Act III, Chapter 9: Arrival
Dimension [YET UNCATALOGUED]
Equis, Equis system [NOTICE: TEMPORARY DESIGNATION]; more precise location - 30th planetary parallel, geosynchronous orbit. 510 kilometers above sea level.
Capital Universal Time (CUT) - June 19th, 6193; 1831 hours
Local Operational Time - 1348 hours, day cycle 174/362
The day of force arrival.
Four days after initial 'talks'.
High above Equestria, even above its bright, azure skies and in the vast expanses of space above that, floated a construct which would eclipse entire cities. In high orbit, eleven point two kilometers of thick, state-of-the-art alloys remained, riddled with hydraulics and hundreds of protruding armaments; cannons, guns and turrets, missile bays and laser interceptors, compressed matter lauchers, particle projectors and incinerators, which all now gazed upon the globe below, as if scanning it with their lethal sight. Constantly, the barrels of every battery - if there were any - changed their angles, once and again, not letting anything slip out of their careful watch, all the while the spacious hangars inside the gigantic vessel teemed with life, as tens of technicians moved to support damaged cranes and other doubtly-functional systems as they prepared smaller ships to eventually carry diplomats onto the surface of this untamed world. Everything however, came in time, and even though its fast flow was certainly not the Coalition's ally recently, there were still matters to address before any representation would be dispatched to deal with the natives.
For now, the gigantic, symmetric vessel floated idly in space above this planet first discovered by humanity merely a week ago, and since designated as Equis. In some places on the ship's long hull, small lights shone, here red, there more orange, yellow even, as damages sustained in combat were still far from contained. And no wonder: the smooth, yet rugged hull of the battlecruiser was large enough to target from hundreds of kilometers, especially given the few early barrages, which successfully brought down any countering systems with which the vessel could cheat targeting. Truly though, any gunner with enough experience, or any AI at all, would be able to hit it without big difficulty, given the ship's two defunct engines - so, nearly half of its entire propulsion, and the vast majority of directional thrusters.
Still, from afar, the majestic battlecruiser looked almost akin to a zeppelin's balloon, minus the rudder, only with a multitude of shapes and machines protruding from the hull along its entire length, dotting it thoroughly, making the ship appear very rugged. Seen like that, there was very little sign of the apocalyptic battle the vessel had only just escaped, and the extensive damages it suffered - which, along with its position on the battlefield at the time, constituted the very reason for which it's been chosen as the one to lead this new, small contingent on a mission important like possibly none before - despite quite a misleadingly small assigned fleet.
As the battlescruiser gently turned, slowly revealing its starboard to bright starlight, the shadows on the yellow, retracted lining traversing the vessel's entire length in its very middle gave way, revealing two rows of letters right in the center, only slightly shifted towards the bow. Each dozens of meters high and each illuminated by a plethora of reflectors, now for the sake of efficiency turned off, the letters formed a very clear line.
'RSNS Imperio In Unum'
'РСНС Империо Ин Унум'
On a small pedestal at the very back end of a big room - although not quite as big as some of its equivalents elsewhere - stood a broad-shouldered figure, which carefully trimmed its long, multi-shaded beard with one of its hands.
That sight alone was enough to tell more than a thousand books - to an experiencer observer, that is. The man must've been a multi-veteran, a full century of service behind him at the very least, and likely one decorated as well; he must've been of a really high rank after all, and that could only mean one of two things: either a swift promotion through extraordinary deeds... or long history with command, which guaranteed medals for propaganda purposes.
Long story short, if a man on the bridge, and in a captain's hat to that, cares not about his beard and trimms it carefully into exquisite shapes, he must most certainly have served long - long enough for his achievements to outweight his ostentatiously out-of-line focus points in the eyes of The Core hypercomputer gigaplex.
And all these assumption? They were indeed true. Leon Angevin was a man ancient both in age and experience, an exotically rare example of an individual born before the War itself, and better even - remembering those times to his mind's best ability! Oh, how exciting that was for those under him, how mysterious - and how their efficiency decreased on that account.
