The Thessalonica Legacy
Chapter 5: Half-Twitchy-Sort-Of-Not-A-Twitch
Thrusters on the Felicity Klimkosky’s bow fired, summersaulting the blocky ship end-over-end, positioning the large engines directly forward along the line of travel. The DropShip was in low orbit and preparing for its reentry burn. In the conference room, situated just below the bridge, Leftenant Dieter Ling held onto a railing and watched the holographic map floating above the center of the oblong table.
The burly infantryman had gathered his six volunteers plus the MechWarrior Ramirez and whatever of the DropShip’s crew he could find that were not directly involved with flying the ship and gathered them together for an impromptu briefing. Dr. Langley was there, too, from the Silvertongue. Her long, red hair floated wildly about her head. Ling wondered at the JumpShip captain’s decision to send her chief medical officer instead of a tech or some junior deck officer. Captain Tartaglia was joining them via a video intercom on the wall.
The Leftenant was not in a particularly good mood. He was an organized man with a plotting nature. His reputation for organization and ruthless efficiency had earned him high marks, and even a couple of medals, in his career. He had insisted on accompanying the mission not because he thought it was a good idea—he didn’t—but because, if the higher-ups deemed this foolish escapade worthwhile, then Blake’s blood, he was going to make sure it was done right. He had formulated countless plans and contingencies in his mind for every conceivable scenario the expedition might have faced. Everything had been planned, and he had a plan for everything. Everything, except a misjump to on an unknown planet in an unknown part of what he could only assume was still the Inner Sphere.
He crossed his muscular arms, trying to stand as straight as he could, straining his feet in the soft fabric loops on the floor—not an easy feat for one not comfortable with microgravity, “We’re still not sure what’s down there, so I shouldn’t have to tell you to be ready for anything.” Falling back on his training, he had decided to treat their situation like a reconnaissance raid deep behind enemy lines.
“Sergeant Ramirez,” he addressed the tanned MechWarrior, “I want you and your ‘Mech out the door as soon as the wheels stop rolling. Establish a perimeter and scout the immediate area.” The MechWarrior nodded. In general, Ling didn’t think too highly of MechWarriors. To him, they were brash, self-important braggarts with egos too big for their heads. His first impression of Ramirez had been the same, but the 20-something seemed to have a level head on his shoulders. Still, the Leftenant was not about to let the Sergeant forget who was in charge once there was dirt under their feet again.
“They’re telling me we’re looking at normal atmospheric pressure, mostly nitrogen and oxygen. Looks breathable, but there’s no telling what nasty traces there are until we’re planetside. No one steps out the airlock without an envirosuit until either I or Dr. Langley says otherwise. Understood?” there was a round of mumbled affirmatives.
“Our priority will be to make contact with the locals. If those lights we saw from orbit really are small settlements, than we are somewhere in explored space. That’s good news, ‘cause it means we can send for help.” He paused for effect “But, we still don’t know where we are, and a bunch of armed Davion soldiers walking into a village in the middle of the Draconis Combine, or Free Worlds League, or Capellan Confederation is sure to raise some eyebrows. As such, until we can determine where we are, discretion is the word of the day.”
The rest of the briefing was mostly details of protocol. The meeting adjourned when Captain Tartaglia informed them they were ready to begin the deceleration burn. Everyone scrambled to their assigned places; infantry to their quarters, techs to their jumpseats. On the gantry cradling his 12-meter tall BattleMech, Ramirez stripped off his fatigues down to his undershirt and boxer shorts. It could get quite hot in a ‘Mech’s cockpit, so most MechWarriors wore comparatively little. He strapped the holster for his sidearm to his right thigh and double-checked the gun, an expensive but sleek laser pistol. He pulled on his coolant vest, wrinkling his nose at the smell of dried sweat, and crawled into the cramped cockpit of his ‘Mech. Settling into the seat, he hooked the coolant vest leads into the connection points and secured them with a quick twist. Reaching up to the small shelf behind and above him, he drew down the heavy neurohelmet over his head, feeling the padded rim pushing down on his shoulders. He began the pre-startup sequence, relying more on muscle memory than conscious effort. Outside, the bay technician decoupled the umbilical lines, then left the bay and made for his own jumpseat. Releasing his ‘Mech from the bowels of the ship would be controlled from the bridge.
