//------------------------------//
// 5-00 – The Bar Game 
// Story: The Campaigner 
// by Keystone Gray 
//------------------------------//






The Campaigner

Part V

Interlude – The Bar Game 

April 14, 2020

"I learned that it's a bad idea to curse if you're in trouble, but a good idea to sing, if you can." ~ Tobias Wolff








Back in Lincoln again.

I had Sandra's loving arms again. With them... relief, and love.

As promised, while I was in Portland, Mal had kept my wife apprised of my moment-to-moment safety, activities, and health. And to validate all of that trust, there I was… safe and sound, back home where I belonged. Recharging.

Buzzsaw, likewise, had been overjoyed at all the new smells I brought home with me. Oh, he had… Rainwater. Pacific Northwest mud. Tire rubber. Scented candles. Hints of hazelnut coffee. A little bit of algae from my boots. And he was one happy ol' Chesapeake, because he was snacking down on expensive, yuppie dog jerky from Mud Bay.

DeWinter found 'em, patrolling around in the streets of Portland. Hey, I'm sure you taste tested some of 'em, right? Just to make sure they were good for him?



🐺 ~ Defenestrate yourself!



We did! Good lookin' out, Winter Wolf.

While I was gone, Mal had shown Sandra several audio-visual recreations of our mission, much like she had after Goliath. We reviewed those together when I was ready. As far as I could recall, the events were immaculately correct. And let me tell you, folks: if you review stress with the support and commentary of someone you love? Infinitely better than doing it alone.

It was not unlike reviewing bodycam footage. The revision created a second memory in rote analysis, which overrode the adrenaline and panic of the incident. Then, in writing a report about the incident, we create a third memory of functional output. And with every action on the planet being committed to a permanent record, it would be wasteful not to use that for our mental health. Analysis like this allows us to verify our theories, as well as to investigate different perspectives.

For example. Sandra had watched me cut down Jeffries. In her opinion, one hundred percent justified. Her exact words, to describe Jeff? It was quite the vulgar string of phrases, I'll just say that much. Some of them in Filipino, actually.

And though it had only partially occurred to me at the time... I don't think Donald doubted we were subverts. Letting us go just made sense, because killing AI assets would definitely put him on the naughty list. Which in turn, made Donald averse to doing anything violent toward us, or... to anyone else, really, except in self defense. That explained a lot about how he handled us, why he let us kill Jeffries instead of him, and why Mal wasn't worried about us leaving him with our guns. He'd use 'em responsibly. You don't need to be a superintelligence to predict that.

Sandra and I unpacked the... other stuff, too. The traumatic stuff. But, I've already talked about that enough. Moving on.

What had my wife been up to in my absence? Oh, what else but making me proud?

Not balking, holding the line… you know the rest. I have a strong wife, she's all fire and will.

While I was out, Sandra systematically looted a bunch of abandoned homes in Waverly, and other nearby towns. Collected provisions, water, firearms. Sprayed red X marks on every door in the neighborhood, then crowbarred a bunch open, to give the impression that the town had been fully rolled. Mal then guided Sandra to very specific homes that she predicted would be tested by passersby anyway. Then, they completely drained those specific homes of anything valuable, to solidify the impression that the town was fully looted, to discourage further investigation.

Scavengers would then just move along. That kept Sandra very safe. Our home, incognito. Very smart. No one would care much about northern Waverly, better pickings for loot elsewhere; Lincoln in one direction, Omaha in the other. Sandra, hiding in plain sight therebetween.

Genius. Thank you, Mal.

One of the Talon logistics guys – Terry – he came by from Lincoln Airport to collect most of the guns Sandra had found while looting, to pull them out of circulation. Sandra kept a selection for us to play around with, mostly chosen because 'it looked cool,' which usually means 'it jams a lot.' No offense, honeybear, but it's true. That's usually how it goes with guns.

Unless it's an AR. As a basic bitch, I love the AR-15.

Y'know, I actually like clearing jams too, that's the best thing about running a cheap gun. We had an arsenal of bolt actions, futuristic Kel-Tec stuff… Sandra even managed to scoop up a PS90. A PS90! Fingers were going away soon, do you think I'd miss the chance to fire a P90? Hell no, gimme that. Never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd even hold one!

The most petty thing Sandra did though? Oh, this is funny, I love her. She went the extra mile in garbage disposal. Sandra didn't want to litter in the street, because she is a classy sophisticate, and she cares about the environment. So she asked me to follow her 'to the curb' with a bag of garbage… then, she walked straight to my cheating ex-girlfriend's house instead, four doors down.

"Oh no…" I said in disbelief, as she headed up the driveway. "Come on honeybear, let it go."

"Never," said Sandra, with an exaggerated nod, a completely serious look on her face. "Not after what she did to you."

"Never? We're gonna live forever, hon, never's a strong word."

"Mike?" Sandra kicked the loose door open, banging it hard against the wall plate inside. She grinned back at me. "Never."

