Chapter 1
Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
13:35 GMT
Earthgov Council Facility
Harrisburg Pennsylvania
Thunder shook the domed room; a fitting metaphor for the swelling emotional shellshock sweeping the seated officials.
The Earthgov Council was comprised of two hundred and twenty four seats arranged inside a half circle's worth of stadium seating. The center of the Chamber was open, the marble floor engraved with the Earthgov symbol; three globes that showed the entire world when taken in tandem. In the midst of the emblem stood a large podium that could be rotated on a hidden bearing to face either the council, or the civilian and press seating that occupied the other side of the dome.
The roof itself came down almost to the floor, tinted panes of glass supported by a geodesic patterned set of durasteel buttresses. Lighting ringed the buttresses at several points, but it was subtle. This, combined with the tinted glass and the perpetually ashen sky gave the room a serious, toned down, almost foreboding aspect.
It was impossible to enter the chamber without having the seriousness of the business taking place in it pressed down on one's mind; a fitting and helpful reminder of the weighty responsibilities of leadership, just as the architects had intended.
On that particular foreboding afternoon, there was an equally large storm brewing within the chamber's dome as without.
Via projection over part of the interior of the glass surface, the Council was communing with the scientists of the Quantum Situational Awareness Facility, in formal proceeding.
The facility Director's face filled the illusory screen space, his voice echoing about the dome, amplified by its trip through the chamber's hidden speakers, "As some of you know; at precisely thirteen twenty three, Greenwich time, today, this facility detected a Quantum State Anomaly classed at category Six-Alpha."
The man shifted with discomfort, but otherwise maintained remarkable decorum,
"As per protocol; I am required to explain that anomalies are classed in seven categories, with tags Alpha and Beta. A Beta tagged anomaly has no potential to grow beyond its established bounds, and is likely to collapse. An Alpha tagged anomaly shows definitive signs of growth and presents a clear danger of increasing in scale."
The Chairperson for the day's Council session, Heinrich Amsel, raised an eyebrow and gestured expansively, "Are you implying we are in some sort of danger at this time?"
The Director shook his head, "I'm not implying. I'm warning. We have never seen an anomaly above a class One-Beta. Never. This anomaly is, as nearly as we can tell, some sort of point-projected energy spike; but given what we're seeing here it has the potential to tear into a class Seven rift, and from there an even more devastating event of indefinable barriers and proportions."
The Director leaned in towards his own screen, "We are looking at the potential for a disaster that defies scale. This directorate recommends *immediate* evacuation."
Councilors rarely spoke out of turn, but no one faulted a fifty year old Australian Councilor of ten years when he stood and threw up his arms, "You can't seriously be suggesting we evacuate the *entire* Azores?"
The Director shook his head once more, his voice tinged with fear, "Once again, esteemed Councilors, I am not implying, suggesting, or anything so tepid...
I am warning you flat out; get those people out of there, or they will die. *Best* case scenario, those islands are shortly going to be so highly irradiated that even the hardiest bacteria won't survive. Worst case?
We will see seismic and meteorological fallout as far away as Paris... and New York."
As a low murmur of fear circled the room like wildfire, Councilor Amsel stared aghast, "How much time do we have?"
"Days. At most."
An Asian Councilor, a woman of thirty eight years, raised her hand.
Amsel nodded, "Councilor Miyagi?"
The woman stood and projected her voice as loudly as she was able, "I move that we send in the nearest expert for independent verification. If," she inclined her head at the screen, "as you suggest, we need to undertake such an immense disaster response; then we would be advised to know for sure that it is the only available course."
There were nods of agreement all around, Amsel spun the podium to face the council, “Let the record show that the motion has been put forth, as stated. At this time, the Council will hear any reasonable objections from seated members.”
No one spoke. Amsel nodded, “The council will now vote on this motion. Please enter your vote now.”
Amsel entered a vote himself at the Podium, since not doing so would potentially unfairly harm his party's interests.
The vote passed quickly, with each councilor tapping a simple 'yes/no' key on a holopad in front of their seat. Amsel watched as the Chamber's built-in AI compiled the results, then spoke.
“The Council has voted. With a majority of two hundred and twenty two to one and one abstainer, to approve Councilor Miyagi's motion. We are all in accord.”
The council echoed his words in tandem, “We are all in accord.”
Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
13:50 GMT
Earthgov Council Facility
Harrisburg Pennsylvania
The rain hammered the new domes and spires of the Earthgov North American Council Complex without regard for the unprotected politicians, and their bodyguards, who were milling about the pathways and false-grass of the newly minted facility, desperately trying to reach their destinations without becoming soaked.
