She hid her head under her blanket and squeaked, but it didn’t make it all go away.
The tiniest beam of moonlight shone in through a slit in the metal-clad walls that the Iron Warriors had erected around Fluttershy’s cottage, illuminating some of the folds that had formed in the shoddy rug. Fluttershy pulled it closer over her freezing body and tossed this way and that, trying desperately to get comfortable. It was no use; her original, luxuriously soft bed had been torn to shreds when the aliens had first arrived, and the replacement they’d installed was nothing more than a slab of cold iron. She’d pleaded with Lorkhan numerous times to just put it all back as it was, but after the incident with her mail box the Warsmith had been even more sullen, withdrawn and irritable than usual on the rare occasion she’d approached him. He scared her. Well, Fluttershy admitted that most things scared her, but the Iron Warriors really scared her. She wished that one of her assertive friends like Rarity, or Rainbow Dash had been there. They’d have got those bullies to listen.
The Pegasus sat up, casting her covers to the floor with uncharacteristic sloppiness and pulling herself to the end of the ‘bed’. She rubbed the end of her tired eyes with her hooves, resigned to the fact she wasn’t getting any sleep tonight. With a weary sigh Fluttershy stood up and began to walk through her almost pitch-black cottage towards the stairway. Every impact of her hoof on the hard iron floor sent an ominous clang around the small building. It echoed off the walls and seemed to come from everywhere at once, causing the shy yellow pony to squeak again involuntarily. The echo melded with the other horrible sounds coming from all around: The snapping of automated turrets rotating on their base in patrol arcs, the incessant whirr and stamp of pistons and generators that the Iron Warriors had built into the walls of her house for reasons they wouldn’t explain to her, and the constant grind of the water wheel outside that somehow provided power to the evil thing her home had become.
They’d actually redirected a whole stream just to get that water wheel to work. If Fluttershy hadn’t seen it herself, she wouldn’t believe it possible, even from such giants.
Cloudsdale was easily the most military of all Equestria’s main residences, but it was definitely a city. The only other castle that was actually used that Fluttershy had been in was Canterlot castle, and that was always such a lovely place. The Pegasus had decided however, that she didn’t like fortresses like the Iron Warriors built. They were dark, scary and…well, sort of smelly. On the other hoof, it was nice of them to rebuild a house for her at all…no. Think like Rainbow Dash. If she didn’t like this then she’d go and tell them, and Fluttershy would do the same. Only, maybe a bit less angrily. After all, the Iron Warriors were still living creatures and she didn’t really want to hurt their feelings, especially after they’d put so much effort into this for her.
Fluttershy’s train of thought was abruptly interrupted as she tripped on something solid and square on the floor. She faceplanted, whimpering and covering her now bleeding nose with a hoof. Wiping away some of the red liquid, the Pegasus squinted, trying to spot what she’d tripped over. The dark meant it was in vain, but Fluttershy could guess that it was one of the power transformers that were wired up to the colossal ‘battlecannon’ that had been mounted on her roof. Of everything the Iron Warriors had built, that was still the one that scared Fluttershy the most. The battlecannon loomed over everything, the gargoyle-shaped maw of the gun pointed squarely at Ponyville. She’d begged them to alter its position and not aim it at her friends, but for their part the Space Marines had ignored her. When Lorkhan finally did acknowledge her existence it was only to tell Fluttershy to do it herself. The array of flashing lights and complicated commands had made that easier said than done, and eventually she’d just given up and cried herself to sleep.
With her senses heightened by the dark, Fluttershy thought she heard the squeak of a mouse or even rat. Excitement built inside her as she turned, calling out “hello?” into the darkness. The skittish pony waited for what seemed like hours, hoping against hope that there’d be a response. Her ears drooped and a sad frown pulled at her face when it was clear one was not forthcoming. All her animal friends had quickly vacated her house once it had been rebuilt, and even the birds and larger creatures that lived in the surrounding garden now gave her a wide berth. In order to do her job of tending to them she now had to go to them herself, but whereas before Fluttershy had been able to communicate with them well, now they avoided her and were at best eternally suspicious. It was as if the fortress air clung to her wherever she went, driving off everything natural. The only real memories of her old life that she’d been allowed to keep were a few photographs the Marines had managed to find and not step on, and Angel Bunny’s basket. It sad made and ready in the corner, as if any moment it would be filled by its fluffy white owner. Fluttershy tried not to think about it; no need to upset herself even further.