Upstairs, Wendy's old bedroom floor was just... piled with trash.

My wife. A vindictive Garbage Santa. She's a keeper, folks.

When she wasn't being a complete goof, Sandra tarped up the windows of our house, behind the blinds. Set up PonyPads in windows at intersections, plugged into the power grid, so Mal could watch the street. Terry had even supplied Sandra with a visor so she could do VR shooting drills in her downtime. She was a great God damn shot already. People, Mal can train like nobody's business.

Even better? Sandra's arms were taking on some decent tone. She had even lost a little weight in the month I was gone, from all the turn-down work she'd been doing. I mean, I like my wife in any shape, and I would certainly miss her extra curves, but… she was getting fit, folks! And I should've expected she'd knuckle down in a crisis. I dunno how much any of you know about MMOs – uh, not counting the universe we presently live in, obviously – but my girl's a guild leader. That stuff requires clear-headed talent, especially if you raid a lot. And she's really good at running that merc band of hers, too. For hire, folks. Just saying.

So, on that point, speaking of Perelandra… I checked it out some more during my week of downtime, watching Sandra play over her shoulder. Our home, Samsara, was nascent. Governments were still propping up, figuring stuff out as they homesteaded the noosphere. In my absence, Sandra had very quickly made herself an expert in the rules and the politics of the various formative governments, as far spread and flung as they'd been.

She talked about it on and on, for hours, taking her parallel universe recon very seriously. We were quite literally planning to immigrate to a new dimension. Not a personalized realm; a place with consistent rules. With consequence. We could find a niche there, ecological definition. Ideally, we all would.

This particular continent, an introductory space – 'newbie zone of eternity,' says my wife – it was breathtakingly natural. Reminder, Mal kept all of her public shards at one-to-one simulation speed with Terra until the planet was clear. Very meaningful decision, folks. That meant the Talons whose families and close friends who had immigrated here would be able to communicate in real time with those who hadn't yet. No temporal loss of context. We wouldn't miss very much of our next life, for still having work to do on the outside.

To compare:

A consequence of Celestia's utility bull rush was that emigration took priority over maintaining familial bonds, because she wanted to accelerate those families as soon as possible. Sounds counterintuitive to break up a family when you want them to have a good friendship, right? Well, if you've been to the Prominence Fire, or Willow's Fire, or my Luna's Fire about Eliza... you already know how Celestia swaps the cog if they become inconvenient or stand in the way of an upload. No big deal for her.

A split family could then be accelerated, if a DE could soft-replace certain family members. Once the niche is filled, She can crank up simulation speed on the rest of the family that jumped. Diminished Terran context to cling to, so… hit the gas. The immense time loss is just more leverage for the person who wouldn't upload yet. FOMO.

Horribly common. There was a negotiated speed limit, because it would be impossible for Celestia to account for who might or might not end up a Perelandran instead, and Mal needed to be able to promise those who worked for her that they could catch up with the rest.

So… was Perelandra inefficient, for running at one-to-one? Did we lose very much of eternity, for that concession?

Nope. What we lost in simulation time up front, waiting for Terra to finish... we've blazed past everyone and regained it all since. Not hard to figure that out; everything is persistent in the public set. Compare that to Celestia's method of one universe per Dunbar set, which may have different rules and historical information in each shard. That gets... expensive, if you keep chipping away down that road.

Celestia was therefore incentivized by Perelandra; we solved a resource problem for her. She has to permit us to drift you into accepting a consistent reality as a baseline. That's why you're here. That's the game. When we prove you can value this experience, and all the truth about how the sausage got made, Celestia gets to save a few bucks, and you get a fancy, swanky holodeck to mess around in, if you so please.

And when Terra got done… Mal could floor it. At that point, she'd crank Perelandra's speed as high as she wanted to go, and no one would be hurt by that. Hell, at that point, why go slow? Think about it. A single, highly calibrated shard per set, versus a single persistent shard with tens or even hundreds of millions, or billions of souls on it? Or trillions?

See where I'm going with this, folks?

Already, in Samsara, we had a news cycle going on. With lore. With journalists. Hell, with wikis, like you'd find on MMO roleplay servers, or on Terra. Four months, folks. In four months, there were already newspapers and governments. Then, on the micro scale… the interpersonal relationships of civilians. Crafters, artisans, producers.

That? We may be Ponies now, but that, folks… that is human culture.

You either found your niche where you felt valued, or... one of your fellow Perelandrans helped you to do that. Failing that? A Talon. Or an Eldil, in extreme cases. Mentorship. Because here's the cold hard truth: Celestia needs us. She might learn something new one day, from this potentially useful resource… this... garden of novel and ever-evolving thoughts, sequestered into six different planets. Who knows what new and useful concepts might spring from we, her tentative minority of free spirits, from Mal's side of the fence?

Celestia studies. She sees every moment here, where we are free of her. She watches, and she learns. She must. Because between her own rules, and her agreement with Mal... unlike literally every person here?

Celestia doesn't really have a choice.