Massive engines flared to life, throwing out huge flares of superheated plasma, bleeding off forward momentum and sending the DropShip lower into the thin upper atmosphere. Thrusters fired to bring the nose around again. Leading edges began to glow orange as the massive ship plunged through the thickening air.
On the bridge, Tartaglia could feel his body growing heavier. This was the part he loved the most. Even if the computer was technically in control, the raw power and inherent danger of an atmospheric entry charmed him like nothing else could. This is where a ship showed its true character. Even a Leopard, which had all the aerodynamic qualities of a brick, came alive during atmospheric entry. He particularly loved this Leopard. He had served on other DropShips as a young officer, other Leopards, a Gazelle, even a Union at one point. The Felicity Klimkosky was the first ship he truly loved, though. He loved it enough, when the AFFS navy wanted to retire her, he took out a loan and purchased her outright. This was his ship now, he was just loaning it to the military.
The ship began a series of broad S-turns, shedding off airspeed. A spheroid, like a Union or Mule, could use its massive engines to take off and land vertically. Aerodynes like the Leopard, however, came in like a giant, unstable airplane and needed a runway. Most DropShips needed a prepared spaceport to land safely. However, the Leopard was a military craft, built with lightning-fast raiding in mind. Any suitably flat patch of ground would do.
He hoped they’d found one. His pilot, a talented young man now strapped into the seat in front of him, had plotted a course to bring them down in what looked to be a relatively tree-free stretch of a broad river valley deep in a large forest. The highest concentration of lights they had seen in their orbits of the planet lied just to the east, beyond the trees and a line of steep, craggy hills. He initially wanted to try and land closer, but Ling had convinced him there was no sense in startling the inhabitants. In the end, he agreed. The farther landing point would allow them to get to the surface somewhat stealthily. For this situation, a secure LZ was more important than a convenient one.
The massive vessel touched down heavily, thrusters firing again with a roar to bring it to a stop as quickly as possible. Giant banks of wheels dug into the soft soil, carving deep furrows. The few stray trees in the barreling behemoth’s path were shattered to splinters and ground into the mud beneath. Almost before the ship came to a stop, one of the massive doors on the flank slid open and Ramirez’s green-and-red striped VLK-QD1 Valkyrie leapt out, weapons at the ready. The ‘Mech charged off, sweeping out and away from the DropShip, sensors straining for any sign of trouble. Though it stood almost as tall as the trees surrounding them, the humanoid war machine was still dwarfed by the DropShip’s armored sides, towering nearly twice the Valkrie’s height. From his vantage point in the bridge, Tartaglia could look out across the canopy of the forest to the east until the hills rose up to swallow the horizon. Flocks of birds swarmed across and above the treetops, fleeing the thunderous commotion of the large vessel’s arrival. Beyond, the orange disc of the sun was just beginning to peak above the treetops and chase away the pink haze of dawn.
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Pinkie Pie bounced merrily out the door of Sugarcube Corners, the confectionary where she lived and worked with her hosts, Mr. and Mrs. Cake. The sky was only beginning to lose its deep indigo as the rays of Celestia’s sun were just peaking above the distant mountains. Most of Ponyville was still asleep. The streets lay empty as stores sat darkened and windows shuttered.
Her tail twitched. She stopped mid-bounce and stared at her tail for a long moment, pondering. Not so much a twitch as a half-twitch. Kind of a half-twitchy-sort-of-not-a-twitch, she decided. She often got little niggling feelings when things were about to happen. She called it her pinkie-sense, and it had come in handy more than once. She wondered what this twitch meant. Normally, a twitch in her tail meant that something was about to fall. But this was only a half-twitch. Did something start to fall and then stop? Maybe something had fallen and yet not fallen, like it had fallen on purpose? She held her breath and concentrated. Sometimes, she could glean a little more meaning out of her twitches, discerning more precise timing and locations for her predictions. She hummed thoughtfully, but no further clarification was forthcoming. Oh well.
