//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Home Shopping (revised, again) // Story: New Model Army // by est-hal //------------------------------// Chapter 1: Home Shopping Lyra sat on her front room’s sofa, speculating the possible contents of the booklet that sat upon her coffee table that had banged so many pony shins. Her daily morning ritual of checking the mail had finally turned up something other than bills, junk mail, and papercuts. The booklet had been sent to her by her uncle, Fancypants. She had been staring at it for a few minutes now, its glossy blue surface defiant and unyielding to the merciless bombardment of the intense gaze from her golden eyes, refusing to surrender the secrets held by its pages. After finally realizing that simply staring at it wouldn’t get her any closer to finding out what it was about, Lyra decided to opt for a more hooves-on approach. Taking hold of it with her magic, she levitated it in front of her and began subjecting the mysterious booklet to a much more intense investigation, actually opening and reading it! The title on the cover read “Dis and Qordial Limited: Home Shopping Catalogue - Spring Deals!” Raising an interested eyebrow, Lyra found herself becoming intrigued in what the catalogue had to offer. She was quite familiar with the company that purported it, having been made aware of it by her relatives in Canterlot. The Trottingham-based “special interests firm” was quite popular among the country’s nobility for being able to cater to even their most wild and twisted fantasies. From forbidden foods and the most deviant sexual experiences to extraplanetary timeshares and interdimensional holidays, there was nothing Dis and Qordial couldn’t provide for the right price. Of course, the company’s existence was a well guarded secret by Equestria’s elite families, lest word of their unusual tastes and hobbies get out to the much more narrow-minded working class ponyfolk. They just wouldn’t understand the incredible sensation of partaking in the most taboo of consumables, meat, beef steaks in particular, a widely popular favorite among the nobles. Beef, the actual MEAT of a cow, cooked rare and bloody, sizzling and seasoned with the finest herbs and spices… It could almost be tasted the terrified despair of Daisy Jo’s cousin right before she received a railroad spike through her forehead courtesy of a pneumatic hammer… The scrumptious suffering of another sapient… Lyra caught herself before she began drooling on the carpet. She turned her attention to her uncle’s letter that accompanied the catalogue and began reading… My dearest niece Lyra, How are you, my dear? It’s been a while since we last saw each other. We really must get together again and catch up. Fleur’s missed you! Anyway, the reason for this letter. I ran into your old magic school classmate Feather Duster the other day at the ol’ pub. She’s doing fine if you’re wondering. After a nice chat, she handed off to me a rather interesting find she came across while cleaning Princess Cadenza’s private chambers up at Canterlot Castle. Her Majesty really ought to be more careful of what she tosses out, ha ha! Back on track, it’s a home shopping catalogue from Dis and Qordial. You should be familiar with them (you and your sirloins, lass). It would appear the Princess has quite the… experimental side. Not surprising in hindsight, considering that she IS the “Princess of Love” and all. Captain Armor must be one happy stallion. Or perhaps not. Rambling again. I know you’re rather passionately involved in that fringe field of study, what was it called? “Anthropology?” Study of humans. There’s something on page seventeen I think you’ll find most interesting… Sincerely, Uncle Fancypants Lyra hummed contentedly as she finished Fancypants’ letter, fondly recalling her father’s brother. Despite what his name might suggest, she knew him to be quite the friendly and approachable unicorn, possibly the only non-snobby noble in all of Canterlot. That he was a major power player in the capital city didn’t seem to affect his demeanor towards others in the slightest. After a moment, she began snickering at what her uncle’s letter had said about Princess Cadence. “Uncle Fancypants is right. I should’ve figured Princess Cadence would be a freak.” she said to herself with a laugh. She now couldn’t help but imagine how the newly wedded Royal couple consummated their marriage on their honeymoon, probably involving a saddle, spurs, and a riding crop. Chuckling at the racy thoughts, Lyra stowed them away for another time, preferably when Bon Bon was around, the mischievous unicorn mare that she was. Taking hold of the catalogue once more, she began flipping through it, perusing the products