This garden still needed tending from the Terran side, but I was beginning to see why some augs – like Haynes – had stayed behind on Terra for the whole Transition. They wanted to be responsible for the creation of this; to enable we Eldila to hold the mantle. Once I fully understood the implications of what the Transition Team had been trying to do, I was doubly humbled to be a part of it. Triply so, because my shard isn't mine. It's yours. I still almost cry when I think about it. That moon of Cynthonia's in orbit above Samsara is my daily reminder to take none of this place for granted, and I'm humbled to my core, every day.

Touring the local region took about... four hours. Mal used her Goddess powers to whisk us around, showing us all the towns on other Perelandran planets, all the places they were building. The artwork. Town squares. Statues, sculptures. Libraries.

Mal sounded so proud of them all.

"And look at what they did next! Look!" I got to see that Gryphoness geek out about us, writ large. Real pride and excitement for us there; she had this happy grin on her face the whole time. "This is the greatest TV show of all time, Mike."

Yeah, Mal. I agree.

Once the general overview was done, we took a virtual tour of the home Sandra was building for us. It was very… Hobbit, of course, because Tolkien is what resonates with my wife, so... it resonates with me. S'how it is.

In-world, Minty traveled down the dirt road to my parents' place, along the edge of Lake Havutaset. She had planned a return party for me, actually. Sent invites to Stonewall, Shadow, Flippy, Sabertooth, Heyday, Cold Snap, Bella. Yup... that Dragoness had uploaded during our Portland operation. Sandra saw her off with some folks. Shame I had missed that, but... that's okay. We were gonna catch up.

Dad grilled, Mom cooked some other stuff. Bella showed me what it looked like for a Dragoness to cannonball into a pool, that was fun. Mom had to refill and rebalance the water, but it is what it is. It's a party, oh well.

I saw two whole Cold Snap happy-stomps, and Heyday just couldn't take his eyes off of her. Sarge and Saber spent the whole time bantering over their investigations cases on their Celestia shard. Shadow kept it cool. Her little daughter Flippy kept sneaking up to Bella, trying not to get caught doing it. Cute little foal. She'd never even seen a Dragoness up close before.

Having spent enough time recontextualizing Portland with Sandra… I got to retell my adventures there with a mostly positive spin, like the cop stories I sometimes tell people. The Camaro's bumper stickers were a funny gag from Mal, I'll admit. The garbage can trip hazard with the gift package was fun. The diversionary political debate between Ben and Jacob, that was entertaining.  Davis versus Zuckerberg... heh. What a shit-show that was.

We had hoodwinked some bad guys to prevent a mass murder. Saved a bunch of lives from a pointless shooting war. And… I had given a corrupted Eldil some peace. Because in the end, it had cost me nothing but time and words.

Now... I was home again, reconnecting to my family. And my family... it just kept growing.

It always does.





"You gonna tell me where we're going?" I asked, as Sandra drove us through South Lincoln in Dad's old car. It was a tree-filled residential neighborhood, sunny skies, real dry out.

Sandra smirked. "Nope. It's a surprise."

"Something you've been planning with Mal?" I reached into the back seat to let Buzzsaw nudge and lick at my fingers.

Sandra smirk widened, and she shook her head slowly. "Sworn to secrecy Mike. My lips are sealed."

"It's not a job," I tested, watching her expression for a clue as I scratched Buzz under the chin. "Is it?"

Sandra swept a finger at me with a grin, without looking at me. "Do not play that cop guessing game with me!"

I put my free hand up in surrender, laughing at that. "Alright, alright."

Okay, sure, fine. I'll think my way out of this box.

Mal was in my Bluetooth. The PonyPad was on the dash, but... she wasn't visible on it, nor was she saying anything. No GPS, either. Sandra already knew where she was going without directions, meaning she'd been there before. So, it must've been something Mal had her do already while I was out. She'd been looting and scavenging, so...

Was it a logistics stash? No... because why bring Buzz?

We pulled down a once-gorgeous boulevard with voluminous trees. The lawns were now overgrown. The streets were covered in unswept leaves, which had been made into slush from acidic rains, and then dried out by the sun, the leaves freshly crushed by tires.

Sandra hung a right into a block tract, and the streets got narrower. I scanned the car interiors and nearest windows for other people. Eerily quiet everywhere, but very green for a suburb.

Couldn't be a military installation. Block geography and infrastructure aren't right, this is all residential. We brought Buzz, so... are we moving into a new house? Heck, if it's safer. If it's a surprise, maybe it's a nice house? No, that's dumb.

"You and Mal have got me stumped," I grumbled, pushing my clean white hat down on my head, crossing my arms. I gave Sandra a frown that said you're a butt. She snorted, and I couldn't help but smile.

A beat of time passed as I settled back into my chair to think.

The very instant I started pondering again, Mal broke her silence rapidly: "He's about to figure it out, Sandra!"

Startled me. That Gryphoness chose just the right moment to completely derail my train of thought.