Hence why the Secretary of State for Intelligence, in his Core-enhanced infinite wisdom, had wasted no time making a move - naturally, appropriate to the fullest in its entirety, if one wonders - and ensured no word of Leon's birthdate leaves the confines of his cabinet. Well, the actual birthdate, at least.
Who once tasted freedom however, does not forget its scent, and so it was that under Leon, the truth has often, somehow, found its way to his close associates, under circumstances - naturally - most mysterious.
Not a man to be fooled and tricked though, and not an idiot either, that circle of associates was kept under watch and as small as it could be.
Knowledge gave freedom, yes... but did it not decrease the crewmen's efficiency, indeed?
Indeed, decrease it it did, about that there was no doubt. After nights and days of ceaseless thinking, interrupted only by around-the-clock duty seven days a week, Leon found a compromise.
The higher one's rank, the more they know, and an officer still has an academic degree for certain. And so, officers under Leon would know what they shan't, and the others would not. Orders would get compromised, yes - an unthinkable heresy in this time of trial for 99% of the populace - but no matter.
A planet-sized hyperintelligent computer processing gigaplex, calculating entire realities in real time was one thing.
And Leon Angevin? Leon Angevin was another. A vile relic of times long forgotten, with memory reaching much further than would be desired, protected solely by a string of victories - to be somewhat more precise.
And one who just got - by chance - assigned to lead a task force to turn the tide of the war.
Huh. Now that - that was a surprise to be sure, although yes, the lack of a need for the Core's approval, or any analysis from it for that matter, likely helped a lot.
Thank the mission's sudden nature and the nigh-nonexistent probablity of it ever occuring for that.
Or don't thank. Depends on the point of view.
And the times you live in.
Now, in front of Leon, plastered upon a floor situated just twenty centimeters lower, were three rows of consoles and posts, each separated in the middle to make a nice, narrow corridor through which to traverse the bridge. Between the controls, crewmen moved, numerous yet not nearly as much as on the Republic's flagships. Ten of them on the bridge in total was already a lot.
Similarly, so it was now; ten technicians, broadly speaking, traversed the room in identical uniforms, with a mixture of unexpected calmness and utter pokerface overcoming every other expression.
In the corridor which separated the console rows right in the bridge's middle, although vastly closer to the front portholes, stood someone else, the twelfth person on the bridge, a woman clad in very plain, greatly outdated, grey uniform of a chief officer. Although no hat was required of her - a regulation which bore no value anyway given the chief's apparent complete disregard for any official dress code - she never forgot to take one with her and keep it seated on the top of her head no matter neither the cost nor situation. And with each battle and each campaign, every sailor of the Imperio swear that trademark hat was getting ever so older, ever so more outdated, ever so more ornate and over-the-top, and - as most crewmen would soon notice - the commonness of these assumptions allowed to conclude these were indeed more than just hallucinations.
But so it was, that under Leon Angevin - so, in practice, almost always under chief officer Sonia Prospero as well - 'rules' assumed a slightly differed definition, nearly as original as restrictive.
The only place when the carefully calculated nature of every move and every implication and every action and movement the Coalition would ever conduct, all guided solely by the desire to move just a tad closer to the possibility of eventual victory... here, all that existed not, or rather, existed in a very specific and original way. One by no means ignorant or disobedient, but at the same time, certainly vivid and lively - that is, by the words' meaning as of the 62nd century... of course. And in a way that, most of all, ensured no crewman would notice a difference.
Like that, so simply, one regime here gave way to another, both with the same goals and methods, but each in slightly different words written and with different colours decorated.
Keeping a watchful eye over the bridge, Leon let out a deep sigh, signaling that he was about to speak. "And, at long last, here we stand," he began. "Farnsworth! Tell engineering they can commence repairs. And for god's sake, power down those turrets."
The young technician gave Leon a surprised look. "Sir?" she asked, turning around with a raised eyebrow. "I-... Negative, Sir! Your orders go against protocol. Combat effectiveness cannot decrease below fifty percent of a vessel's total capabilities, as per the Republic of Sol Navy High Command directive, number two-five-nine, five-five-nine, paragraph 27 B, Sir!"
