Sharp Shot stood proud on the deck of her ship, the white unicorn surveying her domain with a piercing stare. It had been just a few years since the three pony tribes had made peace and already tensions were once again on the rise. It was rumoured that the Unicorns and Pegasi were preparing for war, the Earth ponies staying on their farms like the peasants they were. Princess Platinum had taken control of them after their former leader met her demise in the form of a run-away cart loaded with manure, a fitting end for such a low-breed pony according to Sharp.
Sharp Shot was privy to this information as it was the reason she turned to a life of piracy, the mare a former officer in Princess Platinum’s navy. She and the crew of the naval ship the ‘Sea Drake’ had all mutinied against the former captain, Sharp Shot finishing off the cowardly mare herself. The crew was comprised of ten unicorn officers and forty Earth ponies, the Earth ponies serving as line troops and labour. Her ship was small but fast, Sharp having found that it was more than capable of chasing down the fat cargo ships that were the main targets of the pirates operating in the vast seas.
Pony ships from all three races, Zebra freighters, Griffon and Diamond Dog slave transports were all fair game for the enterprising unicorn. There was always demand for goods and slaves at the seedy ports that dotted the area, a profit always waiting to be made.
Sharp Shot grinned to herself as her boat crested a wave on its way to fresh hunting grounds. Today was going to be a good day; she could smell it on the ocean air.
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“Thank you for coming in Commander, I assure you that this will not be a waste of time,” a human scientist in a lab coat said as he addressed another human, this one wearing an ornate navy-blue dress uniform decorated with medals and skull motifs. ISA Commander Nigel M Chalmers rolled his eyes at the scientist, a UIP military researcher by the name of Oppenheimer.
“I was ordered to assist you so I came, just make it quick. There’s a raging party on the Assistant Director’s yacht that I’m currently missing so let’s get on with it” Nigel replied while looking at his silver watch for emphasis. Oppenheimer did not bother with a reply, instead opting to lead the impatient soldier through a large metal door, the armed UIP Military guards on either side of the opening saluting as the pair walked past.
On the other side of the door lay a huge laboratory, a countless horde of white coated scientists scurrying to-and-fro as they moved from terminal to workstations. The aura of nerd was so thick that Nigel imagined that he could hold out a sponge and it would literally soak up IQ.
Oppenheimer herded the un-interested Commander towards a sheet covered object, Nigel observing that whatever was underneath it was vaguely humanoid in shape and roughly two meters tall. Oppenheimer stopped before the object, a crowd of researchers surrounding the pair to witness the spectacle.
“Behold!” the scientist cried out as he flung his arms into the air. "The awesome Oppenheimer Peterson suit!” Nigel watched as a junior researcher tore the grey sheet covering the object off, revealing the armoured suit in all of its glory.
It looked almost the same as a standard ISA armoured suit, the pitch-black surface smooth and un-marred by battle scars. It was a little bulkier than Nigel’s regular armour, looking more akin to something a front line assault trooper would wear. A single painted white skull was on the right breast, the pale colour standing out amongst a sea of black. The full body suit was accompanied by a ebony helmet, the faceplate featureless with no optical devices or speaker grilles visible. All that was there was a dark full-face visor, Nigel unable to see the inside of the helmet. Nigel let out a snort as he beheld the reason that he was missing a rocking party for.
“Oppenheimer,” he began, “it looks just like my regular armour, except that this suit looks fatter.” The scientist was unfazed by the criticism, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.
“At first glances it does indeed look like your standard armour Commander Chalmers, but let me ask you this,” Oppenheimer paused for effect. “Is your standard armour powered by not one but four antimatter reactors?”
Nigel stared at the scientist, disbelief in his eyes.
“You’re joking aren’t you? There’s no way the military would let you build something like that, if that suit goes so does the entire planet.”
“I assure you it is no joke Commander; the Military have been testing anti-matter units for personal power needs for years now. Over that time many safeguards and fail safes have been developed and the chance of a critical meltdown is minimal.”
“Yeah, that’s what they always say, right before the entire thing self-destructs,” Nigel replied, picking a nearby computer tablet up with a hand and holding it in front of his crotch like a shield. “I also never thought I would ask this question but why does it need four bloody reactors?” Oppenheimer walked over to his creation, petting it like one would pet a dog.
“This suit here is a masterpiece Commander, featuring some of the most ground-breaking technology we’ve created.” Oppenheimer beckoned to a scientist with a hand, the selected man handing the chief researcher an information tablet. “Quantum storage chambers, Cloaking Generator, short-range blink pack, in-built wide-area sensors…” the scientist listed, Nigel zoning out half through the Explanation.
‘Maybe there will still be some drinks left in the open-bar when I get to that party? God knows I wouldn’t be able to stand it without some hard liquor.’
“Commander, did you get all of that?”
Nigel was jolted back in wakefulness at the sound of the grating voice of Oppenheimer, the scientist awaiting his answer.
“Yeah of course, wide-range area sensors and all that,” he replied, Oppenheimer buying the lie.