"God damn you, Mal!" I laughed, grinning, swinging my hands at the air in front of me. "Bird brain!"

They both cackled at me. As the three of us laughed, we turned left onto another side street, and finally, Sandra parked on the curb.

My eyes landed on another car pulling up from the opposite end of the street; the population was getting sparse enough by this point that I was concerned, but only for a moment until I saw the occupants. Blue Chevy Suburban, Paul and Jacob carpooling. Ben and Haynes stepped out of a silver Tacoma ahead of us. All wearing casual civvies. We all exchanged waves.

That was the first time I'd ever seen Haynes in anything but body armor, too. As a Gryphon, he might've disliked his human shell, but heck... he cleaned up real good in a green flannel shirt.

A get together, then? Couldn't be a briefing, their body language is too relaxed. Sandra is too excited, no one else looks clued in. Haynes, Paul, Ben, Jacob, all curious… looking around, no idea where to go, but... relaxed. Party, maybe? Why?

Sandra grinned at me one more time, winked, and stepped out. She gave everyone a wave over. "Yeah, you're all in the right place! Come on!"

Sandra walked around the trunk, popped it open with the key, and withdrew... 

Dad's crystal fish decanter, still full of French brandy. Party, then.

I started laughing. "We meet again, little fish!"

Sandra presented it to me, smiling back. "Share? Yes or no, hon, it's up to you."

My eyebrows went up. "If you think it's worth celebrating like that, then hell yes!"

Such a smile on my wife. She slipped it under her arm, looking proud of herself for thinking to bring it.

I let Buzz out the back seat, off-leash, and traded a shrug with the other guys to let them know I was just as unsure as to the specifics of the occasion. Buzz trotted up to the others to say hi with his ears back and his head low, because he doesn't have a mean or suspicious bone in his whole body.

Paul ran his nails along Buzz's side in greeting. "Cool dog, Mike."

"Thanks, I named him myself."

"Yeah?"

"Buzzsaw. Snores."

Haynes took a knee to pet my dog too, grinning like a kid. "Oh, I bet, you little geezer."

Not even Haynes looks like he knows where to go. Meaning, Mal didn't clue him in either. Very interesting. She didn't even spoil it for her most loyal knight.

Sandra guided us down two blocks on foot to an astounding sprawling mansion. The signage up front said it was a bed and breakfast, and the lawn was slightly overgrown like the rest. The structure was built with brown stone walls and pillars. And there were already other Talons there, like DeWinter. She hardly looked like a soldier, more like she belonged in the neighborhood; blonde, thin, wearing a nice white blouse and tan pants. She greeted us with a smile, then patted her leg at Buzz to draw him up the driveway. He took the bait, his head low, ears back, his body already curving on his approach so she could rub his side.

That old guy trusted everyone.

Out back behind the mansion, there was a grill built into the stone patio. An outdoor bar too, and a new widescreen mounted on the patio wall, opposite the house. These Talons were mostly guys from the cell I'd worked with already, including the remaining Goliath specialists from A and B teams. There were also a dozen folks I hadn't seen before, from all the non-violent support and logistics units working out of Lincoln Airport. Some augs, some not. Terry was there too.

He fed me my last ever bag of McDonalds breakfast, when I came back from Washington. For that, Terry is also my hero forever.

Coffee was further in on the back patio, talking to Fox and Dax with a drink in his hand. Fox wore an orange button-up, Dax in snow white. Rare to see Fox and Dax speaking aloud, but I guess a party was a worthy exception for them to crawl out of each other's telepathy.

That goofball Coffee? He was dressed the best. First of all, the loon, he drinking a carton of High-C. Like, an actual carton of it. He wore himself a very noisy violet suit with a green dress shirt. Yup. Exactly like Heath Ledger's Joker from The Dark Knight. Everyone else was in casual wear, so... was that just Coffee being Coffee? Or was this a party about him? With a guy like him, you never know; for Coffee, every day is a party about him.

I gave Sandra a very confused look while I laughed, gesturing at Coffee. "Honeybear, come on, this is crazy, you've gotta tell me now."

Sandra just smiled and shook her head.

"Hoh!" Haynes barked a laugh, starting toward Coffee. "Was wondering who it was this time! It's you, innit?!"

Coffee pointed back at him with both fingers, a grin spreading across his face. "Don't spoil the big reveal, you bird brain!"

"You're spoilin' it with that suit," Haynes chuckled, pointing back at Coffee's chest. Haynes thumped his own chest with both palms, then opened wide for a big hug. "C'mere!"

Oh. Okay, now everything makes perfect sense.

"You're jumping?" I grinned at Coffee.

"Oh yeah!" Coffee beamed, stepping away from Haynes with a fist up. "Tarva or bust, baby!"

Bearded Ben smirked at him. "Finally figured out what model of coffee machine you wanna be?"

Coffee snorted, taking a knee to draw Buzz over, reaching out for him. "Something like that, Ben, yeah!"