Mimicking the young crewman, who now stood frozen with a raised eyebrow over a control panel, Leon gently leaned against the helm tower, chucking in the process. "You are correct," he assured, before quickly raising a finger "But! But, but, but... do you know what the directive says?" the captain asked, wildly shaking his head around the place, his half-serious yet confident smile still firmly in place.
The technician - a young survivor-reassigned-for-the-Navy, who had only first joined Angevin's crew a few weeks prior to Operation: Fiery Remorse - opened her mouth, but it wasn't until almost ten second later that she, at last, managed to utter a word. "I-I... Sir, I... it's... Ugh, it's, it's, 'P-paragraph... paragraph 27 B-..."
"No, no," the captain promptly cut the girl off. "I did not mean that, although I do apologise for the confusion, of course. I meant the directive itself. The very beginning?" Leon pressed on, maintaining his confident and slightly mocking, and yet overwhelmingly friendly smile.
The technician hesitated a bit. "Sir... uh, 'Standard binding combat directives to be in place within Coalition Naval structures during all the Core's assignments'."
"I do congratulate you. Not everyone knows the rules in detail," lied Leon; there was no need to humiliate anyone, even if, for the first time in centuries, albeit just for the briefest of moments, there was little imminent danger. "It wasn't to the word, but that's not a problem. However... we're Core-free on this one. Turn the turrets offline, leave ten percent working. We don't need to risk telegraphing too much," the captain replied with one last, triumphant nod, and after getting a slightly hesitant affirmative reply, corrected the hat on his head. Even if this moment was indeed what in the vast millennia of the prebellum would be basically considered a shore leave, there was no need to waste more than a minute. Looking to the right, Leon's eyesight stopped at another technician, far older and more experienced. Sitting calmly by a console, he was the only person on the bridge to have remained in place ever since the vessel's arrival in the system.
"Lieutenant Machman, other ships' status?," Leon requested quickly and firmly, in a tone which contrasted sharply with his previous, half-serious demeanor.
The Lieutenant - with a few wrinkles here and there, but overall very well-preserved - merely glanced at the captain, before giving a soul-freezing reply, in a voice so deep and utterly neutral that it may have just as well been made out of concrete.
"Frigate, Brusilov-class, count of two. Both heavily damaged, but standing by. Damage control in progress. Heavy corvette, Sancho-class, count of two. Heavy corvette, Estuarius-class, count of two. All corvette callsigns standing by. Damage report unavailable. The SRS Adombek Saathurna Minkach standing by, authority transfer to human command in progress," recited the man almost in one breath, only stopping to indicate comas and avoid strange and unnecessary misunderstandings. There was no venom coming out with his voice, but no roses either. Right now, he appeared more akin to a seasoned poker player than anyone else.
Leon nodded his head, but before he could answer, another voice chimmed in to the discussion.
"Alright," Sonia said with another smile, weak and menacing, but hidden under her huge, antique hat's dark shade. "Acknowledged. I wouldn't have assumed otherwise."
"Me neither," chuckled Leon, while briefly nodding his acknowledgment to the glancing technician. It was, of course, going against any naval protocol the Republic had, however as it was perfectly in accordance with the captain's own, unofficial code of messages and meanings, no person minded in the slightest. "I do not assume our force will stay like that for long?" Angevin continued, less formally.
Upon hearing the question, Sonia immediately - albeit briefly - burst out with laughter, throwing her head back for show. "No. No, cetainly not."
Before she could say anything else, though, another technician, a young man in a slightly darker uniform, implying his higher rank, broke the ensuing silence. "Sir! All receivers just lost their signal. We have no communications with the Coalition, Sir!"
Leon sighed quietly. "Acknowledged. We suspected it might be like so, a shame that so soon. Once satellites are in-orbit, we'll try to reestablish. Deadline: two C.U.T. days. Then we brute force with quantum particles."
Despite his best efforts, the technician smirked briefly, slowly shaking his head. "Affirmative, Sir! Patching the communique through. Stand by, Sir!" Leon replied with a small nod, at which the technician took back to his new task, plunging the bridge once again into silence, broken only by the Chief Officer.