“Good, there is a lot to remember so I’ve taken the initiative of writing it all down, a kind of ‘owner’s manual’.” Oppenheimer handed the tablet he held to Nigel, the Commander giving it a glance before putting it down on a nearby lab bench.
“So let me get this straight,” Nigel began. “You guys made one of the most complex armoured suits to date, filled with all sorts of toys and gadgets powered by enough antimatter to destroy a planet and you want me to willingly put this on for you?”
Oppenheimer nodded his head rapidly at Nigel’s query, the scientist almost bouncing with joy.
“Not a chance in Hell,” Nigel stated, turning around to walk out of the lab.
“Did I mention that it has a jetpack in it?”
Nigel halted at Oppenheimer’s words, the Commander turning around to face the group of eggheads.
“Suit me up, now!”
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Lord Reginald Edinburgh VII sipped his aged scotch, the party so far going off without a hitch. His luxury yacht was proving to be a great investment and it had only cost him a day’s pay. The position of Assistant Director paid extremely well, after all it was his planet that the yacht was currently on. He savoured the fine alcohol, secretly hoping that Nigel Chalmers would soon make an arrival.
Granted he could be taxing at times but he could always be relied upon to lighten things up. Reginald chuckled as he remembered the time Nigel set fire to the board room table to prove a point. The enjoyment Reginald got out from that act almost made up for the fact that his late grandmother’s ashes were used in the making of the table. As he remember this particular incident the sound of thrusters reached his ears, the multiple guests at the party looking up into the night sky.
Descending from the heavens like an ancient god with a futuristic jetpack, Nigel dropped onto the deck of the ship clad in the armour that Reginald had ordered him to test. Safely cradled under a black-armoured arm was a large keg that was labelled ‘Moonshine’ and several bottles of assorted spirits were strapped around the Commander’s chest like an ammo bandolier. Nigel looked at the assorted crowd, no one really that surprised at the un-usual method of arrival as all of them were used to the eccentrics of their co-worker.
The blank visor of Nigel’s helmet swivelled as the Commander surveyed the crowd, all of the attendees in military dress uniforms. He hefted up the keg with a hand and grabbed a bottle of vodka from his chest stash.
“Alright!” his voiced boomed out, amplified via hidden speakers.
“It’s time to really get this party started!”
__________________________________________________________________________________________
“Should we call someone Sir, he could get into trouble?”
Reginald turned his attention from his aide to the Commander, Nigel grasping onto the hand rail of the ship as he attempted to position himself like a ship’s figurehead. He had only taken his helmet off to consume enough alcohol to kill a small child, the head gear once again firmly attached to the armoured suit. The party had finished long ago, all of the partygoers except Nigel having left via helicopters and hovercrafts.
“Leave him be, Johnson, he’ll make his way home in his own time” Reginald let out a yawn, the aide following him as he walked into the interior of the ship.
“He always does.”
The two left the Commander to his own devices, the suit wearing soldier clinging to the rail while singing sea shanties. As such they didn’t notice the Commander lose his grip after trying to catch a seagull only to fall asleep halfway through the attempt, the armoured body falling into the ocean with a faint splosh.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
‘What the… this isn’t my bedroom.’
Nigel looked around himself confused, the low-light optics of his helmet revealing that he appeared to be resting on the ocean floor. He stood up, the systems of the suit compensating for the immense pressure the sea was exerting on him. Nigel blinked his eyes, the memories of last night coming back to him immediately.
“Guess I better head for the surface,” he said to himself, “everyone will probably be worried about me.”
Nigel attempted to swim like he would un-armoured, this proving to be impossible due to a combination of pressure and the weight of the suit he was in.
He gave up after a few attempts, deciding to try another method. He hoped that the jet pack would still work under water; after all he did recall the scientists telling him that it was made for all terrains. He sent a mental command through his neural interface to active the propulsion system, the thrusters and wings extending from his armoured back as twin glows pierced the ocean darkness. Seconds later the boosters ignited, propelling him through the water at amazing speeds.
As Nigel travelled up the surrounding waters began to lighten up, the murkiness receding. The commander spotted no surrounding wildlife on his upwards journey, no doubt all of the marine life was scared away by the noise of the jetpack. The computer calculated that he was nearing the upper layers, only a few minutes left until he was due to breach the surface.
A ping from his helmet drew his attention, his sensors picking up a medium surface contact, appearing to be made out of wood if the readings were correct. His helmet HUD (Heads-up-display) filled with faint blue text, informing Nigel of the contact’s details and database matches. According to records it seemed to be roughly the size of a 17th century Brig, the contact not appearing to be emitting any engine noises or electronic signatures.
‘Eh, it’s the only thing out here so it will have to do’ reasoned Nigel, angling himself so he was on an intercept course.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Nigel slowed down once he had a visual of the vessel, the wooden hull clear as day in the clean water. He carefully approached it, unaware as to who owned the vessel. A minute later he broke the surface of the water, his helmet filtering the sounds of crashing waves, cawing birds and the sound of whip of flesh, an agonised scream following the crack.