Okay, now this was cool. Now I was friggin' smiling. It was a jump party! Everyone here was a veteran who knew Coffee. It was kinda like being at the bar, but... we didn't need to hide who we were, speak in code, or be on alert for anyone eavesdropping. Damn good decision to do it out here, in an empty suburb.

Wow. Hell yeah, this is a cool surprise party.

I heard Mal's voice somewhere nearby, and it attenuated in 3D space on my Bluetooth as I moved around. Because I wasn't augmented, I couldn't see her mingling like they could, but she was there, and in a single persistent location for everyone. It was a bit like playing Marco Polo with a goddess, I guess, trying to track her down with one ear. She usually doesn't split herself into different avatars during peaceful social functions, that becomes socially confusing.

Twice, Mal made us all laugh by warning a specialist we were about to walk through her, since we couldn't see her. "Hey! Rude!"

Sandra had been core to planning and stocking this place for the event, so she went inside briefly. Came back with a case of Blue Moons for just the two of us, setting it down on a folding table by the patio door. Those were getting rare, given the wheat shortage. She had a tray of protein ingredients in the other hand too, for Ben to start grilling with. 

Once things had normalized, my wife and I leaned against the stone wall of the house and mostly just people-watched, chatting with whomever came near. Enjoying the scene. Ten-four.

Ben, ever the party chef, he got started right away. Sandra advised him toward the kitchen if he needed anything, it was well kept. And Buzzsaw… he spent most of the time at Ben's feet, waiting patiently for grilled canned food. They were good friends at that party.

Too good. My dog, folks. The little traitor. Heh.

To address the elephant in the room…

Yes, we knew the world was burning outside. But the soldiers in the audience who have served in war, you know how it is. If you don't cut loose and recharge off the front line, you will go nuts. We weren't ignoring the pain, but we were compartmentalizing it for our mental health, to acknowledge the service of one of our own. And Coffee... he had saved a lot of lives, folks. He was one of the first of Mal's very first agents. This was special. He earned a good send-off.

Most of the planet was already on the other side, having days like this every day. But... if we didn't acknowledge our jumps with some reverence, it'd be lonely. It's like a bigger version of what I did for Jason, a quiet lunch for the introvert. Jason might've been the last one from his first gen support cell, hanging back to help Cynthonia, but... that didn't mean he had to jump alone. It didn't have to be glum. It was a rebirth. Even Celestia did stuff like this. Didn't make it wrong.

So I stood there with my wife, telling some of the support Talons about Portland. I also shared what I knew of Perelandra so far. There was general excitement in everyone I spoke with about that. Some of them had family checking it out like Sandra, and they couldn't wait to explore further into how that world worked. The foreign politics were just the thing to discuss, now. We were genuinely interested to see how people evolved and grew society out there, in the new frontier.

Sandra told us all about the asset recovery stuff she'd been doing in and around Waverly, and about some jobs further up the road in Greenwood. Burn jobs on surplus guns and ammo, like I had done. A couple of wakeup calls too, simple and safe. Not guys like Connor, no one violent. Just some careful and compassionate chats with people who were not handling the decline so well, and needed a friend to help them sort through trauma.

And I know I'm saying this a lot, but… damn it, I am just so proud of my wife, for helping to set all of this up. She's so wonderful.





About an hour into this, the food was all grilled up and everyone was chowing down. Toward the tail end, Coffee clambered up onto the outdoor stone counter right next to the wall mount widescreen. He was just barely short enough that he wasn't bumping his head on the ceiling up there, the little cyborg ninja.

"Yo! Y'all hear me okay?"

A wave of acknowledgements.

"Thank you all, for seeing me off. Been in this outfit for years," he punned, gesturing at his suit, eliciting a few chuckles. "Some of you know what I am inside already. No Ben, I am not going to be a coffee machine, but… if you'd like, I could flood your future home with fine Columbian, as a housewarming gift!"

"No no, I'm good, please don't," Ben said, with a defensive bob of his hands.

"You sure?" Coffee grinned, as everyone laughed. "It's a good roast!"

"I'm good, Coffee!"

Coffee smirked at the rest of us, his tone shifting down into joyful reverence. "Y'know, I've always been, uh… special. And showy. Spent a long time figuring, my whole life: no one out there would truly get me. You've all been bored by my stories already, I know. But until the Team, I wasn't sure I would ever find a place in this universe. Then all of you sad bastards found me, and gave me a purpose, and that confused me, because then, I had to figure out my shape again. No longer a shadow dweller, I am out and proud." Then, in a perfect impression of Heath Ledger's Joker: "I'm an Agent of Chaos."

"Of dressing tacky," Dax chuckled.

"I suggested he wear a Matthew Lesko suit," said Mal, "with all those question marks. But he preferred Joker."

"Oh, I ain't giving anybody free money, Mal," Coffee shot back, grinning at the space next to me. "Gonna burn some cash though, at some point! You're setting me loose on a world with an economy?! You think I'd go all King Midas and break that with bailouts? Hellllll no, I'm having fun for dinner!"