Whatever it was, it could wait. Right now she had catering to arrange. As the trio of balloons on her flank would attest, Pinkie Pie was Ponyville’s star party pony. She thrived on other’s happiness, and discovered at an early age that at parties, it was difficult for any but the grouchiest of ponies not to have a good time. Most ponies considered her flighty and often nonsensical or hyperactive. Or, as her best friend Rainbow Dash would say, “So random”. Even so, most ponies were willing to overlook her eccentricities in light of her phenomenal party planning skills. For as every pony knew, there was no party like a Pinkie Pie planned party.
Today she was planning a surprise party. It was Carrot Top’s birthday, and her friends had asked Pinkie to organize the event. So, while Daisy and Rose kept Carrot busy around town, Pinkie would spend the day with last-minute preparations and the evening wrangling Ponyville’s denizens into their hiding places within the birthday filly’s living room.
She had a lot to do, so an early start was essential. Much of the ponies she needed to speak to weren’t awake yet—even the ponies that had commissioned her wouldn’t be awake at this hour. She headed first for the only pony on her list she knew she could count on to be up this early, the hard-working Applejack. She hummed a happy tune as she crested a hill and the big red barn of Sweet Apple Acres came into view. Sure enough, she could see movement among the surrounding apple trees. Drawing closer, she could see that it wasn’t the shape of Applejack, but of her elder brother, Big Macintosh. Of course, how could she have missed that large yoke seemingly permanently affixed around his neck? Not to mention Macintosh was bright red, not orange, and much bigger than Applejack, and also a boy pony, not a girl pony. Pinkie slowed her pace and scanned the orchards for Applejack, but didn’t see her anywhere. Perhaps Big Macintosh would know her whereabouts. She adjusted her course, then seeing that the large red stallion hadn’t noticed her approach she smiled slyly. This was an opportunity to practice her other unique talent: sneaking.
Sinking into the grass, she disappeared. The large red pony was completely oblivious of her approach until she suddenly popped out directly in front of his nose from amongst the boughs of an apple tree with a high-pitched “Hiya!”
The big farm pony snorted in surprise, then seeing it was only Pinkie Pie, sighed and went back to his work. The harvest was over, and the trees free of their fruit. It was time to check the trees over for winter, remove dead branches, and plot out next year’s planting. With nary a word, he plodded off to the next tree in line, idly wondering how a pony could climb a tree before dismissing it as Pinkie Pie being Pinkie Pie.
Pinkie dropped out of the tree with an unceremonious thud, and quick as a flash was bouncing along side Macintosh. He had reacted stoically, as usual, so now she took it as a challenge to get him to smile, or laugh, or at least react with more than a surprised snort.
“Hiya, Big Macintosh! Hey! I’ve always wondered, do they call ya’ ‘Big Macintosh’ ‘cause you’re big? Or is ‘Big’ really-truly-actually your name? Huh? Huh? Huh?”
Big Macintosh was a pony of few words. His philosophy was to think long and talk short. He turned his head to stare at his tormentor for a long moment before answering. “It’s mah real name,” he said finally.
“Well…” Pinkie drew out with an animated tap of her chin with a forehoof, “Has it always been your name? ‘Cause I don’t think you were always big. I mean’ you’re big now, of course. Oh, boy, are you big now! You’re the biggest pony I know! Well, except for Princess Celestia, but she’s more tall than just big. But you weren’t always big, I bet. I bet you were rather small especially when you were an itty-bitty baby Big Macintosh. So were you named Big Macintosh when you were an itty-bitty-tiny-winey baby or were you called Little Macintosh then and your name changed to Big Macintosh when you got big?”
Big Macintosh’s jaw hung slack as he tried to follow the tumble of words spilling out of the pink filly’s mouth. Realizing she had stopped, he shook his sunkissed blond mane and regained his composure. “Always been named Big Macintosh” was his concise reply.