"So... your leash is broken?," she asked rhetorically, turning to face Leon. "Oh, now we will surely get company soon."
"Yes, well, I suppose they ought not to have sent a ship through in the midst of an attack. If we're not good enough, they could've wasted a few more days and a vessel of their choosing would be able to go through," Leon replied with a chuckle.
"And what, a collection of those caught nearby doesn't suffice?" Sonia answered with a question of her own, a smug smile on her face.
"Oh, it does," ensured the captain. "Those in command know Absolute Priority, as it seems. What a surprise!" he chuckled again. "Yes, but of course they wouldn't waste time. We're still alive because of this doctrine, and so nobody'll let go. Lucky us, in all honesty."
With a slow headshake, Sonia turned back to face the front portholes. "Okay, fair," she said. "Not that I doubted. What now?"
"Now," Leon replied surely, once again putting both his hands on the helm tower. "We return to the mission. All bridge personnel, I declare bridge readiness level raise, current level: three-maximum. Repeat, bridge readiness level raise, current level: three-maximum," the captain announced through the few speakers, pressing a small button on the tower, even though the entire room was but a few dozen square meters large, counting the side extentions. "We've had enough of a break. Time is measured tightly. And now... now, it is time to let life-saving diplomacy begin."
Princess Luna raced through the Canterlot Gardens, gallopping past the uncounted legions of Royal Guards, all frozen or mesmerized by the colorful display they had just witnessed upon the calm, azure skies. Normally, Luna would have undoubtedly at least rolled her eyes at the pathetic display of utter inexperience, but right now, there was no time; sneaking by pony after pony, Luna minded not neither the gawking faces nor pegasi crowds up above, which successfully prevented her from taking to the skies; no, now, the only thing the Princess had in mind was reaching Celestia.
And so, passing pony after pony, exquisitelly trimmed bush after another, Luna made her way to the Castle. Her legs danced like a playing foal between all the obstacles she had to pass, and more than once did the Princess lose her balance among the chaotic crowds gathered in the gardens; and yet, Luna minded not. Right now, the Princess was in a trance -- albeit no problem did her mind have with receiving stimuli, and as such responding to it accurately and beneficially as it could, never would her thoughts and emotions leave the one simple, clearly defined goal:
Reaching her indeed very royal Sister.
And so, time passed. Seconds really, but for Luna, the twists and turns in the Canterlot Gardens, even just the few she had to take, seemed like an eternal struggle stretched over decades. One hoof in front of the others. One, then the others.
One, one at a time.
Around the Princess, the landscape was no more as chaotic as it was... unusual. As Royal Guardsponies usually stood, they stood now as well, only frozen in place as if just mere sculptures in the nearby Royal Park, gnawing at the eternal glories of the empty, azure skies with their mesmerised, mindless gaze.
And then, at the very soul of the Princess, a dim candle was lit. As if wind-blown, its flame then guttered, again and again until a dim impulse ventured to her mind.
Just in that moment, the trance was broken, no more of it remaining as it shattered to pieces and vanished like a glass dropped from a rooftop, and the Princess, this time in an instant, fully snapped back to a single realisation. With a brief, instinctively still worried-sounding whisper-like sigh, Luna stopped dead in her tracks.
In just a second, her horn was lit.
A brief flash of light engulfed the indigo alicorn, as well as the spaces around, causing the nearby Guards to stutter briefly as their dead gazes were brought back into the realm of the living, if confused, creatures.
And so, in a split second, no trace of Luna remained lingering in the Gardens.
Now comfortably inside the Castle itself, Princess Luna instinctively slowed down her trot. Even here, signs of the omnipresent confusion likely bordering on panic were able to be seen; at all times almost could somepony be heard, shouting here, or there, to an also unseen recipient. Hoofsteps, slides, bounces, all the sounds of a hassle in one emanated throughout the Castle's spacious hallways, even if rarely more than one at a time - the majority of guards had to already be outside, while the few remaining probably struggled to organise themselves into a force able to contain the citizens -- bound to panic, as per the very Equestrian tradition, naturally.