Out of all the various entourages, Councilor Innara Sulerahmen, and her two protection agents, were perhaps the only dry, calm, and unhurried specimens of political and military preparedness on display.
The fact that the three suited individuals were unperturbed by the downpour was a testament to Sulerahmen's twin philosophies of 'Be Prepared,' and 'Practice your beliefs in all things.'
She always insisted on packing umbrellas, rain or shine, regardless of the forecast.
Her bodyguards, Special Agents Samantha Calton, and Ralph Konem, had not only learned to adapt to Innara's idiosyncrasies; they had come to enjoy, and even learn from them.
As the three moved into a long, low, sweeping silver structure; Innara in her usual understated deep crimson suit, Konem and Calton in black, the latter folded away the group's umbrellas,
"You know, its funny, I bet half of those other fogies packed these things yesterday, and it didn't rain a drop."
Konem grinned, "Do you think they noticed we stayed dry?"
Councilor Innara made a low, disproving clicking noise, "Tsk Tsk Konem. Have I taught you nothing this past year? You're asking the wrong question..."
A mischievous glint entered the woman's eyes, tinging her lilting Persian accent with its frolicing merriment, "You should be asking how much they would pay for the use of our spare."
Calton chuckled, "And with respect ma'am? This is why you make the laws, and we carry the guns..."
Sulerahmen raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"
"Yep. Because the question I ask is..."
Konem finished the sentance with her, it was a well rehearsed refrain, "How many different ways can you hide a weapon in it?"
Councilor Innara shook her head, "Do you ever *stop* asking yourself that question?"
Calton cocked her head as if in consideration, then grinned, "Nope. Sometimes I even dream about it."
Konem snorted, "Cal, you are waaaay too tense off duty."
The blonde haired Agent in charge responded with a shrug, and a toss of her locks, "See there's your mistake Ralph; you assume there's ever a *time* when I'm off duty."
Innara nodded, "And that *is* why you carry the gun. It takes not merely quick thinking, but constant foresight, to succeed in your job. Much like mine."
Konem shrugged, "So heck, what do you need us for?"
"I need someone to carry my effects," Sulerahmen spoke the words with absolute deadpan.
Konem stopped walking, trying to reason out if his employer was being sarcastic, or serious.
Cal clapped him on the shoulder as she passed, "Don't think about it too hard Ralph. Your head might explode."
The two agents, Konem lagging to the rear as he tried to reassure himself of Innara's sarcasm, followed the Councilor to their destination; a private set of chambers set aside for her use.
The Earthgov Council maintained facilities in Harrisburg, Warsaw, and Singapore, rotating between them for three months each out of the year.
These facilities were equipped to support the Council, and their staff, completely and utterly, for the tenure of their stay, whether it was part of the three month rotation, or a smaller group visiting a facility on business outside its cyclic period.
That meant each campus sported places to eat, kitchens, stock rooms, suites and offices for the Councilors, smaller but no less comfortable suites for bodyguards, secretaries, and other associated high level staff, armories, for the protection details, a tailor, a communications hub for broadcasting and receiving... the list when on and on.
The Earthgov Council facilities were micro-cities, akin to large universities; there was no other way to define them.
Both Konem and Cal loved being in Councilor Innara's chambers; each Councilor's chambers were their own, and thus remained laid out and decorated according to their specifications for their twenty five year term. Councilor Innara Sulerahmen's suite and office could only be described as a perfect fusion of ancient Persian luxury, and modern sleek sensibilities.
To even be inside the space was an exercise in relaxation, with its tastefully chosen color palette, tasteful and engaging decor, and perfectly toned lighting. Naturally, that meant that it was one of the most tense places on Earth for Cal, given that whenever she was most tempted to relax, she was most careful to remain on guard.
Nonetheless, she appreciated the reservation of Innara's stylistic touch, which contrasted with the gaudy over-luxuriance of most other Councilors' offices.
Sulerahmen took her customary seat behind the expansive desk that dominated one side of the room, Cal and Konem stood to either side of the door.
Conversation between them was not at all uncommon; Innara liked to hear what those around her had to say; she said it helped her find new and unexpected solutions to problems.
Cal believed it.
Councilor Sulerahmen was somewhere between 'famous' and 'notorious,' for her ability to bring any party to the negotiating table, and force a compromise. The woman had a timeless agelessness, a demeanor that could snap from kind to severe at a second's notice, and a mind so tactical Cal had privately told Konem she thought Innara might have once had a job in deep cover ECI.