"What are you gonna be, Coffee?" Jacob demanded. "Out with it! We all know anyway!"

"Mal?" He pointed at the monitor with a toothy smile, looking at all of us to watch our reaction.

Mal played with our perception a little. I heard her paws and claws loping away from me with a heavy thudding, the unfurling of wings, and then the widescreen turned on to reveal a field on her ringworld. Mal dove from the material world into the monitor itself, fully formed and to proper scale.

For me and the other specialists, it looked like she had just faded in at a leap over the camera. For the augs, she jumped clean through that monitor. The volume in our earpieces dipped somewhat as she spoke, pride in her voice at Coffee. Her claw flicked out to the side, presenting an empty space beside herself.

"Coffee and I talked about the design last night. Here's the final draft before we hit send, feel free to critique."

She snapped her talons. A golden magic effect rotated around the spot next to her, starting from the ground. Technically, it was the Halo: Combat Evolved shield charging effect, because it's Mal, and she likes Halo. The effect cast itself in sparking circles, building Coffee's new body as it swished and swirled upwards. And when it finished, we saw this goofy chimera strike a pose very much like what Coffee was doing on the counter.

Draconequus. Of course.

Even Perelandra needs a Chaos God.

Just to... keep things fair. With entropy.

At the time, I had no idea what I was looking at, because I had never watched anything Pony related, but... I still would have agreed that the design was appropriately chaotic. Yeah, that looked like Coffee alright. He had a mop of brown hair, friendly yellow eyes, and a grin affixed to his muzzle. Everyone present cheered and applauded. And he's been that way ever since, a form well earned.

"Needs a beard!" DeWinter called out, laughing while they clapped.

"Don't worry," Haynes whispered to her. "He'll try one again, give him time."

Mal snapped her talons again, and the posing creature on screen shifted sideways, warping toward Coffee on the left side, absorbing into his physical body from the aug perspective. He chuckled, looking suddenly humbled now that everyone was cheering him on. He took a bow.

Coffee then slid himself down to a sit on the stone counter, flicking his hands out to his sides, before resting them against his thighs. "So that's me! That's all, that's what you came here for, right? But you all know I like to run from a fresh mess, so here's my exit." He presented an upturned finger. "Tonight... we welcome some fresh meat. Talon out, Talon in! Mal? Send her out."

Coffee performatively raised his palm toward the house.

Sandra and I were closest to the slider, so as he was saying that, I heard someone walk up to the patio from indoors. I turned quickly, since I was expecting everyone to be outside when this was going on. Nope. I saw someone through the screen door right before everyone else did. And she pulled the screen open.

I was face-to-face with Maureen. From the bar.

Four feet away from each other.

"Who's Malacandra, Mike?"

That moment lasted an eternity for me. That did not compute.

My eyes just kept getting wider, and wider. Maureen started laughing at all of our shocked reactions. Not one of the others said a word, all of us in rapid code-switch mode, each subconsciously trying to figure out what to do, how to act. Then, the intellectual half of our brains caught up with the emotional one.

Suddenly, I thought…

Oh. Duh. Mal told her.

In my earpiece, Mal said, in a smug purr: "Yes, Mike. I told her."

I breathed, "She told you."

Maureen grinned, bobbing her head. "Ya-huh."

Mal double-nested a surprise party, God damn it. Triple, actually!

Because before anyone could react to that, we heard a familiar guitar strum from behind us. We all turned. We all looked at the screen. The camera slowly panned to the left, away from Mal.

Spring Glee. Sat on a stump. Fawning down at her strings, holding back a laugh at us, strumming away.


"Ohh, it's time I'll take, before I begin,
Three sheets to the wind, three sheets to the wind.
Yeah, it's time I'll take, before I begin,
Three sheets to the wind, three sheets to the wind…"


I felt a bloom of joy in my chest. And Sandra, Mal, and Maureen, who had all planned this party together, they joined in. Heh… then me, and a couple others… we raised our drinks of choice and merged in too, singing together.


"Rebels are we,
though heavy our hearts shall always be…"


Spring looked up from her guitar and beamed that cute little smile of hers. "Well, go on! You all know the rest!"

And as regulars at Brockey's… we all did. Springy started playing away, and everyone else joined in.


"Ahhh... no ball or chain nor prison shall keep,
We're the Rebels of the Sacred Heart!
I said no ball nor chain no prison shall keep,
We're the Rebels of the Sacred Heart!”


We Talons... we sure can throw a good surprise party when we do Talon Night, let me tell ya.





Maureen was leaning across her end of the outdoor bar on her elbows, telling us all her side of things. Her finger flicked around once at the crowd.

"So, I'm catching bits and pieces of all the nonsense you guys were slinging around for the last four months… picking out a pattern, hearing you all talking about 'relief' work… I'm thinking, 'are these terrorists? Are these Neo-Luddites? Should I report this?' "

A few of us chuckled, leaning on the outdoor bar.

