Cryo-7

by Metal Pony Fan

Sunbows and Rainbeams

"Hey, I like your hair."

"Huh?" Radio looked up from his tablet, and the latest message from Celestia. The only being within speaking range stood next to him, stuffing a towel into a gym bag. He looked up at her. Human, taller than he was, unsurprising, since most humans were taller than most ponies. But any estimation of her height was derailed by the distraction of her hair. It was a bit longer than his own, and of a very similar color scheme. She had to be talking to him. "Oh, um, thanks."

She smiled as she finished squaring away her stuff, and zipped up her bag. "It natural?"

Radio glanced up, even though it was both impossible and unnecessary to check his mane. "Um, yeah," he said, managing a smile, "runs in the family."

She shook her head as she walked away. "Lucky rat bastard."

Radio blinked as his smile faded, and she headed out of the gymnasium. He glanced around to see if any of the active souls around him had witnessed that confusing event. Was she complementing him? Or insulting him? Who was that even?

He glanced around the gym again. Who were any of these ponies? Not that they were all ponies. Maybe half of them were, but there were at least a dozen species present. Some bipeds were playing basketball, a mix of bipeds and quadrupeds were doing some sort of modified yoga, and four unicorns were struggling at tug of war against a lanky earthpony, and a pegasus who was too busy laughing to help him.

They were all using the gym for its intended purpose. There was no sign of anything remotely resembling admissions interviews. At least he wasn't too out of place, sitting in the bleachers with his beat up old military duffel. Aside from the fact that he was sitting around playing with a pad while everyone else was having fun.

His eyes continued to travel the room, but his focus shifted from the occupants to the room itself. Wooden floors, school logo on the wall, posters advertising a number of upcoming events. Everything Radio saw reminded him of the stereotypical gyms he would see in old movies.

He had never been in one himself. Not a nice gym like this. He was used to training rooms in the barracks. Trees didn't grow well on Furia, so wood was always a valuable, and expensive, commodity. No one would waste it on flooring in a military installation. No, concrete or metal floors with polymer mats - if you were lucky - were more than enough for that.

"This is a pretty big gym," he told no one in particular as his eyes drifted back to his pad's screen.

"And you're taking up space, playing on your pad," answered a commanding voice.

Radio jumped up off the bleacher, nearly dropping his pad before managing to tuck it under a wing. For a second, he found himself considering whether or not he would be expected to salute, but then he remembered where he was. He also got a good look at the Curaxxan who had called him out.

He was tall, even for a curaxxan, and would have dwarfed the human earlier. He had a muscular frame, though bulging in the middle, and wore a grey shirt and the brightest red metallic shorts possible over his dark green scales. He was also older than most of the other gym-goers, by a fair bit, considering the scales along his cranial ridge had all fused together into one big, shiny surface.

Radio shook his head. He went bald without having hair in the first place. "Sorry, I can move. Name's Radio, I was supposed to be here at four pm."

He checked the small timekeeping device on the lanyard around his neck. "It's 3:18. Punctual. I like it." He looked up. "I'm Coach Kalakalaki, but most folks just call me Coach K. If you're scheduled for four, you're scheduled for the wrestling practice."

"Um, no?" Radio fought the urge to dig out the pad and double check. "I'm supposed to be doing an interview?"

"Looking to join the wrestling club then?"

"Admissions interview," Radio clarified.

"As in, admission to the academy?"

Radio nodded.

"Boy, are you in the wrong place." The coach put his hands on his hips. "Admissions interviews aren't held in the gym. They're held in the admissions office. And, if you're from off planet, they're held at the North campus."

"I was told it would be here. How far away is the North campus?"

"No more than a thousand clicks."

"A thousand cli-" Radio turned around and stuffed his pad into his bag, pulling up a map as it sat on top of the rest of his stuff. "If I leave now, I can still make it. Thanks, man. Uh, any way I could trouble you for a description of the building I need?"

The coach raised an eyebrow. "You planning on flying there?"

"I can make it if I leave now."

The Curraxan shrugged. "You aren't even going to ask how I knew you were from off-planet? Or that I'm not surprised you think you can make it?"

Radio glanced back with a smirk. "I know I can make it. And how hard can it be to spot a tourist?"

The coach sighed as Radio zipped his bag up and started walking away. "Ribbon Dancer was far more curious than you."

Radio stopped cold, bag falling to the ground. He looked back, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You know Ribbon?"