Nigel looked at the ship where the noise had originated, the vessel truly looking like it had sailed right out of Terra’s early renaissance period. As he observed the ship another crack sounded, another scream piercing the air.
‘Where there’s whipping there’s people, maybe they would be able to give me a lift to shore?’
Nigel lifted his right arm out of the water, a mental command firing the in-built grappling hook. It made solid contact, Nigel beginning to pull himself up the line one as he made to board the ship. He effortlessly scaled the edge, his suit’s artificial muscles capable of lifting up the heavy human. His boots made two solid thumps as they landed on the deck, Nigel looking around the area in an attempt to spot the captain.
What he saw made him question just how much he had drunk the night before, a range of equines dressed like olden day pirates all staring at the bipedal intruder in shock. In the centre of the crowd stood a ornately garbled pearl-white unicorn, a leather whip suspended in a dull purple energy field. Tied to the main mast was another pony, this one missing a horn. The tan ‘normal’ pony seemed to be the source of the pain-filled cries earlier, bloodied lines criss-crossing it’s bare back. Nigel shrugged internally, after all he’d seen far stranger things then pony pirates in his lifetime so he decided to conduct himself in a calm and rational way.
“Ahoy, ye fellow sea rats, might I interrupt your session for a brief parlay?”
Nigel smiled to himself, four hours at sea and he could already speak the lingo.
The sailors all seemed to disagree, whispers like ‘monster’ and ‘demon’ audible to Nigel’s enhanced hearing. The fancy dressed unicorn turned to face him, the whip dropping to the deck as the glow around it vanished.
“What do you want foul Beast of Tartarus?” the unicorn mare questioned, hate in her voice as she stared at Nigel in disgust. Nigel couldn’t help but admire the huge bicorne hat sitting atop the Unicorn’s pink mane, a large skull and crossbones picture directly in the middle.
“Well, I just woke up at the bottom of the ocean and I was wondering if you could give me a lift to shore, speaking of which am I still on Perseus-Seven?” The blank look on the unicorn’s face confirmed his suspicion that he was not on the planet he was on last night. The mare seemed to take a moment to process the information it had received before it once again glared at him.
“I don’t know what you’re babbling about foul creature, now get off my ship before I send you to the depths!” She punctuated her sentence by baring her harm-less looking teeth in a snarl as her horn lit up with a purple glow. Nigel was completely un-threatened by this display, the small pony only coming up to his armoured thigh.
“Awww, you look really cute when you’re mad” he taunted, the unicorn snorting through her nostrils. A bright purple bolt flew out of her horn, impacting against Nigel’s armoured chest.
With this the unicorn had sealed her fate, the bolt doing no actual damage to Nigel but rather it sent a unknown wave of energy coursing through his suit’s systems. Nothing was affected except for the in-built short range teleporter, the computer interpreting the energy blast as a homing signal. Functioning as it was supposed to the teleporter activated, sending Nigel to the origin of the homing signal.
The origin being the unicorn mare that had attacked him.
The rest of the pony crew looked on in horror as the two-legged giant disappeared in a flash of light only to reappear where their Captain used to be standing, the mare exploding into pieces of flesh and blood as Nigel rematerialized inside of her. The deck and surrounding ponies were coated in gore from the violent re-entry. The former captain’s hat floated down through the air, coming to rest awkwardly on Nigel’s helmet as the biped looked down at the puddle of former unicorn he was standing in. He looked back up at the crew, many going into shock thanks to the extreme event they had witnessed.
“Huh,” Nigel began, “That gives a whole new meaning to "coming inside.”
The crew still didn’t move, all either unable to function or just flat out terrified of the new arrival. Nigel noticed the hat on top of his head, using a hand to adjust it so that is was centred properly.
“Well, it looks like you need a new Captain,” Nigel observed as he addressed the assorted equines. “Anyone want to volunteer?”
He received no response apart from blank stares, a smile emerging on his face unseen by the ponies aboard the ship.
“Right, guess it falls down to me to take up the reins of leadership. From now one you shall either address me as ‘Captain’, ‘Commander’ and my personal favourite ‘Supreme Ocean Fuhrer Chalmers, Lord of The Sea.”
Still no reply from the crew, Nigel ignored this and struck a pose, his hand outstretched and pointing towards the front of the ship as he rested a boot upon a box to make himself appear dramatic.
“Host the Mainsail! Release the Mizzenmast and plot a course to starboard! I want to hit Port Royal by this time next week then it shall be booze and wenches for all!”
The crew snapped out of their daze at his shouts, his actual orders leaving them confused however. When Nigel observed their puzzlement he sighed deeply.
“I thought you ponies were sailors, don’t you understand nautical speak? Make the Bloody ship move forward!”
The crew rushed to complete his orders, any objection or questions being over-ridden by un-yielding terror. Nigel took up position at the wheel of the ship, preparing to sing a rousing sea shanty to improve the crew’s morale.
“What do we do with an upstart pony?
What do we do with an upstart pony?
What do we do with an upstart pony?
Early in the morning.
Teleport inside of her so she blows up!
Teleport inside of her so she blows up!
Teleport inside of her so she blows up!
Early in the morning.”