Once inside, muscle memory took over Luna's hooves as she swiftly trotted towards the probable location of her goal. Even now though, thoughts occupied the Princess; many thoughts, in fact.
What will happen now? How will the ponies fare? What are the risks, what are he opportunities?
Staggeringly, Luna found herself realising that the first contact with humanity itself was not nearly as intimidating as what was to come now; a complete and two-sided interaction.
A true time of a turn in history. Of all of Equis.
Luna's thoughts sparked others, and others, and others, and before one could know, she was once again in a trance, her hooves firmly stepping on the floor while her mind flew away, far very, to lands beyond the Frontier and to highest clouds there were, and to the void beyond all the wonders and ateocities of the world. Simply put: Luna's mind was not there.
And as such she trotted, snout pointed slightly at the ground, as her thoughts kept spiralling, faster and faster until they reached near panic, goving Luna slight goosebumps.
In that second, Luna stopped her trop.
No, she thought to herself, taking a few breaths. We shan't allow ourselves to wind up like so. We shall maintain control of our psychique. Our subjects need us to. Our sister does... we do. And we... I... can do it... I know so.
After a few more breaths, Luna warily resumed her trot, gradually going faster and faster until her speed matched a gallop, this time focusing her attention on her way.
Turns passed by one after another, as the enormous labirynths of royal corridors unfolded before Luna. Intimidation though was at the very back of her mind, if anywhere at all -- she knew these spaces well and could see the layout as in her mind almost as if she was gazing upon the tip of her own snout.
And yet, not once and not twice, Luna felt doubts. Turn here, or there maybe, left or right both equally gazing on the Princess as if two entrances into some unspeakable void, covered in mist and mistery, luring her inside as if deceitfully. Was it fear, causing these disturbances in memory? Or a desperate gamble to grab onto something, anything, that could maybe delay facing the inevitable?
Luna shook her head. She couldn't allow her thoughts and feelings to wander off by themselves now, like they often would. No, now, now was the time of utmost focus, important beyond description.
Turn after turn, corner after corner. Another, and another.... Luna was getting closer and closer to the Throne Room.
Bu-boom!
The sound of hurried hoofsteps resonated through the corridors as the ornate doors on the far end of Luna's current space hurriedly swung open, revealing a majestic, yet slightly disheveled misty rainbow mane and a marble-white pony it belonged to. Without looking back, Princess Celestia rushed ahead, from the distance already locking gazes with her sister, not even caring to keep her experienced snout closed at all times.
"Sister! Have you-," Celestia started invetween slight panting, before getting abruptly ut off by Luna.
"Yes, my sister," the Princess answered stoically with a small nod, after having had some time to collect herself more or less fully.
"They have arrived."
Sazana.
A planet of heat, scorched earth, the sun blazing onto seas of yellowish grains covering the urban planet.
A world of wonders, of oceans of bungalows, of unending fortresses, but also of history and modernity alike... but on this day -- on this day, Sazana was once again a world of blood and glory.
All around the orbit, steel rumbled as incoming projectiles zoomed past its edges, leaving in their wake a trail of smoke and hungry acid bent on consuming all in its path, forcing fragments of steel to part ways with their kin still attached to a given ship.
One after another, ships fell, and in some sectors so difficult was maneuvering between fields of debris that not once and not twice the makeshift shields were used as repair shelters for those brothers and sisters of the fallen crewman who could still draw breath.
And as so, the world rumbled. Glory burned bright around Sazana that day, as drops of blood uncounted were spilled with every fiery moment.
With a shriek that echoes even through the darkness of space, the Coalition Fleet unleashed its might, and a salvo, unseen yet from Earth to Hezel, slipped past mangled steel and fiery agonizing corpses to create a cascade of inferno upon the Swarm vessels, ripping sheets of flesh from the organic parts of their crafts, going as far as to thrust entire creature-like presences into the void of space for them to spasm uncontrollably in the void.
And as the echoes quietened, the Coalition marched, taking wreck after wreck, sector after sector, uncaring of the losses it suffered in exchange, pressing the assault to their very last breath -- as The Core had instructed.
And so, a clear path to the surface was, at last, opened.