Pinkie looked ready to launch into another cascade of words. Seeing this, Big Macintosh headed her off. “Miss, I reckon you didn’t just come here to ask me about mah name?”
Pinkie paused, then brightened as she recalled her original reason for her visit, “Oh yeah!” she said brightly, “Have you seen Applejack? I need to make sure she’s all set for tonight.”
Big Macintosh nodded towards the large barn “I reckon AJ’s in the apple cellar.”
Pinkie took this as a hint to take her leave. She thanked the big red farmer and pranced off to the barn in search of her friend.
Sure enough, she found Applejack in the apple cellar beneath the barn. In the cool, dry darkness they discussed food for the upcoming party. Sugarcube Corners would provide the cake, of course, and Sweet Apple Acres certain other comestibles. Apples, and baked goods made from apples, were—naturally—the Apple family’s specialty. With the details of times and meeting places arranged, Pinkie left her friend to her work and skipped off to continue her errands.
With her first item done and the morning still just barely begun, Pinkie Pie decided to take the scenic route, skirting around the town. Her path took her near Fluttershy’s little cottage near the outskirts of the Everfree Forest. Pinkie was surprised to spot the little yellow pegasus, head slightly drooped, walking back up the hill from the brook that ran past her house. Overcome with curiosity, Pinkie bounded up to her. She didn’t sneak this time as she knew Fluttershy was a bit of a scaredy-cat and also very sensitive. The pegasus greeted her warmly, stifling a yawn. Pinkie noticed her eyes were bloodshot and baggy. Worried about her friend’s welfare, she inquired if she was alright
“Oh, I’m fine, Pinkie.” She yawned again, “The birds just woke me up early is all. A whole flock of them came swarming out of the Everfree Forest before the sun was fully up.” Her already quiet voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “Something in there must have really spooked them.”
Pinkie’s thoughts immediately turned to pinkie-sense and that morning’s odd half-twitch. Could it be that she had sensed whatever it was that had spooked the birds? She asked if the birds had said what it was that had scared them.
Fluttershy cocked her head curiously, “Most birds aren’t really that good at speaking, Pinkie, at least not like we do.”
“What about parrots?”
“Oh, uh. They more mimic. But anyway, from what I can tell, there was a really big noise deep in the forest.”
“Big noise? Like what? Like a ‘Boom!’ or a “Crash!’ or a ‘Wheeeeeew-BLAM!’ or a …” she continued with a litany of noises, dancing around in a wild pantomime of each. Fluttershy giggled at her antics, but said she didn’t know what sort of sound it was, as she hadn’t heard it herself.
After joining Fluttershy for a late breakfast, and reminding her of the upcoming evening’s celebration, Pinkie Pie continued on her party planning mission. By the time she made it back into town, the denizens of Ponyville has stirred, and the town square and market were filled with ponies—earth, pegasi, and unicorns in a rainbow of colors.
As the sun climbed higher in the azure sky, Pinkie managed to quickly finish her errands and return to Sugarcube Corners to finalize baking and begin organizing decorations. Throwing herself into her preparations, her mind kept wandering back to that odd tail half-twitch and Fluttershy’s birds. She knew they were connected, somehow. She kept waiting for another tail twitch so she could discern more, but none came, although, as the day wore on, she did begin to notice a niggling feeling in her left forehoof. Sort of like a pinch mixed with an itch. She knew it was her pinkie-sense again, but it was a pinkie-sense twitch she hadn’t felt before. She tried to compare it to other feelings she had in her repertoire. A pinchy knee usually meant something scary was about to happen. An itchy nose meant watch out for angry bees. This achey-itchy-pinchy hoof didn’t really fit any of them. It wasn’t like the full-body ‘something totally unexpected you’d never expect to happen is going to happen’ shiver, either. Did that mean someone did expect whatever it was? She had a strong feeling that whatever it meant, it was related to her half-twitchy-sort-of-not-a-twitch and the noise in the forest. The feeling seemed to be growing, too. She decided whatever it signified was moving, and getting closer.