Eventually, she reached the imposing double door that had been built in place of the old cottage one. Wearily, began to key in the sequence they’d shown her on the glowing control panel by its side. It had taken her a while to memorise, and Lorkhan had warned her to make she got it right-the wrong button could raise the drawbridge, fire the turrets and other hidden weaponry installed on the outside walls, trigger the failsafe self-destruct option or any number of other awful things. Finally finishing the code with a practiced precision, Fluttershy stood back and turned towards the doors as they swung open with an ominous growl. She walked out onto the wooden drawbridge that crossed the flowing river surrounding her fortress. She spared a glance at the doors as they came to a halt; for all that they espoused their practical nature, the Iron Warriors had seemingly been unable to resist a bit of vanity and had cared the metal skull that seemed to be their symbol on the two doors. Fluttershy thought it was a horrible, ugly thing, but there was no way she could remove the doors on her own.
The distant sound of laughter and music made her ears prick up, and the Pegasus looked in the direction from whence it came. Ponyville stood just before the horizon, vibrant and bright. The thought of her fellow Equestrians celebrating and getting on with life even in the face of such adversity brought a smile to Fluttershy’s face, even as the cool wind blew folds of pink hair across one eye. Fluttershy had never been particularly sociable, but all of a sudden the desire to go and join her friends nearly overwhelmed her. Ever since she’d moved back to this, it was only scarcely she received a visitor. Twilight and Spike had come at first quite often, when the Unicorn took a break from her research that is, but slowly their visits had grown less frequent. Pinkie Pie seemed to refuse to go near the fortress at all, although she clearly was concerned for Fluttershy’s wellbeing. She still met with Rarity for their weekly spa date, but it was always…awkward. Even Rainbow Dash had stopped coming…
A cold blast of air bit into the back of her head, and Fluttershy turned to face the source. The night made seeing far difficult, but she knew that perhaps a few hundred metres away sat the hulking remains of the great ship the Iron Warriors had crashed in. It was covered in the dark, the spiked edges and great chains forming menacing silhouettes. Fluttershy shuddered; they were in their right now, she knew, right on her doorstep. The Iron Warriors could be watching her right now, and probably shoot her dead from that distance as well. The rational part of Fluttershy’s mind told her that they would all be sleeping; somehow, though, Fluttershy doubted that they needed to sleep.
She sighed deeply, staring at the ground. The melancholy lasted for but a moment, before-to her surprise-what could almost have been determination settled in her gut. Fluttershy grimaced and tried to put on her best angry face as she willed herself to be brave. Enough was enough. Somebody had to go and tell the Iron Warriors that they couldn’t just go around Equestria being mean to everypony. In the morning she’d gather up some of her friends, march right up the Marines and tell them that herself. The more Fluttershy thought about it, the more quietly confident she became that she could do it, drawing on what she remembered of Iron Will’s assertiveness training. Yeah…after all, they weren’t allowed to hurt anyone, right? What’s the worst they could do? Fluttershy rose to her full height-it still wasn’t much, but a little more imposing than the common nervous slouch-and willed herself to look brave and determined. She would go and give that horrible Lorkhan a piece of her mind, and if he didn’t like it, then that was too bad.
As if on cue a bolt of lightning crashed through the sky, briefly illuminating all around Fluttershy. In the faux light the wreckage of the Iron Warrior ship almost seemed to come alive, the corrupted and spiked metal casting its shadow far and wide. Fluttershy yelped in panic, jumping high into the air and turning to dash back to her ‘house’. She bolted inside still squealing, hitting the quick-close switch on her way in. The great iron doors began to shut behind her as she dived shaking beneath the blanket, eventually closing with a rumble. The carved iron skull stared out as emotionlessly and impassively as ever, the eight pointed star behind it dripping from every spike with the rain that was now beginning to fall.
On the whole, Fluttershy reasoned, the Iron Warriors would probably be busy tomorrow morning. No point in disturbing them.