And the planet's surface rumbled. And the skies were torn asunder.
Smoke black as night gently lifted towards the room's exceptionally tall ceiling, quickly reaching an altitude from which the hand holding the freshly lit cigar looked almost akin to but a breadcrumb. By it, a human silhouette slowly moved, straightening its back and lifting from the metallic side wall with a brief, loud crack. A low sigh emanated throughout the empty cabin, as the man gently started moving in parallel to the wall which had just been supporting his weight. About midway on his track, the so far dim silhouette moved into a space illuminated oh so well by a large, central LED.
It was a man of a medium age, with few wrinkles covering his face and with hair looking as if escaped from a massive flamethrower -- if that was not their origin story in actuality. His right arm bent slightly, reaching into a deep pocket of his long, rustic, animal coat, pulling out a fresh cigarette.
The man stamped a few times with his big feet, sending echoes throut the small space, as he glimpsed at the single door -- the only discernible feature of he room -- over his big shoulder, evidently impatient, awaiting something. Without much fuss, another sigh escaped him, as he promptly let his current cigar go, stomping it out with a slight, low hiss.
There wasn't much around the man, save for the four walls reflecting any glimmer of light back, making the space as well lit as its single light would allow. Across from the single door, a large panel stood, etched to the wall as if but a part of it, made of steel the likeness of its surroundings. Besides a low hum, nothing could be heard throughout the cabin.
Just as the man reached to bring up a third cigar, his eyebrows shifting slightly in irritation, the metallic door slid open, and a young woman slipped inside as if carried by the morning winds, lightly placing every step until she met with the opposite wall. The entrance closed gently.
The girl released a small sigh, leaving her arms to flail downwards, before energetically looking up at her older compatriot.
Only then was the man truly able to first see his companion's face. She looked young, albeit not like a child. Her red hair matched her puffy, orange jumpsuit well, and a few spots of acne right under her eyes helped give the woman an innocent look.
"Um, hello?" A high voice brought the man out of his brief judging endeavor. "Hi! Mister Moreson, I presume? Jess Kovertsson, excited to be working with you on the new species! Oh! Rather, with the new species, ha ha. Oh well, we'll have some R&R regardless, eh?" The girl chuckled, widely gesticulating theoughout her whole speech, before suddenly, her movements came to a halt. "Wait... are we the only two sent down there, or...?"
Moreson grunted deeply, briefly closing his eyes. He already knew what type of person he was going to be wprking with; loud, talkative, cheerful, having surviced into her age by luck, rather than individual effort. Yes, that... that did not bode well, especially on such an important mission. Not here, not now! Not one more problem in a contingent already hastily assembled and coordinating poorly, as it was. It would be a new challenge to work againt...
But Absolute Priority dictated clearly.
Moreson sighed, stopping himself from bringing a hand up to his chin, before shaking his head just a small, barely visible bit. Taking a new breath, he replied.
"Yes, miss.... Kovertsson. Yes indeed."
"...oh" Jess staggered briefly, momentarily losing all her energy. "Does that... does it mean..."
"Yes, miss Kovertsson," Moreson's voice unintentionally boomed, accompanied by a quiet sigh. "It means there is noone else to be sent. No support staff, no other diplomats -- just *us*. And if that doesn't--"
Moreson stopped himself for a moment, and clenched his eyes shut.
Absolute Priority, moron!
Yes, however much he would not like it at times, Ansolute Priority dictated everything, and deep inside, the man knew it simply had to. Alas, if it didn't, the effort, the whole war would already be lost from the beginning.
And right now... right now, it meant one clear thing, one of the two wprds pushed by the Republic oh so very obtrusively.
"Absolute Dedication. Absolute Unity"
"Absolute Unity"
There was no point, no, no right to fight now. They had to stand united, side by side, in their conversations, their whole mission, to this 'Equis'. They simply had to, no matter what.
Another sigh escaped Moreson's lips.
"It... it means our mission may be a tinge bit harder, however not impossible for sure, I can say," the man forced his scarred lips to form a small, forced smile.
