at that.
The imagery of mechanized warfare, new to Equestria at such scale, was clearly not lost on any of my companions.
Skye whistled appreciatively. Stan chuckled grimly along with Taranis, the former's gallows mirth lost in the sounds of the latter's grim amusement.
Luna, IJ, and Shining Armor all nodded in approving silence.
Neyla, Alyra, Sildinar, Kephic, Willian, Shierel, and Varan all looked on with some mixture of pride, and interest, uniquely blended on each face as the emotions were flavored with each unique perspective.
Celestia looked as if she might cry.
Hutch and Aston too, albeit clearly for completely different reasons more closely related to the generally positive sentiments all we Gryphons were feeling, than to the depression that seemed to have completely subsumed the Solar Monarch.
At the end of the group, I could see Siidran and Linnea suppressing smiles as well. Hard not to feel pride in our craftsmanship, even if we also keenly understood the horrors these machines would unleash just as well as Celestia seemed to.
I shared a brief smile with Neyla, and then Alyra, and finally a nod with Sildinar before returning my gaze to meet the nearing metal behemoths as they crested the final rise and began to steam down the straightaway.
The strangest part of the two half-mile consists was, by far, the central super-long wide-load custom built cars in the center of each train that carried an enormous number of tarped goods too large to fit into crates.
Each central superheavy chassis also carried a small mast-like protrusion at the front made from welded steel braces.
Far more eye-catching than the cars themselves were the two objects tethered to their mooring masts, dragged along above each train at an altitude of fifty feet.
They were obviously airships, but even I could only breathlessly imagine how they would actually look in flight.
And I had designed them.
For shipping purposes, the Capital's Forge-Masters had encased the nearly-finished vehicles in dazzle camouflage painted outer canvas shells, held into rigid boxy shapes with thin aluminum wire.
The anticipation I'd been feeling jumped up more than a few notches as I saw the two vehicles airborne. Even under power from a tow engine, and hidden from prying Wisp eyes behind protective canvas, they were a spectacular sight.
At the closest switch point the two consists had pre-empted usual Equestrian rail service, and diverged, allowing them to pull in to the tracks outside Canterlot's main passenger station side by side for unloading.
An unearthly screech filled the air as the trains entered the final stretch of open tracks, brakes were applied, and the two half-mile long trains thundered, squealed, and shuddered to a stop.
The hiss and puffy white clouds of steam briefly filled the air, before being completely overpowered by gruff shouting of orders, and the clang of steel and alloy as Gryphons began to land from the escort formation, or disembark their onboard guard posts, and open the doors of the boxcars.
The smell was incredibly invigorating; A weird combination of deeply familiar scents from my time in two world's militaries, and entirely new scents of old technologies and substances turned to new purposes by historical Human engineering and science, all drenched in fresh clean rain.
Hot steel and alloy. Warm leather. Canvas and burlap. Gunpowder. Burning coal.
Fears for the future or no; I love the smell of mechanized warfare in the morning.
Spying two familiar forms in the murk, I grinned, and moved forward, extending a claw first to Sareth, and then Soreth.
"Well isn't this a sight for sore eyes!"
Sareth snorted, and clapped me between my shoulders as Soreth lovingly punched me above my left foreleg.
They spoke in tandem, jovially, and with a thick regional brogueish accent, as always.
"Aye, sore is tha right word..."
"...We've been workin' ourselves nigh sore to tha bone to get all o' this here..."
"...And only half o' it still in pieces and needin' more work."
I shook my head and glanced up at the sky going warships appreciatively, folding my forelegs over my chest, and snorting into the diminishing rain.
"Well you're miracle workers. The both of you. What do you say we get the shipping covers off, so everyone else can appreciate your biggest miracles with us?"
The twins grinned wickedly, and spoke as one, even as their wings snapped open.
"Aye!"
As the Forge-Masters took off and began conversing in loud staccato commands and responses with several of their underlings, I stepped back to the family, and the royals. In spite of Celestia's dour expression, and my own more well disguised reservations, I couldn't help but feel an immense sensation of pride and achievement that leaked through into my voice, and expression both.
"Now this? This is a sight you're never going to forget."
As if to underscore my words, the Twins let loose a piercingly loud shout.
"COVERS AWAY!"
Sareth and Soreth's words rang out with their usual penchant for identical timing and pitch.
With a clank and the soft squeal of scraping aluminum and canvas, the shells around the two destroyers came away suddenly, yanked backwards by hundreds of claws in sequence, and then borne away on the power of those same Gryphons' wings, to be deposited in a holding area to break down for scrap.