Sulerahmen certainly had the stamina, poker face, and sharp mind necessary to be a former Earthgov Central Intelligence Operative; and her counterterrorism knowledge was extensive, as Cal and Konem had discovered in at least two prior conversations.
Cal did what she always did; she dismissed the line of thought for lack of further evidence, or relevance, and turned her attention back to more current events.
The two Protective Agents stood silently for a few minutes, until Councilor Innara settled into her working routine, and dealt with initial pressing issues. Cal and Konem had learned through trial and error that the Councilor preferred it if they waited until she was 'warmed up' to the challenge of multitasking, before engaging her in conversation.
After several minutes, punctuated only with the soft clicking of the Councilor's fingers against her terminal keyboard, Konem spoke, "Do you really think its as bad as they're implying? Evacuating an island chain is a crazy idea.... It has to be hyperbole."
Cal shrugged, "The eggheads are always cashing in on panic to get those all important earmarks..."
Innara shook her head, continuing to type, her eyes fixated on the screen, "While your skepticism is wise, in this case it is unwarranted. We will have independent verification soon, *then* and only then, equipped with the truth..."
Councilor Sulerahmen concluded her typing, and glanced up, "...we will be fully prepared to act, or standby, in confidence."
Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
14:12 GMT
Earthgov Quantum Situational Awareness Facility
Belarusian Grey Forests
The VTOL sumitted the ridge at high speed, and plunged into the valley below, winging its way down to the landing pad at breakneck pace. The wind and fog lashed against the canopy glass, but the pilot didn't seem to mind. His instruments showed him a tomographic reconstruction of the terrain, complete with the landing beacons dotting the lit concrete circle that demarcated the end of the journey.
The craft's engines were so overpowered, that they could plow through the crosswind as if it were no more than a stiff breeze.
"Foxbat two-nine; you are cleared down for landing pad A from vector southeast. Be advised, crosswind from the north at 15 kph."
The lone passenger could hear the pilot's voice through the open cabin door, "Roger, vectoring to the initial."
The passenger was ostensibly a government employed Quantum Physicist, but his appreciable salary allowed him extensive hobbies; among them a love of history. He cast a sidelong glance out the window at the seemingly endless stretch of dead trees, marching off into the foggy distance. It perturbed him that few people in the modern age studied the pre-Winnowing history of the planet.
The forests below had been home to war, tragedy, murder, and even a radioactive disaster that kept parts of it off-limits. Those areas would likely remain that way for at least the next twenty millennia.
In the scramble to survive, rebuild, and once more thrive, Humanity had all but forgotten relatively recent mistakes that would impact the planet for measures of time that were so long, they were utterly alien to the psyche.
The Passenger's grim reflections were abruptly brought to an end by the VTOL's jarring arrival on the landing pad. The instant the turbines had slowed to a safe speed, there was a rap on the vehicle's side door.
The Passenger sighed and popped the hatch.
The time for recriminations was over; there were plenty of disasters in the moment.
Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
14:15 GMT
Midtown Arch Apartments
Paris France
"Come on... Come *on*..."
The nanoparticles, visible only via the screen of the electron microscope, edged closer to the cells in agonizing slow motion. As the man who had programmed the microscopic quantum machines watched, breathless and fascinated, they gradually attached themselves to the cells.... and everything began to change.
Slowly, but surely, the cells in the tiny petri dish began to morph under the impetus of the nanoparticles. Once malignant forms of adaptive cancer, the cells abandoned their previous shape, transforming before the man's watchful eyes into healthy, normal, Human skin cells.
"Yeeeessssss!" The man breathed, and sat back with a smile, but on the screen of the microscope, the cells began to decay, turning an ashen shade and disintegrating.
Lawrence Cavendish Thornton didn't care. The experiment was another positive step in his latest obsession; cellular transformation with quantum nanoparticles. His previous obsession had been ocular LADAR implants, but he had reached the limits of allowed legal technology, even under the auspices of his benefactor; who's interpretation of the law was loose at best.
Humanity had long possessed the ability to improve itself with cybernetic and bionetic implantation; but initial unbridled experimentation with the technology, post-Winnowing, had led to horrifying results. The backlash to implants had become so strong, that even their medical usage, including life saving applications, was strongly bridled; to the point that some of Thornton's latest ocular implant designs had stepped over legal bounds, though his benefactors assured him that military veterans could likely get special dispensations.