"Calm down, kid." He pointed at the colt's back. "The tension in the wings indicate a fight or flight response in pegasi and gryphons. You haven't moved them, but you're ready to." With a smile, he waved the colt back towards the bleachers. "Let's sit and talk a bit, I may know why you were told to come here."

With a sigh, Radio forced himself to relax. This was Ribbon's school for the last few years, he reminded himself. It isn't unusual for ponies to know who she was, given her distinctive appearance and abilities. Given that his appearance was identically distinctive, it was only natural for a connection to be drawn. And all the politics and interdepartmental struggles of the Furian military were a thing of the past. He didn't need to jump to red alert anytime her name was mentioned anymore.

The coach nodded slowly. "You have a lot on your mind, for a boy your age."

Radio snapped up. "Huh? No, I just zoned out," he offered as an excuse before marching over to the bleachers, bag in tow, and sitting down. "I was clearly told to be here, in this gym, which is clearly not an admissions office, for an admissions interview. I think I'm gonna try blindly following orders for a change."

"For a change?" Kalakalaki, crossed his arms and leaned back. "You trust somepony who gave you presumably bad intel more than your own government? You and Ribbon sure are different."

Radio looked over, sizing up the odd coach. "What do you know?"

"You familiar with Curraxan Green Teams?"

"Yeah, the special forces teams formed to combat new tactics employed by raiders after the dissolution of the original Norland Pirates. As operators from those groups spread out, becoming trainers for other organizations, or striking out on their own, the weapons and tactics used in raids became more advanced and effective almost overnight. Every planet had to come up with new ways to fight them. Curaxxa had the Green Teams, elite units trained in combat and infiltration, working out of mobile bases. They also created the straw technique for the breaching of space stations."

"Which is highly classified." He shrugged. "Then again, so are you and Ribbon. Project Junebug, phase two. Also known by the codenames Wondertwins, Rainbow Road, or Bright Bridge, by various interplanetary intelligence agencies. For a while, you two kept a lot of powerful people up at night. Furian military technology is on par with, or above, the rest of the galaxy, at least on a smaller, personnel level. Super soldiers, automatons, scramblers, and guerilla tactics, all rivaling even earth. A second generation of Super Soldiers was a terrifying thought, considering what your little planet did with just the one."

"Who are you? You should not know any of this."

"Says you." The coach shook his head. "Before I was Coach K, I was Colonel K, Curaxxan Defense Force. I worked closely with the intelligence agencies overseeing anti-raider operations on other Galactic Assembly planets, advising and receiving advice during the development of defenses against these Post-Norland Raiders."

"So, you were involved with the Green Teams?"

"I created them, kid. They were my personal project. Hell, I led the first team into battle at least a dozen times before an equipment failure lodged a piece of metal under my shoulder blade. Thirty years of operation, and I'm still the only mission casualty."

"And why are you telling me this?" Radio scoffed. "No. Never mind that. If any of that is true, why are you even here? Talking to me, in a gym, wearing ridiculous red shorts?"

"Hey!" He grabbed the hem of the shorts. "My wife made these! They're comfortable."

Radio raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

"They really are," the Curraxan mumbled as he crossed his arms again. "Anyway, after I retired, over a decade ago now, I was contacted by a member of an organization called the COC, the Civilian Oversight Committee. I had some dealings with them in the past, but minimal. The most I ever saw out of them was messages. Questions about proposals, or projected societal impacts of programs. I never expected them to offer me a job, much less to be forwarding that offer from Luna herself."

Radio chewed on his lower lip for a few seconds. "So... You're telling me that Luna, of Luna Academy fame, personally hired a retired special forces commander, using the most secretive known organization in the galaxy as the recruiter, so you could be... the gym coach?"

Coach K looked over. "It sounds stupid when you put it that way."

The colt's hoof rubbed his face. "I don't know how else to put it. The whole story sounds absurd."

"Well, I've got worse, if you want them. All you need to know is that I'm one of the few instructors that get the full briefing on students who might require special security. Your sister, as a political refugee, being one of them."

"Then, was I sent here to meet you?"

"Nah, I wasn't told about it. Though, it's not much of a stretch to say I'll be in charge of your security. No, I would be willing to bet you're here to meet Luna herself, after her scheduled visit to congratulate the wrestling team for their win against New Texas Orbital. First win against them in nearly a decade." The coach glanced at the door, then at his timepiece. "And, speaking of my team, they won't be here for a while. Help me set up the mats for practice, and I'll let you sit in. Sound like fun?"

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