Best leave it for another day.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Time, Zuko mused as one of his more philosophical moods began to overtake him, was a peculiar thing. It was simultaneously natural and arbitrary; something that was present all around them in the universe yet only defined when you really stopped to think about it. Even in the Warp, where all the regular rules of creation were opt-in policies that no one paid attention to and time could flow up and down as well as backwards and forwards, that strange linear progression had always been there no matter how warped it was along the way. Mankind was as far as he could tell, a species obsessed with time; they planned missions to specific times, feared being here or there at certain times, and religiously stuck to the dictate of two hands on a clock. Yet, time must have existed before humans first crawled from the oceans in order for them to reach the stage they were now, even when no-one was around to monitor it on a clock. Did that time really still exist? And why were such singular measurements of time-the hour, the minute, the second-spread all throughout the Imperium even on worlds which had a very different solar orbit to Terra’s. Even here, the Ponies stuck to a clearly defined set of times, but how did they measure it beside that clock? How did they know their time was the right time?
Orks very seldom built fortresses proper, instead trusting to ramshackle Space Hulks and shanty towns. Thus, the Iron Warriors had had comparatively little contact with that particular Xenos race during the Great Crusade. The aftermath of the heresy and the genesis of the roaming warband meant conflict had become more and more frequent, but not to the same level of many of the other Legions. Zuko knew little of their culture, bar the obvious fact that it was centred entirely around violence, but from what he had observed over the centuries the Greenskins had no definitive measurement of time, nor did they seem to care. It baffled and intrigued the Iron Warrior-there was no sense of timing, no stress from rush, a (albeit primitive) society freed from the constraints of counting hours. It was part of what made them so unpredictable, he reasoned, but Zuko couldn’t deny a small part of him was intrigued as to whether humanity could survive for a week were all the clocks in the galaxy to suddenly stop working.
The chronometers built into his power armour had been scrambled in the crash, as had most of those belonging to his brothers, so bar the clock tower in the Xenos settlement he had no way of accurately knowing the time. But when Mordecai came to see him in his chamber within the Olympian Sun’s wreckage, Zuko estimated it was about half past ten.
The Aspiring Champion heard the automatic door slide open, and didn’t need to look around to know who had entered his room. Zuko remained hunched over his desk, face hidden from his brother. His horned helmet sat beside him on the desk; it faced Mordecai, glaring threateningly at the Sorcerer. The red eye lenses seemed to glow even when the helmet was not powered up.
“Am I in trouble?” The Aspiring Champion said bluntly. Mordecai’s response was to laugh.
“Perish the thought.”
Zuko was motionless for a moment, before taking a long drag on the cigar he held between the fingers of his right hand. Dropping the spent stick of tobacco to the ground, and ensuring his face was hidden in darkness, he lifted his helmet on the table and snapped it back into place. The hiss of joining seals filled the small room. When it was connected and energised he finally turned and looked at Mordecai , who returned the gaze patiently. Without thinking Zuko ground the still-smouldering cigar embers under his boot.
“Then what in the name of the Primarch are you doing here?”
Smoking had been a habit Zuko had picked up not long after the thirteenth company had first arrived on the Daemon world that was to become their home, Medrengard. The Legion’s flight through the Warp and exposure to the full power of Chaos, not to mention the terrible things they’d unleashed at the Iron Cage, had seemingly wrought one change or another on all of them. Mordecai was constantly polite and affable, Vortun had never lost his accent even after becoming an Obliterator, Lorkhan could be a little…slow, and Rorke shook whenever he got angry. Zuko however had begun to order the more skilled slaves to produce Astartes-sized cigars for him. Lho-sticks taken from the body of dead Imperial navy personnel had proven to be too delicate for him to use, and not nearly potent enough; whilst he knew full well that his Marine physiology neutralised the tobacco and nicotine, as well as any other chemicals, from what he smoked he found that his occasional cravings still persisted. It was a habit he’d managed to suppress for a long time, recognising it as the mental corruption that it was, but miraculously a set of cigars had survived the crash. It seemed almost a shame to waste them.
Mordecai let him get settled before started talking.