"O... kay, yes, um... I apologise for any offense, mister..." Jess replied, doing the best adorable expression she could muster. Her big eyes drilled into Moreson's soul. The man maintained his fake smile, replying with a simple shake of his head.
"Oh, alrighty, then!" Jess exclaimed. "Well, true... this is a teen bit worrying, but... I'm sure we can find a way!" The girl leaned against the rooms wall with a wide, optimistic smile, which however did betray at least small signs of faking.
Moreson sighed inwardly. "I'm glad, miss Kovertsson. However... if I may inquire, what was the course that have you diplomatic papers?" He asked, having wondered about that very thing at the back of his head for a while now.
"Oh, the "War Course", in Solaris Station Dockyard District!" she said, rubbing the back of her head with one arm. Moreson stumbled back a step.
That was... unexpected. Solaris Station... it was the dream of all who got immensely lucky enough to be able to study anything nowadays. A dream he himself was not able to fulfill... a course better tenfold than his own, on Moreson's Regulatory-type birthworld.
The man took his time, shaking off the loads of dust from his coat.
"Welcome aboard, Jess," he said gladly, extending his right hand to the girl.
The gunships' roaring engines drowned out the whistling sounds of passing air, as the vast convoy of bulky ships made its way through the stratosphere. Their triangular wings eclipsed the bright sun time and time again, helping the quadruple engines carry the weight of the vast machine and all those aboard.
Something creaked in the cargo compartment. The technicians and support staff withheld their breath. Moreson however, as well as miss Kovertsson both knew well not to worry; the damages sustained over Sazana had long been repaired, and sounds of a bending construction have always been a common occurance syring deployment; something all of the crew already knew, albeit not all of it could muster enough willpower to overcome the emotional worry.
This was to be a very pivotal mission, after all.
Knowing the flight will take a good few more minutes, Moreson turned to his companion, clinging on to his seat's restraints.
"So, miss Kovertsson," he said, instinctively biting a nonexistent cigar with his mouth. "Say please, however much have you gotten to know about our... talk partners to be?" he asked with a small grin.
"Oh, much indeed!" replied Jess, beeming with excitement. Only her slightly fidgeting leg betrayed the woman's nerves. "Equines, compatible with psionics. Culture similar to Earth's, sister-class in fact. Psychological profiles uploaded to and upheld by our dear mechanical advisors," she spouted in one breath, casting a big smile afterwards. Moreson laughed briefly and shook his head slightly.
"Yes, indeed," he replied. "Just... the most important thing there is, miss Kovertsson, it is to stick to the plan. We know what our objectives do happen to be, and so them we shall pursue. Just stick to the plan, miss Kovertsson. Just stick to the plan..." Moreson trailed off, letting out clouds of nonexistent smoke from his nonexistent cigar.
"Watch yourself, fellows, for here they will come!"
Sounds of echoing hoofsteps on the main streets of Canterlot drowned out Bright Flower's voice, as crowds upon crowds of ponies passed by him, ready to go about their daily chores.
Beside Bright Flower, and beside the few wooden crates in the middle of the street that were to comprise his companion's podium as well, Could Haze kept murmuring to himself, quietly cursing his situation and the entire Lair of Knowledge. With a grim look on his snout, he once again tried to hand somepony a pre-printed flier, only for it to fall flat on the pavement as a blue unicorn mare turned it down in an instant. Cursing quietly, Cloud Haze sighed, picking up the lost flier... come to think of it, the number of times this one piece of paper had already hit the pavement might've played a part in why it kept being so readily rejected. Cloud Haze however was too tired to think.
Pouting slightly, and with barely anything more to do, the stallion brought the piece of paper closer to his eyes, curious to once again take a closer look at what he had been handing out for close to an hour now.
"Join the Keppers of Knowledge's Lair!"
"The aliens are here! And walk among us as we speak!"
"Within moons, or years maybe, the extraterrestrials shall show up, shall..."
That was enough for Cloud Haze. Truth be told, he knew not why he decided to read the... the utter weirdness once more. It sometimes hurt to look at, and yet right here, right now, he was doing it.
Releasing possibly the biggest sigh yet, the stallion, looked down and shook his head.