At last, the two ships were revealed.
Though the gas cells that held them aloft were spherical kevlar-like alloy woven canvas, reinforced with extra aluminum plate and girded with alloy struts, the vessels both had an aggressive, angular, warship aspect to them as a result of the way the exterior alloy armor plating covered the entirety of both the gas cells, and the internal spaces.
From above or below, each ship had the general shape of a dagger, with a stubby and medium wide engine section at the rear sporting three extensively cowled drive fans nestled in armored shrouds to protect them from assault from any direction except directly aft.
At the one quarter mark forwards, the ships flared wide into spaces for two gimballed medium gun turrets; Each gimbal gun sported two 127 mm barrels that protruded just far enough to offer the gunners good coverage to the ship's sides. Each gimbal gun was flanked by two smaller similarly designed, but smaller weapons emplacements with fifty caliber gatling guns.
Forward of the gunnery protrusions the ship narrowed like the tumblehome of a naval vessel, with a bridge sat just forward of midships, and a small but nonetheless roomy-enough forward open air deck. Fifty caliber claw-crank gatling guns studded the perimeter of the deck, spoiling any impression that one might be tempted to feel that the craft were anything but warships.
The underside of the dagger's shape's 'blade' area was given over to one single enormous double barrel weapon, with surprisingly modern looking squared off muzzle brakes that were each as big as a boxcar themselves.
Both vessels' alloy armor plates were painted in dazzle camouflage patterns suited to aerial combat, with gray blue and white sky match patterns on the lower half, and brown and green ground match patterns on the upper.
I smiled, and gestured with one claw expansively.
"Folks... I give you the 'Heart of Wisdom,' and the 'Wings of the Dawn.' Nicholson Class airborne destroyers, of the new First Fleet, of the new Mechanized Knights' Air Corps."
Skye whistled again, long and low. Stan did the same, practically vocalizing in harmony. Taranis grinned, and snorted his approval. IJ's left eye crest plate simply went up, a tacit admission of admiration.
Skye spoke aloud as Alyra breathed 'WOW' at an almost subvocal level, and the other Gryphons simply smiled.
"Hot.... DAMN. You built Sky-Monitors. Flying motherbucking ironclads, you magnificent son of a..."
Celestia exhaled sharply, and shook her head, face a pained mixture of undeniable admiration, and unsupressable heartache alike. She swallowed, hard, and pierced me with a gaze, and a tone that almost dampened some of my enthusiasm.
Almost.
"Oh my dear friend... What have you done."
It was a statement of deep sadness, not so much a question, that was almost lost amidst the sounds of thousands of Gryphons unloading both trains, and even more thousands landing, and marching into parade formation for headcounts.
Skye trumpeted her approval into the gap, almost as if Celestia hadn't spoken at all.
"Oh yeah. These are gonna fuck some shit up *real* good!"
I sighed, and raised one eye crest as I returned Celestia's stare, holding my ground verbally, and with my expression. I was not about to apologize for seizing the opportunity with regards to the inevitable. Alyra was right; Some choices were easier because you didn't have good alternatives.
Someone had to build the first mechanized warships in Equestrian history. Better us than the Diamond Dogs, and better now than far too late to save anyone.
Nonetheless, I felt the need to spend some breath defending myself. Or perhaps assuaging Celestia's feelings of worry, and guilt, more than anything. Or maybe my own feelings of worry, and guilt... Deep down.
"I've done the only smart thing. Under the circumstances. With these? With everything else we've brought? With everything else we're going to produce in the months to come? If we can muster the troops to take these weapons into battle at-scale... We stand a chance."
Hutch snorted, and folded his forelegs to mimic my pose as he not-so-subtly stepped into the space between Celestia and I, and inserted himself forcefully into the conversation.
"Yeah you got that right. Are those magnetic driven guns in the main battery?"
With a smile, and a grateful tiny nod, I gestured upwards with one claw. Thank you Hutch.
"Good eye. The other weapons aboard are either claw-cranked, electric brushless motor driven barrels, vertical launch naval mortars, or breech loaders, all with gunpowder driven rounds. The main battery is a dual barrel forty three centimeter coil gun firing twelve hundred kilo armor piercing iron rounds in alloy and tungsten jackets at mach nine and a half. And we brought two dozen prototype high-ex shells that we think could let off a six thousand pound JDAM equivalent on impact... But that's a treat for later."
I had wanted railguns over coilguns. But we were still working out the final issues with our insulators. Equestria's magic-infused reality made working with electricity a more complex endeavor than one might expect, coming from a lifetime of experiences in Earth's spacetime.