“It is a pleasant day. The Warsmith is currently amusing himself in some manner within the depths of our ship, although I admit I have no compulsion to discover how. Rorke, too, seems to insist on being dreadfully antisocial. Vortun is…well, I trust I need not explain some of the difficulties the blessed ones face here in terms of not startling the Pony-folk. Therefore, you remain; come, walk with me.”
Now it was Zuko’s turn to laugh. The sound that emanated from his vox grille was harsh and devoid of humour. As it slowly became clear that Mordecai wasn’t joking Zuko fell quiet, staring at the Warlock incredulously.
“You want me to come on a walk with you? Do you have any idea how shit-stupid that sounds? I had more than enough of you in that fucking forest.”
“I rather enjoyed our bonding experiences within the Everfree.”
“Our ‘bonding experience’ was getting a zebra crushed and accidentally burning half the bloody place down, before I lost my legs to a Salamander.” Zuko said, tapping the armour that covered his bionics for emphasis. “We’re brothers, not friends.”
“Why must the two be mutually exclusive?” Mordecai countered. “But in any case I am afraid your friendship, though desirable, is not required. I merely need someone to accompany me.”
Zuko cocked his head sideward, studying the Psyker intently. “Why?”
“I’m afraid I would not be at liberty to say, my dear boy.”
“Don’t call me that.” Zuko grumbled involuntarily, still staring at Mordecai. He stared back. The silence lasted for several long, drawn out moments. When it became clear that Mordecai was not leaving without him, Zuko gave an exasperated sigh.
“Fine, fine. Let’s just get this over with.”
Without saying another word, Mordecai turned and marched from Zuko’s tiny chamber. The Aspiring Champion watched him go, before raising from his chair slowly and sighing again. He took off after the sorcerer. The two weaved their way through the Sun’s labyrinthine corridors, their helmet visors allowing them to penetrate the darkness that clouded the wreck’s corridors. Only occasionally did they come across other life-any mortal slaves either prostrated themselves immediately or moved out the way to avoid being crushed underfoot, whilst the sole Iron Warrior merely nodded.
Eventually, they left the hulk and emerged into the bright Equestrian sunlight. It always struck Zuko how colourful everything was here-the grass, for example, was greener than he’d seen anywhere else in the galaxy-whilst bird song and the gentle rustling of the trees echoed around him. The Champion was already regretting his decision to go with Mordecai. Over in the distance, the fortress that Lorkhan had built for that yellow horse whose cottage they’d destroyed could be seen. It was a good piece of engineering, he had to admit that much. He was about to say so when he realised that Mordecai had gone, moving at a brisk pace towards Ponyville. Grumbling again, Zuko set off in pursuit.
They walked in silence, arriving at the town in around five minutes. By now Zuko had grown used to his bionic legs, but they still occasionally glitched, sending him stumbling around like a drunkard. The arrival of the two Astartes seemed to suitably distress most of the Ponies who moments before had been happily shopping. They dashed for cover, either in the closest building or behind the nearest tree. Yet a fair few simply cast either a nervous or angry glare towards the Iron Warriors and continued on with their day, which Zuko supposed was an ‘improvement’ of sorts.
Mordecai seemed entirely more comfortable with the situation, seemingly oblivious to the Xenos’ fear. He ambled through the streets quite leisurely, occasionally pulling a crumpled sheet of parchment tied around his waist and making a mark with his pen. Zuko followed a step behind, watching his brother’s peculiar motions intently.
“What are you doing?” he asked eventually. Mordecai seemed to not hear him for a moment, before looking at the Aspiring Champion, His helmet’s red eye lenses locked with Zuko’s own.
“Oh, I am merely scribing a map of the surrounding locale.” He said pleasantly, returning to his drawing.
“A…map?” Zuko asked nonplussed. Mordecai chuckled, affixing the paper to his belt whilst beckoning Zuko with a wave of the other hand.
“My word, I do believe the sun is beginning to scramble your poor tin-plated head, my dear brother.” The Psyker said jovially. From behind his helmet Zuko glared, but said nothing. Averting his eyes from the Champion, Mordecai gestured all around, the sweep of his hand encompassing all of ‘Ponyville’ before them.
“I should, of course, be disposed to imagine that you are of particularly low spirits in regards to our current situation.” Mordecai went on. “But surely one must concur that we have found ourselves upon a most agreeable world.”