on offer and quirking an eyebrow more than a few times at the circled items, presumably by Princess Cadence. “Hay, she IS a real freak…” After several pages of sexually enticing evening wear, lingerie, and exotic and highly illegal aphrodisiacs, she finally reached the page indicated by her uncle’s letter. It was dominated by a single advertisement, its loudly bolded text screaming out at her. The subject matter of it greatly aroused her interest, being very close to her heart… Your Very Own Superhuman! A limited-time offer by Dis and Qordial Limited. Imagine it! Your very own Superhuman at your beck and call! Stronger than a thousand earth ponies! Reflexes and dexterity to rival the Wonderbolts! Capable of feats you can’t even imagine! For only 500 bits, you can have a Superhuman to call your very own! Finally silence those neighsayers who dismiss humans as another old pony tale! Imagine their faces! Fill out the order form in the back of the catalogue and mail it to the provided address and receive your Superhuman(s) within 3-4 business weeks. Check or money order only. Lyra’s expression was agape, sheer amazement written all over her face. Her very own human? Not just a regular human, but a full-on SUPERHUMAN? She felt her excitement bubbling up at the prospect. Any doubt or skepticism she might have had about such a bold pitch withered before the reputation of Dis and Qordial, the firm renowned for being able to make any dream come true, no matter how fantastical it may be. Fancypants’ “companion,” Fleur, could attest to that. Who would have thought that the supermodel pony was quite the interdimensional game hunter? “She always said she had to get the oils and secretions for her ‘special baths’ from somewhere…” Lyra muttered aloud. Returning her thoughts to humans, she took the advertisement’s suggestion and began imagining the dumbstruck looks of everyone in Ponyville when she strolled down the street with her superhuman in tow. A devious and pleased smile took hold on her face as she pictured the slack-jawed expressions of all who derided her for her unwavering belief in the existence of humans and dismissed her as some obsessed loon. She would have to be sure to bring a camera… looking at the price again, Lyra found herself cringing slightly at it, finding it a bit steep, though the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that it was worth it if it meant she could finally prove humans to exist and vindicate herself. Her eyes glazed over as she began imagining her own wing in the Canterlot Royal University and Library, completely dedicated to humans and her study thereof. Coming to a decision, Lyra snatched a quill from her writing desk and began filling out the order form with furious speed, an occasional demented giggling fit interrupting the rhythm of her writing. ---- Genevieve Aristide sat in her obscenely expensive Italian leather office swivel chair in her new office, holding in her hand a half-drunken martini in the manner of a truly pretentious corporate executive. Upon her polished mahogany desk was a high-value order forwarded to her by Dis and Qordial Limited, one of Armacham Technology Corporation’s many business partners, the salacious corporate whore that it was. The order called for an entire expeditionary Replica battalion outfitted with air and armor assets. Dis and Qordial acting as the middleman, the buyer was one “Lyra Heartstrings,” a reclusive billionaire hold up somewhere in Kazakhstan. Genevieve quirked a bemused eyebrow at the provided name of the buyer. ’What kind of name is “Lyra Heartstrings,” anyway? Sounds like a high-priced escort.’ she thought to herself. Shrugging, she continued flipping through the document, finding shockingly little in the way of specific details about the buyer. Aside from a name and a rather vague location, there was nothing else stated about Lyra Heartstrings. She shrugged once more, not particularly caring that she knew next to nothing about a potential buyer for their own private army. Now while another more responsible and globally conscious executive might wonder for more than a fleeting moment who exactly this buyer was and what they could possibly want with over a thousand mindless clone supersoldiers, Genevieve just couldn’t bring herself to care. They had already paid in full through Dis and Qordial and even purchased indefinite servicing and warranty for their battalion, and that’s all that mattered to her. The bony-faced and morally bankrupt Aristide was never one to turn away a paying customer, after all… She leaned back in her chair, taking a moment to reflect on the enormous amount of trouble she and the company went through to contain the fallout of the Origin and Perseus projects. While