Not intractable... Just complex.
"So you got the high-tension insulators to work after all. Holy moth---"
I shook my head, and cut Skye's breathless interruption off before she could warm up her pipes for an awe-inspired invective-laden spiel.
"Not us. Someone out of these parts, actually. From Ponyville, of all places. We just took the new science and ran with it. We've got electric lights inside and out, heating and cooling, including the ability to seal up and recycle air, or pressurize the inside for any crew of a species that can't breathe at extreme altitude. An actual honest-to-God analog targeting computer onboard. And... If you can believe it..."
I pointed to a spot on the ship's aft port quarter where two Gryphons were raising a fifty foot flexible whip-like piece of metal into the air, and screwing it into a receiving bracket. Skye understood immediately when her brain caught up to her eyes, and her voice dipped into the kind of breathless awed tone that told me we had truly impressed her.
"Radio. No frakkin' way."
Nodding slowly, I couldn't suppress a hint of a smirk, on my beak, and in my voice.
"Still bulky, but using the ships as base stations, we can reduce the officers' new field radios to something that can be carried in a small rucksack, like early World War radios. Give it another couple years and we'll make them small enough to be belt mounted."
It was Aston's turn to interrupt, ever the brilliant tactician, as Skye silently mouthed 'wow!' and mulled over the revelation that we had managed to build field-portable transceiver assemblies.
"Who would you even talk to, besides field units, or the other ship?"
I gestured to one of the largest collections of bulk-sized crates being pulled from the nearest consist's center cars.
"There's now a functioning long-range base station in Tih’ré Seli’hn, at least, if Sareth and Soreth did their jobs. And they always do. We brought materials for a high gain, high power mast to be setup here in Canterlot as well. In theory we can talk between the ships, and both cities, at fairly extreme ranges by bouncing the signal off the ionosphere. Early tests are validated at over two thirds that distance. Might even be able to talk to Earth if we tune it right."
Skye managed to collect herself enough to launch another barrage of questions. I was happy to answer. Everyone would be getting a briefing packet soon enough, but the more details we could cover early on? The better.
"How are you generating power? Thrust for the engine? Same system? Different?"
I leaned down into a better position to direct Skye's line of sight towards the features I was pointing out as I cheerfully recited the base specifications. It was nice to have friends who appreciated the finer things in life.
"We've got dual electric steam turbines driven by a Thaumatically enhanced coal fired boiler that can afterburn most of its exhaust gasses internally, and pipe spare heat to an internal equipment forge. The engines are brushless direct-current motors, seventy five thousand horsepower equivalent. There's three big ones at the rear for main thrust, and a host of smaller ducted fans for added maneuvering authority. We wanted to go bigger, but the insulators just aren't there yet."
As I stood back to my hind legs, I crossed my forelegs again, and grinned, unable to take my eyes of the vessels' sleek, angular forms, as I contextualized for the others.
"They'll do fifty five knots. Or about a hundred kph for the landlubbers. Not much against a Pegasus, or even a Gryphon pushing hard with a tailwind... But a damn sight better than any Equestrian seagoing ship, they never get tired, and with a full fuel bunker they'll go to the ends of the known map. And back. Carrying all that armor, armament, and supplies. With a drop to spare at the end. More if you deploy the endurance sails and make good use of them."
To my surprise, it was Stan that blurted out the obvious reaction before Skye could manage it.
"The *sails?*"
I pointed out the cover mechanisms, and raised one eye crest.
"We keep them stowed unless in-use. Gryphon-alloy-kevlar is durable, but also damn expensive."
I looked from face to face as my family and friends shook their heads, or stared in awe.
"We thought of just about everything. Well, 'we' being me, Sareth, Soreth, half the armorers of the Kingdoms, several other Converts, and all the Human engineering we all leaned on."
As if their ears were burning, the twins arrived back on the ground in a sudden flurry of wings, and sleet downdrafts. Somewhere along the way they had gotten ahold of their tool belts, and were both studded with hammers, pliers, screwdrivers, and similar implements the way most every other Gryphon in the arriving forces was covered in weapons.
I smiled, and inclined my head upwards, towards the ships.
"When will we be flight ready?"
Sareth nodded, and pointed upwards at the closer vessel. The first and most well developed hull.
"Tha Wisdom jus' needs a few final tweaks 'n parts, and we can fire up tha boilers to full..."
Soreth finished his brother's sentence with their customary near-telepathy, likewise gesturing with one claw towards the second ship.