“For you, maybe.” Zuko responded, switching to a closed vox-channel. “I’ve hated every moment here.”
“Oh come now, brother. Surely you are not as frightfully pugnacious as Rorke that you cannot appreciate the charms of this world.”
“We’re Space Marines, Mordecai. We’re Iron Warriors. Tell me how to build a fortress or where there’s an enemy that needs to die and I’ll see it done. All this…downtime, it’s not right.” Zuko’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And more than that, we’re Chaos Space Marines. We should have killed everything here the moment we arrived.”
“Do not presume me to doubt the veracity of your words.” Mordecai said calmly. “And I assure you that, knowing you all as intimately as I do, anxiety would rest entirely for the Xenos. And yet…”
“And yet what?” Zuko asked guardedly, coming to a halt in the middle of the road. Without thinking his hand moved to rest on the handle of his holstered plasma pistol. Mordecai looked at him searchingly.
“And yet, I believe you grow weary of our Long War.”
The silence reigned for a long time. The two Iron Warriors stared at one another, neither one moving a muscle. A bird’s tweet cut the air.
It was Mordecai who broke the eye contact, turning to look down a nearby sidestreet. “Ah, Ms Rarity.” He said. He raised a hand in greeting to the white horse, who smiled back somewhat awkwardly and waved a hoof at him. Zuko took the opportunity to relax, leaving the pistol where it was.
“You’re on first name terms with them now?” He asked with a snort.
“Quite so, brother. The gentlemare who is to be my host during tomorrow’s fine-dining evening is one Ms Rarity, the owner ofCarousel Boutique, which I am informed is responsible for the production and distribution of most items of high fashion within this town.
“’Gentlemare’?” Zuko queried, not quite believing his ears. “And you’re going to a tea party with them?” He knew Mordecai’s hawk-like features would be creased in a smile behind his helmet.
“Civility is not a crime, old sport, not even for miscreants such as us.” The Psyker looked as if he was going to continue when he stopped, straightening slightly and cocking his head to the side.
“I say, do you hear that most peculiar clamour?” he asked, cupping a gauntleted hand around where his ear would be as if that would help. Zuko rolled his eyes despairingly, but just as he was about to tell Mordecai that nothing in the galaxy could make him go on another ‘bonding day’ with him, something began to roll around his ears. There was a noise coming from behind a building. It was high pitched and erratic, a low background murmur ever present behind it. The sound of a snuffling nose and occasional voice crack betrayed it for what it was.
“It sounds like sobbing.” Zuko said, trying his hardest to sound completely uninterested. “One of the horses is crying.”
“A juvenile, by my estimation.” Mordecai retorted. “but I concur.” Zuko shrugged and was about to ask why it mattered, when he realised Mordecai was watching him intently.
“Oh no.” He said, the feeling of dread welling up in his stomach as he put two and two together. “No. No way. Not even for the Primarch himself.” Mordecai didn’t answer, but another series of dry and choked sobs broke the air.
“The child isweeping profusely, my dear brother.” He said at length.
Mordecai had a singular ability, Zuko decided, to be able to be hated by almost everyone who knew him and yet get them to do whatever he wanted. He never had to raise his voice, either; it was something in the way he stared at you. You knew he wouldn’t back down or take no for an answer, and he was so damn friendly with everyone you told yourself ‘just this once, to get him off my arse’. There was never anything sinister or threatening in his manner, but still you complied. Apprehensively, the Champion realised that maybe there was something psychic ggoing on-Mordecai said he was a Telekine above all else, but who really knew what was going on back there. He hastily erected the basic mental defences all Space Marines were taught, but the compulsion didn’t die.
“For the Gods’ sake, fine.” He snarled turning away and beginning to move towards the sound of the noise. “But you owe me.”
“Good show, old sport.” Mordecai called over his shoulder. “Do come and tell me of your findings later, I am sure it will be most enlightening.” Zuko was already walking away, moving around the corner of the building. The crying was growing louder by the second.
Eventually he pinpointed the source of the disturbance, and immediately groaned internally. The small bundle of yellow fur-now bedraggled in some places, from what he assumed was her own tears-had hidden itself well in the shadow of this small courtyard. Her hooves covered her eyes as she shook and sniffled in between bawling, but from what he could tell from her red hair that was now little more than an unkempt mess attached to her head she’d been hiding here for quite some time. The unmistakable pink bow had almost come out.