Thornton was ambivalent; the research was both the means, and the end, to him; the destination and the journey all at once. Advancing the frontiers of science was the thrill, the joy, the rush... Little, if anything, else was important to Thornton.
He had never been one for family; his parents had kicked him out of the nest early. They had very little money, so by extension Thornton didn't have the cash to educate himself; until a fateful accident had rocketed him to the top.
The test was supposed to be a basic business mathematics test, Thornton had been applying for a mid level administrative job in a banking firm. By some fluke, the administered test had turned out to be a Quantum Science Aptitude test.
Thornton had debated notifying the proctor, but after the first question, as with any puzzle, he was hooked. He had no clue that his scores were not merely high, but so astronomical that they had tripped a notification flag on a government AI designed to trawl test scores from participating agencies and schools, for prospective prodigys.
He only found out that he had broken a decade old record when two recruitment agents from the Biotechnological Combined Party had shown up at his apartment, and offered him the deal of a lifetime; unlimited funds, equipment, and leeway. In exchange, the government would own everything he created. Total carte Blanche.
The arrangement had been presented quite honestly and thoroughly, and Lawrence Cavendish Thornton had been all too happy to agree. The usage, profit, and even glory his work could potentially net him held absolutely no appeal. The creation process was everything. What happened after was the Government's problem. Or payday. Thornton had no preference.
When his last project had reached fruition, he had done what he always did; find something bigger. Augmentation might be tightly controlled, but outright biological cellular manipulation was a more or less open playing field. Thornton knew his advancements in the field might have a myriad of medical applications, or military applications, or even transhumanist applications.
In the end, however, all he wanted was to figure out how to get to that stage.
He wanted the rush of having an idea; the nascent core of creativity, that no one else had discovered yet. That perhaps no one else *would* discover, were it not for him.
Thornton leaned back in his chair, and allowed himself a glance at his wall-mounted video screen. The news was on, the volume turned just high enough to provide comforting background hum. Something in the ticker caught his attention, and he directed a command at his apartment's VI, "Volume up."
"...while at this time, we have very little substantial information, we can confirm that the Earthgov Council is in its second closed emergency session of the day. Rumors are swirling about a potential global crisis that may be in its initial stages, and a source within the Harrisburg complex, on condition of anonymity, has indicated that the event may be associated with the Quantum Situational Awareness Facility; an institution that has, as of yet, had no cause to raise a warning since its inception. We've spoken to several scientific consultants who have informed us that..."
The broadcast was sharply interrupted by the dulcet tone of Thornton's vidcom.
He glanced up at the ceiling, a habitual tic of his when addressing a machine, "Answer call."
The news broadcast faded away, replaced by the bearded features of one of Thornton's few 'friends' in the scientific community, "Lawrence! Have you been watching the news?"
Thornton nodded, "I just glanced at it, what's the story with the rumors? Some sort of Quantum Event?"
The man on the screen nodded, "Its not public yet, but that's what I hear. Rumor says level Six. Alpha."
Thornton sat up straight, "You can't be serious?!"
"Serious as ever. Something major just went down and..."
Once again, the ring of an incoming call interrupted the image and sound on the screen.
Thornton held up a hand, "Just... hold on Mike. Answer Call."
The next visage to appear on the screen was severe, suited, and creased with worry lines. Thornton had spoken with the man several times; he was his main liaison to the Biotech party,
"Mr. Thornton... We need you to drop what you're doing. There's been an... Event. A black Northrop/Boeing Skyrunner, tail number N9477018, will be waiting at Charles De Gaulle.
Be there. Yesterday. Pack what you need for a week, minimum."
Thornton raised an eyebrow, "Where am I going?"
"Think of it as an island vacation."
Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
14:37 GMT
Earthgov Council Facility
Harrisburg Pennsylvania
When The Council reconvened, the projection screen was inactive. The information from the independant consultant had already arrived; delivered by encrypted transmission to each councilor's private communications node.
Councilor Innara was not quick to impulsive action, but by contrast when she was fully prepared to commit to a course there was no force of man or nature that could shake her resolve.
She took her seat fully committed to the evacuation of the Azores.
She was not an expert in the sciences, but the data had been clarified and explained well enough for her sharp mind. The choice was clear; evacuate, or allow three hundred thousand people to die of radiation poisoning... or possibly something much worse.