"...Tha Dawn will need at least another month o' work. Most o' her boiler is still on tha' freight cars in pieces."
Sareth could hear my concerns and objections coming, before I'd even finished inhaling to voice them, and he smoothly stepped in to assuage everyone's potential concerns.
"We ken use her as a fixed defensive redoubt right now tho. All the chemical driven shot, and tha mechanical targeting computer and optics works without tha 'lectrics. Pity any poor fokkin sod who tries ta go up 'gainst tha VLS mortars."
I exhaled without speaking; A relieved sigh, accompanied by a slow nod. As long as the ship could defend itself, and the city...
"We brought some 'o tha new twenty five inch shells, packed with yer new high-ex formula."
Soreth's words brought my head up sharply. I hadn't realized how close they were to completing the heavier mortar shells. Close enough, apparently, to finish a few.
Sareth nudged Shining Armor's ribs lightly, grinning like a hawk above a rabbit.
"Ah'd wager even tha dear Pony Prince, with his legendary shield magics, could nay survive a hit from one o' them."
Shining glowered slightly at the gesture, and the words, but the expression was overcome with an admiring smile, and a suitably awed tone that told me he was far more impressed than offended.
"I really, very badly want to fight you on that... But I'll be perfectly honest... I don't fancy my odds. I'm glad you're on *our* side!"
The twins smiled warmly in stereo, and both inclined their heads towards Shining in a gesture of respect. The Prince knew enough to recognize it as a deep sign of trust, and camaraderie. Gryphons aren't much for complex displays of ceremonial respect towards our own kind, let alone others.
Celestia spoke out again at last, her voice betraying a resigned weariness as her eyes scanned over the seemingly endless stream of crates pouring out of the trains.
"And... What of the rest of these materials?"
I pointed towards the markings on the nearest crate as I explained. The stenciled words said 'HVY MORTAR - BARREL COMPONENTS' in Common and Gryphic.
"It will take some effort to complete and assemble them all, but there are materials and designs here for a few hundred fixed artillery emplacements, belt fed anti-air devices, and defensive heavy mortars, with at least five finished working exemplars of each."
Luna was well ahead of me, doing quick mental math that told her my explanation accounted for far less than half the wooden boxes on display. She locked eyes with first her sister, and then me.
"And all the rest of these crates?"
I whistled sharply as I spied an excellent exemplar crate, and the two Gryphons lugging it obligingly changed course to deposit it in front of the group.
"Munitions..."
I dipped my head in thanks, reached out with both claws, and pried the lid open, allowing the dull gray light of day to fall on the rows of wooden, steel, and alloy implements.
Pulling one of the carbine Thunderblades out of the crate, I hefted it for all to see with a smirk that I simply could not resist.
"...And guns."
I stepped back to allow the group to gather around and see the pistol, shotgun, Pony-usable, and long-range sniper variants of the design packed in soft beds of wood chips.
"Lots of guns."
Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
December 19th, Gregorian Calendar
"Well. This is an absolutely fascinating little gift you've brought me Xaelus."
Former-Councilor Xaelus blinked, inhaled deeply, and then squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, trying to stop his vision from phasing in and out of double and triple ghostly afterimages.
It took Xaelus several moments to clock the voice as that of Cam Lindstrom. It helped that the other former-Councilor stepped into view, and leaned over Xaelus just as he managed to quiet the aching in his head enough to open his eyes once more.
Lindstrom grimmaced; A rare expression on the normally composed man's face. His tone took a sharp, frighteningly cold turn as he continued to speak, looking first down at Xaelus, then up through the vial of glistening teal liquid clutched in his right hand.
A very familiar vial.
"Almost makes up for the absolutely *fucking insane* nightmare of a *shitshow* that you decided, in your infinite wisdom, to inflict on the Human race."
Xaelus' concept of time, and self, and reality finally came rushing back in like a flood. He moved to sit up, but found himself bound hands, feet, and neck to the medical biobed on which he was spread-eagled, face up.
Xaelus glowered, and struggled against the restraints, grating out his words through parched lips.
"Lindstrom! What is the meaning of this? I demand---"
The soft trill of a feminine chuckle interrupted Xaelus. That, and the gentle rasp of the flat side of a hoof blade across his throat.
"HAH! Oh.. That is *rich.*"
Xaelus glared at the red Unicorn with a peculiar mixture of hatred, rage, and fear as she circled him, keeping her front right hoof, and its attached wickedly sharp killing implement, laid softly against his throat all the while as she spoke.
"I have spent all of six months on your planet... And I can tell you without reservation, or hesitation, that you are, without doubt, the stupidest Human I have ever met, or heard of."