she didn’t know the precise details of how both incidents were ultimately resolved, the reports on them made mention of ice cream cones, potato crisps, Paxton Fettel’s apparent Oedipus complex, and the employment of a freelance sex worker to alleviate it. It was around there that she stopped reading, finding the suggested implications both unfortunate and repulsive. Shaking her head clear of the disturbing thoughts, Genevieve leaned forward and grabbed the phone on her desk before dialing the sales department, eager to get things started. ---- On the outskirts of the massive smoldering blast mark that was the city of Fairport, a rundown airfield was bustling with activity, none of which was particularly legal. A fleet of transport planes were parked on the many taxiways of the airfield, their cargo bays being loaded with a multitude of militarized civilian vehicles and an immense volume of equipment, ordnance, and other materials. Myriads of genetically identical Replica soldiers were also boarding the planes, packing themselves tightly into their assigned seats. Collectively designated the 22nd Replica Battalion, the clone supersoldiers that comprised this unit were preparing to set out to rendezvous with their new pony commander. The details about their equine master had been disseminated to them in the final stages of their psychological conditioning. While in a hypnotic trance, anonymous voices whispered into their ears their life’s purpose, to obey all that their commander orders… and that their commander was a marshmallowey mint-coated unicorn named Lyra Heartstrings. Images of Lyra’s saccharine visage were subliminally broadcasted to their then highly suggestible minds. Her mint-colored coat and mane accented with white streaks, huge golden eyes and an amazingly human-like smile, a horn jutting out from her forehead, and most curiously a picture of a lyre printed onto her flank. Her cartoonish appearance was permanently burned into their memories along with the utterly ridiculous notion that they were to be unswervingly loyal and completely obedient to her. While normal human soldiers might be a little skeptical about taking orders from an oversized and incredibly adorable and huggable sapient plush toy, the Replicas bore no such complaints, accepting completely the equine nature of their soon-to-be pony overlord. Armacham Technology’s Replica line of genetically engineered psychic supersoldiers weren’t the type to question their commander or the orders they issued even in the slightest. Be they psychotic, cannibalistic madmen, ghosts of emotionally dead little girls doing a poor impression of Japanese onryos, or indeed cartoon unicorns from another universe entirely, the Replicas would follow them to hell and back and perform Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” while there if so ordered. The end result of such an ethically obscene process was an entire army of mindless drones, ready to take or rescue hostages, massacre entire villages or deliver aid and protection to them, to be the most monstrous of killers or the most saintly of saviors, all on their commander’s say-so. A short distance away from the rest of the battalion, a unique group of Replicas were boarding a trio of C-17 Globemaster cargo planes with their own specialized vehicles and hardware. Simply designated as “Replica Command,” the Replicas that made up this internal unit were the dedicated command team of the 22nd Replica Battalion, specially trained in all manner of strategies and tactics and tasked with assisting their commander in matters of command and troop coordination and ensure a smooth operation. Inside a communications center in one of the planes was the battalion’s assembled subcommanders, currently coordinating the loading of the battalion and its hardware onto the planes, primarily by shouting at them over the radio to hurry up. At long last, it seemed they all were finally ready to go. The subcommanders began radioing the individual sections they were each responsible for, ensuring all was set and accounted for before setting themselves and the rest of the battalion off on their journey. “Alfa Company, check in!” “Bravo Company, confirm status.” “Charlie Company, good to go?” “Delta Company, all set?” “Echo Company, report.” “Foxtrot Company, ready?” “Golf Company, ready to fly?” One by one, the immediate captains of each company reported back to them, declaring their state of readiness. “Alfa Leader, ready to go!” “Sir, ready to depart.” “Jacked up and good to go, sir!” “Affirmative, Lead. All set.” “Reporting. Ready.” “Now and always.” “Roger that.” Satisfied, the subcommanders issued the order for all planes to take off. The 22nd Replica Battalion was en route.