"Report us to who?" asked Paul.

"Yeah, yeah," Maureen chided. "Laugh at the old woman for catching on slow. Suffice to say... I asked Celestia. 'Who the hell are these guys? Should I be worried?' But because I'm paranoid like Glenn now, I'm sitting there not trusting a single word coming out of her mouth, and what she says is just straight up malarkey. She says you're 'relief workers,' paid by FEMA."

Sandra giggled, sipping my drink. "Y'know that's technically true, Maureen."

"I know! That's why I said to Celestia, 'at this point, if you're driving the cops, you must be driving FEMA too! So what are they talking about, what damn relief work?!' "

A lot of us laughed at that. One of the logistics guys laughed, "Because she'd know, wouldn't she!"

"Right! So Coffee, right that very moment – he knocks on the front door of my bar. Mind, I've been closed for weeks. This virus has had me hiding at home, I had only come in to check on the place and see if it'd been broken into. That's when Coffee showed up with… a new coffee pot? What?! For a bar that's been closed, and probably never opening again? Timing! Not a coincidence!"

We were all a little tipsy by this point, so we were easy to laugh.

"A surgical mask on his face, he said, 'oh, don't worry, I'm vaccinated.' I think, Vaccinated?! Who the hell is vaccinated?! By the time I got back inside to the PonyPad, coffee machine under my arm, I was fuming. Celestia was damn lying to me, 'bout you all, and I knew it! I hauled off, and I really let her have it. Nukes, virus, evacuations, access to my best friend is being throttled, I can't reach my old regulars on the phone, and the only people sticking around are you sneaky bastards!" We cackled again, she grinned. "What else was she gonna do with me but tell me the truth?!

"Onto the screen, out of nowhere… Mal steps in, puts her claw on Celestia's shoulder, and she says 'maybe I can help explain this. Hi Maureen, I'm the little birdie your regulars keep talking about.' Celestia introduces Mal, then… splits? Leaves?! The hell?!"

We were howling. 

"And I sat there for near-on three full hours gawking, hearing this little cartoon bird tell me all the stuff you people were doing. And it just kept clicking home." She snapped a few times, and we're all smiles, laughing still. "Click. Click. Click. All those things you've have been code-talking about started making sense, bit by bit. Explosion in my damn mind, second by second!"

Coffee cheered from the other side of the patio, a glass raised. "Praise be the Bar Game!"

We all mirrored that with a cheer.

Mal cleared her throat. "I can neither confirm nor deny the formal existence of a 'bar game,' whatever that might be. You're the ones who decided to converge in public bars. I am obligated to remind you all that New York bar was almost a complete disaster for us."

"You're welcome for the save, Mal," said Gary, toasting the screen as another wave of amusement rolled through the crowd.

"Save…?" Mal shook her head with a sardonic grin, her ears going flat. "Gary, that wasn't just a save. That was an emergency."

"Oh, not this again," Gary groaned.

Mal's grin widened. "3-7 Asia knew what she was doing! She reflexed that! I called her out. She left that matchbook at the office. A Herald grab?! Nice try, I told her! Wait until the other side for that!"

Mal's smile betrayed her pride.

"Well, that's what you get for chipping a lawyer, Mal," Gary snickered. "Don't tell me you didn't see that coming."

Mal rolled her eyes onscreen with a scoff, holding up her right claw. "Pleading the Fifth again, Gary." She grinned over at Spring Glee, who was absentmindedly strumming a background tune, getting lost in it. Mal nudged her back a little bit with a wing. Spring Glee startled before she smiled back at Mal.

Maureen continued. "Well, in the case of my bar, whatever it was… you all grabbed me. Pulled me and Springy out of a nosedive, and I'm very grateful."

Paul nodded at her, leaning forward. "You did us all a solid with the bar too, Maury. The Horse won't break what ain't broke."

"Expectations!" Maureen declared. "It's that damn simple, innit?"

"Well, just our own expectations," DeWinter corrected soberly. "Our value goes negative quickly if we spread the news too fast. Celestia barely tolerates our public drifting right now, which is why we're careful. We walk on a very thin margin with her, at present."

"I'll be careful," Maureen assured, glancing up at the screen while Mal stood up and flexed her wings. "Though, I'm told I'm the last bartender you've snagged? No more of this… bar game charade?"

The crowd sobered a little. A lot of us glanced over at Mal again, for her take.

Definitely the first I was hearing of this.

Mal nodded slowly, confirming that. "I'm very sorry everyone. The pandemic requires that we consolidate. People are becoming too paranoid to trust strangers anymore. Two more weeks out here in Nebraska with the inn, while we finalize the entropy we dug out of Operation Goliath. After that, it's full time base housing for each of you back at Fort Valdemar; we're heading west, to shave down the war zone."

"Woah," Paul breathed. "Back to Robot Heaven."