The Unicorn smiled. The expression sent shivers down Xaelus' spine. It was like staring into the maw of a railgun, rather than the muzzle of an Equine.
"You are in no position to demand anything."
The Unicorn's tone shifted abruptly from deep, rumbling distant thunder, to a lighthearted half-chuckle as she stepped back, lowered her blade, and flicked her mane disdainfully.
"Figuratively, and physically."
Another familiar voice brought Xaelus' gaze around to the surprisingly recognizable face of Anna Norris.
"I wouldn't press her if I were you. She puts insides on the outside better than anyone either of us ever had on our staff. I promise you that."
Before Xaelus could even begin to sort out the implications of the peculiar collection of individuals gathered around him, Lindstrom pocketed the Project Loki vial, exchanging it for another injector that had obviously been nestled in his front right suit pocket.
He twirled the second syringe, full of a blue-gray substance, around the fingers of his right hand as he took up the helm of the conversation once more, his usual disconcertingly calm tone returning.
"Well. In spite of the fascinating new... Option, that you have delivered gift wrapped to the ECP, here in the Earth's eleventh hour... The question remains.."
Lindstrom fixed his eyes on Xaelus, and the expression on Cam's face produced another reflexive shiver, as did his words.
"What to do with you...?"
Xaelus pressed against his restraints again, begging with his words, his expression, and his tone.
"Cam, listen to me, the situation---"
Lindstrom waved one hand dismissively, and his face twisted swiftly into a disgusted rictus, his interruption coming out in a short, sharp monotone.
"I wasn't asking you."
Lindstrom raised one eyebrow, and shot a questioning glance at Norris. The former General paused to think, and then folded her hands behind her back, delivering her verdict in clipped, succinct words.
"He's an experienced fighter, and commander. But if the Gryphons or the Dragons knew we had him...? Disastrous. He could still be of use... We could trade him to the Equestrians."
Lindstrom nodded, and turned next to Requiem. The red Unicorn snorted, and tossed her mane again.
"He has clearly demonstrated experience, indeed. Experience in placing weapons of mass destruction up your species' collective ass, and pulling the trigger with gleeful abandon."
The Unicorn stuck out her lower lip in a mock pout, and locked eyes with Xaelus as she finished her opinion, first in a saccharine sing-song tone, but then in a much more serious, almost deadpan finishing sentence that sent icicles through Xaelus' blood.
"If you're going to do a crime... Especially a war crime... The least you can do is have the common decency not to get caught. You're better off without him."
Lindstrom turned, shooting an expression that was equal parts curiosity, and mild amusement towards a figure at the far end of the room that Xaelus could not move his head enough to see.
"Well, Matthas? You *have* been toying with the idea of starting a pack of your own..."
Xaelus tensed as a gravelly, familiar, yet somehow deeper, and frighteningly calm voice filled the room.
"I can make a use for him. I'll keep him... On a short leash."
Lindstrom nodded, and rubbed his fingers against the side of the syringe in his hand.
"Very well."
The former Councilor turned, and began striding back towards the biobed, reflexively straightening his suit with his free hand, his voice returning to the even-keel register that was his trademark.
"We'll go with Korvan's option. I trust the... Unique constraints of the pack dynamic, to keep Xaelus in line during your travels."
As Lindstrom lifted the syringe and flicked it to dislodge air bubbles, the math finally clicked in Xaelus' head. The rumors about Matthas Korvan. The voice from the far side of the room. 'Pack dynamic.'
The familiar blue-gray sparkle of the syringe...
"You.. What?! NO! You can't be *serious!* CAM! STOP! LISTEN TO ME---!"
Xaelus' voice, and manic thrashing, betrayed an abject panic uncommon for a man of his former station. He knew what was in the syringe. What would happen if its contents entered his blood stream...
Nanites, and pre-woven spells ripping and tearing at flesh, bone, and synapse... Remaking him. Bending him to the serum's will... To his new Alpha's will...
"Right then."
Lindstrom bent down, and with a shockingly dispassionate, and practiced ease, he rammed the syringe home, dumping its potent contents directly into Xaelus' carotid artery.
Xaelus screamed, incoherently writing and babbling, fighting a desperate losing battle against the Diamond Dog Potion's sedatives as Lindstrom turned, and walked towards the chamber's door, while the hulking form of an immense Diamond Dog Lupine hove into view.
The last words former-Councilor Xaelus' mind processed with Human thought, as the world slipped away, were Lindstrom's.
"Meeting adjourned."