“Pony.” Zuko called out, voice monotonous. She didn’t respond as another bout of noisy weeping came on.
“Child.” The Iron Warrior repeated, not willing to admit he knew her name. She still wouldn’t look at him. Zuko sighed, wishing he had a cigar on him.
“Appleboom.” He said, with a softness that surprised even him. That seemed to get her attention for a moment, and her head lifted slightly form the ball she curled into. Before Zuko could press her for details, however, she had buried her face in her hooves again and went back to crying. Now he groaned audibly, about to go over and find out what the hell was going on with the help of Mr Power Fist.
“Mah diary.” Applebloom said suddenly in a shaky voice, catching Zuko off guard. She finally looked up at him; her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, ruined by the waterworks. “Ms Cheerilee put us in lahk, a team for a school project, and it’s in two days tahm.” For a moment it looked like she was going to start crying again, but with a squint of her eyes she fought the tears back. Zuko could almost admire that. “She had tah come to mah house tah get it done, but we’ve never lahked each other. After she’d left I had tah clean mah room, and mah diary was gone.” With that the dam burst, and the little filly began to shake with blubbering once more.
For a moment, Zuko was utterly unsure of what to say. The recovery of small children’s diaries didn’t usually fall under IV Legion jurisdiction. “It’s probably still in your room, you haven’t searched thoroughly enough.” He attempted after some consideration.
“No, she took it, ah just know she did!” Applebloom shouted. Her crying had made her nose run, and she wiped the excess mucus away with the back of a hoof. “She’s always bein’ mean tah me and tah Crusaders ‘cause we ain’t got our Cutie Marks yet! Oh, if she tells anyone some of the stuff in thar Ah’ll be ruined, ruined! Ah’ll never be able to show mah face again.” She said dejectedly.
“Why don’t you just ask the other two to help you get it back?” Zuko asked. “There’s three of you and one of her, you could easily beat the shit out of her and get the book back if it’s that important.”
“Applejack says vahlence is never the answer.” Applebloom said quietly. “An’ Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo are too busy with their own projects, ah’ve hardly seen’em all week.” The idea of violence not being the solution mystified Zuko, but he wracked his brain to find some way of calming the Pony down and therefore getting out of here without her raising more of a fuss.
“Reprinting classified material is inherently risky.” he said. “It was not strategically sound to do so if there was a chance it could be leaked.” In hindsight, he mused, it probably wasn’t the best thing he could have said, as Applebloom immediately relapsed into an endless stream of sobbing.
The Astartes watched for a moment, in the hope she’d eventually pull herself together. But eventually, it became more and more apparent she wouldn’t, and the Iron Warrior’s limited patience snapped. With a mutter of “that’s it, we’re done here” he began to walk away, mainly to tell Mordecai to go and fuck himself with a chainsword if he ever tried to get Zuko to do something like this again. She began to cry louder and more intensely, but he didn’t slow down, 10’000 years of warfare having hardened his heart to such things.
“It’s not fayre!” Applebloom wailed, wiping her nose again. “It’s lahk when we were on that stupid school paper. Ah’ve done all tha’ work on our project, and not only ha she stole mah diary ah knows she’s gonna take all tha’ credit. It’s just ‘cause her daddy’s so rich, she always takes all the credit from everypony for stuff she didn’t even do!” She buried her head a third time, running her hooves through her hair in frustration.
Something occurred to Applebloom, the surprise penetrating her grief. The rhythmic sound of heavy, armoured footfalls on the ground had ceased. She looked up and around in confusion, blinking away tears.
Zuko had come to a dead stop at the exit of the small courtyard she’d secluded herself in. His back was still turned to her, and he would have been for all the world no more expressive than a statue were it not for the incessant humming that she assumed came from his armour and the slow flexing of the talons on the giant glove affixed to his left arm. He was giving her a sidelong glance over the shoulder, and although it may have been her aching eyes Applebloom swore his eye lens was a deeper shade of crimson. When he spoke his voice was low and measured, but even she felt the depthless rage coiling behind it.
“The other Legions took the credit from us, too.”