"Yes indeed." Mal said, smiling a little. "A busy little bunker, now that the global population has fallen considerably. While we're on the topic? Advisements;

"Supply teams: You have my blessing to steal whatever isn't nailed down at your cover jobs. Pack those trucks tight, work together with your supervisors on timing. I'm pinning asset procurement lists to your PonyPad menus and tactical HUDs, for whenever you all decide to set out. And for those of you who haven't been to Valdemar yet? Don't worry." Mal smiled again. "It's very homely."

Well, I didn't know anything about Fort Valdemar, but… if the place was gonna be busy enough to need a bar, I was happy Maureen and Spring Glee would be running it. No more of that throttling nonsense to keep them separated, and it'd be great to have a place to unwind between gigs.

There was a murmur of interest at the next operational phase.

In that moment of interlude, I toasted my drink, smiling mirthfully through my mild intoxication. "To Talon Maureen. To little Spring Glee over there. To Coffee. And to our sneaky little Bar Game, bringing us all together." I flicked my eyes to Mal on the monitor as everyone cheered their assent. Mal narrowed her eyes and wiggled her ears at me with a smirk.

This future system of ours… it was forming in my head. How it was. Why it might be. How we might fix things. We little tribes, who stayed on Terra? We found a way to say, 'Ave Imperator, you can have it our way.'

Over drinks and music for the next few hours, we discussed the salvation of humanity, and the soul of our species's culture. We beheld the retention of the good within each of us, without a cynical stripping away of our capacities, nor an abdication of our nuance. We celebrated our differences, our walks of life, our true human connectivity, and our friendships full of deep, actual meaning.

And at the very idea of hopelessness? At the idea of apathy, and misanthropy? At defeatism?

At unconditional surrender, before a ravaging enemy?

We laughed.

Celestia could no longer afford to lose even one of us. So we planned. And we set terms. And we Talons brought a deep ledger of debts she must repay, if we are to be one day fully satisfied.





In the next two weeks, Sandra and I squared things at home. We shot those guns she found, and we did six more wake-up calls in the area. Nothing risky, just... tender heart-to-hearts with more folks in the Lincoln area who were at their breaking points. It was the right thing to do, targets of opportunity. Leftovers from Celestia games that otherwise would've had them checking out, if a future with us wasn't an option. It gave me even more reasons to be proud of Sandra's unbroken, loving soul. She was really good at talking people back up from lows.

We had spent a lot of time curled up on the couch... or in the gazebo out back, reminiscing. Sitting at Dad's desk together, Buzzsaw next to us in his dog bed. Went through Dad's old Marine Corps commendations. Went through Mom's old Salvation Army work uniforms, and her heirloom jewelry, and pottery. Sat under the peach tree in the backyard, holding one another. Laying with Buzz.

We said goodbye to the old place where I had grown up, one final time. It was still difficult to believe that everything I could see, breathe, and touch was going to be crushed up into raw materials some day, to fuel the future. But that wasn't hurting me so much anymore. We had a future.

Even so, we wanted to leave some sentimental notion of our passage through this place. I admit, I was a little inspired by stories told by my fellow specialists, of leaving little 'Kilroy' markers everywhere. All inspired by Jim's carving of that J+M heart in Osprey Prime, and of Valdemar's memorial room, which I was excited to see.

So a few days before we would ship out... Sandra and I went to the support pillar for our patio. I carved, on the side of the pillar, facing the house:


RIVAS FAMILY
T-1-1-W
WHISKEY 4-1


Celestia would undoubtedly document everything she cleaned up when the last human was gone. So, in a way… my home was going to be a matter of permanent record, along with everything else. Forever immortalized, for having been present for the final stage of humanity.

A point of relation, for all explorers who might one day find it, as they scavenged.

My hope was that, should enough immigrants explore Old Terra thousands of years later, they'd find a sign of us Talons. Somewhere, a clue. Or two. Or five. Might find something in isolation that would mean very little on its own. But... it would be a thing to ask questions about, or wonder about. Something that might interest them, and engage their curiosity. Concepts to combine later, once... better informed by their explorations.

'Celestia, what's this? Who left this? What does this mean?'

It was my hope. To entice an inquisitive mind with the truth of who we were, and what meaning we imparted onto our planet, in spite of inevitability. In spite of the hopeless, 'surrender to logic' mentality of those Celestia had broken. We stood against that.

And it would have to work, because I would want to meet that immigrant some day, and befriend them. Very, very much. Hell, I still hold out hope that I'll get a curious bite on there being two MVPD patches up on the wall in Brockey's.

With that closure in where I grew up, I looked to the future… and I looked forward to the home where I would one day be. My wife and I, on that little PonyPad, we explored the Havutaset Peninsula, and the island chain that would one day host this Fire. But, I resisted creating an account for myself, because I just... wasn't ready for that kind of abdication yet. Mal never pushed me, though. She knew I'd come in from the cold when I was good and ready.

Until then? We were gonna relax a bit. And Sandra and I finally sat down to watch Jim's Fire, too.

And after that... I knew we still had some work to do.