He knew what he saw in the Everfree, but this? All these claims were utter paranoia, absurd...!
Then again, would other ponies not think so about his own recount? More than likely, as had already had an opportunity to, to his deepest regret, realise... And these ones here have given him food and shelter in the Lair when he had nowhere else to go...
Noticing Cloud Haze's sigh, Bright Flower looked down on him from his makeshift podium, tapping the gray stallion's back a few times with his front hoof. Cloud Haze turned around sloggily.
"Why the long face, friend? They will listen, I just know it! One day, soon!" he winked and smiled widely, before turning back to the crowd on the busy street. "Right, ponies!?" he exclaimed loudly.
"Stop brainwashing us, loser, there are foals around here!" somepony cried out, while the sea of heads simply kept trotting back and forth. Bright Flower laughed nervously.
"Heh, well... one day, friend!" he froze, keeping his awkward smile in place - in that very moment, perhaps more to reassure himself than Cloud Haze.
That however, was not to last. As suddenly as a cannon shot, a deep whizzle filled the air, as if drilling deep into the hearts and minds themselves, reaching the very consciousness and for that very moment, ripping off shreds of sanity. Then, when all the crowds have stood frozen, as suddenly as it arrived, it was gone.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Swirling sky.
In a cannonade of colours and shapes and sizes and fates themselves, the sky was torn asunder. Not a minute passed as a deep cry filled the streets, coming from a thousand theoats and then some; even then, though, the ponies refused to move, as if mesmerised by the sudden display above their heads.
And the sky was torn asunder. And black shapes exited the vortex.
And the vortex close. And the black shapes remained before merging gracefully with the sky.
Silence in the streets.
Murmurs.
What was that? It was... what...? Nopony understands not...
In that moment, that very moment, the streets of Canterlot were quiet, akin to fields in an Autumn day. Nopony moved, but stared at the sky with a mix of fear and confusion glistening from their eyes. Nopony spoke, but remained silent in their gaze, even the eyepiercing shrieks having all but died down.
Everypony only had one thing in mind... the starry display from above. The heavenly dance they had just witnessed. The daytime midnight canvas of the Frozen North now here in Canterlot.
Slowly, without any fuss, a pony started to trot, around and around, slightly quicker in time, turning to face the makeshifft podium. Following him woth their gaze, several others followed suit, and others, and others too, but few now remaining still with their gaze frozen locked with the sky. No, now -- with their mouths just as agape, all but a few focused silently focused on the podium of the Lair. On Cloud Haze, Bright Flower and their stacks of fliers.
Looking around, Bright Flower grunted bervously.
That was enough. As if an avalanche on snowy slopes, the mass of ponies came to towards them with a mix of sounds only rivalled in strength by Luna's Royal Voice.
"What was that?"
"How did you know!?"
"We are pomies, and those?"
"What happened, why are they here!? Why, WHY!?"
"Oh mighty Celestia... you were right! Right, all along!!!"
Omitting the mass of pony limbs now extended to him, and balancing swiftly on the rocked wooden box, Bright Flower only released a brief, triumphant laughter. Turning to the struggling Cloud Haze, he exclaimed just loud enough for the latter to hear.
"See, pal? We have them!" releasing a friendly laugh, he continued. "And now... everypony finally knows the Truth...!"
Gasping quietly, and focused on not getting caught in the stampede heading only and surely so his way, Cloud Haze couldn't help but feel shivers traverse down his spine.
Was that... really so?
How many? How many came, what will now be, by Celestia, what will occur, what... what happened? Were they really right? Who knows! Nopony...
But... some do know. Do think they know.
With a swift gaze, Cloud Haze registered everything, finally, in full.
All these masses, all these crowds, all the avalanche of ponies uncounted... all that, all of it, dedicated, now, to them. To the Lair... Feeling, knowing, that they'd been right.
Despite everything, the stallion couldn't help but feel approaching goosebumps.
But also... also, a weird, maybe maniacal, sense of something.
And then it clicked.
It was a sense of accomplishement.
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I remember now, welcome back
10571164
Welcome back too... I don't think it's a return to regular updates yet, sadly... but I will work towards that, I'll try to.