Since it was technically a new session of the Council, a new Chairperson had been drawn; a man with graying hair, from the Populist Party, named Lorenzo Artem. Councilor Sulerahmen chose to see the selection as an opportunity; a Populist was likely to support a measure, no matter how potentially draining, that would put the people under the Council's protection above all else.
“I hereby call this emergency session of the United Earth Government Council to order.
I, Councilor Lorenzo Artem of the Populist party preside as Chairperson.
I hereby take note for the record that a full Quorum is present, we may begin.”
The moment Artem's formal opening to the proceedings was complete, Innara raised her hand for recognition.
Artem paused, as if evaluating whether to continue with business as prescribed, or allow Innara to have her say. She was a longstanding member of the Council, and thus almost everyone present knew that the first words out of her mouth would be to force a motion for evacuation.
Sulerahmen was counting on the fact that Artem was a populist; he wouldn't want to take the flak for introducing such a motion, but he might conceivably take the opportunity to let her say what he and most of his party were thinking.
It was a chancy, but worthwhile gamble. And it succeeded.
Artem sighed, "The chair recognizes Councilor Sulerahmen, of the Transcendentalist party."
Innara stood, and paused for effect before speaking, a carefully timed technique of which she was the unchallenged grand-master, "Councilors the information we have all received speaks entirely for itself; we have no choice in this matter, we can not allow this disaster to claim lives due to inaction. I move that we immediately bring resources to bear to facilitate the total evacuation of the Azores Islands."
The motion came as no surprise to the anyone, but what did come as a surprise was the support of the newest appointment to the Council. Matthas Korvan was being hailed as the young new powerhouse behind the Biotechnical Combined Party. He did not strike anyone as the sort to put his hat behind a party considered to be more than slightly untenable.
Korvan raised his hand, "The Biotechnological Combine Party seconds the motion."
Artem gestured to the chamber expansively, "At this time, we will hear any reasonable objections."
A younger raven haired woman, who Sulerahmen recognized as the United Socialist Party's newest member, stood confidently, "Councilors, I must regretfully bring forward an objection. Have we considered the horrifying drain on resources this motion entails? We have not even considered the potential technological solutions to the problem."
Artem raised an eyebrow, "Counter Statements?"
Korvan nodded, "Speaking for a Party who allocates a great deal of time, funding, and other resources to technical developments, biological and otherwise, I can promise this council that we have absolutely nothing, at any stage of research, planning, or production, that could conceivably mitigate the coming disaster, let alone stop it."
Councilor Innara took advantage of the intervening silence, "Councilor Vernya's question was legitimate, but you have your answer. We have no choice in this matter; three hundred thousand lives are at stake. They depend on us for leadership that maintains their best interests."
Artem glanced around the room, "If there are no alternative motions, the Council will now choose a resolution; please enter your votes."
The tally came in quickly. Artem deferred to the chamber's resident AI to deliver the announcement in its disquietingly calm baritone, "The vote is cast; two hundred versus twenty two, with one abstainer. The vote is in favor of the Evacuation Resolution."
Artem sighed in visible relief, "We are all in accord."
For the most part, the response was enthusiastic; Sulerahmen noted that Councilor Vernya didn't even speak the traditional words. For her own part, she made a point of emphasising them, "We are all in accord."
As Councilor Innara repeated the well worn phrase, she cast an appraising glance at councilor Korvan. Sulerahmen was a major proponent of the old saying, 'In Politics, there is no such thing as a free lunch.'
Korvan had put his party behind her; she fully expected he would want something in return.
If it meant saving three hundred thousand people; to Innara, it was worth it.
Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 5th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Early Afternoon
Trottingham
First, the mouse was a mouse. Then, abruptly; it wasn't.
Transformation was not a new school of magic; it had been the subject of intensive study since the days of Starswirl the Bearded. Transforming living creatures was not new either, but there were two advancements in the school of Transformational magic that had yet to be definitively nailed down; Transforming a *sentient* being, and transforming any living being into something of similar, or greater, complexity.
While the Royal Sisters had exhibited the power to accomplish both, it was an ability they did not wield lightly, nor often. It was also something they could no more explain, than they could explain the inner workings of time and space in understandable terms. Descriptive issues aside, the Royal's had the benefit of magical 'taps' twenty to thirty times the magnitude of an ordinary mage.
Fluxing Form, while no ordinary mage, was limited by comparison to an Alicorn. He was also determined to find a way to bypass the enormous power requirements involved in transformational spells, and make complicated sentient transformation available to any reasonably talented mage.
Rather, any mage possessing a prodigious level of Transformational magical talent. Fluxing Form, or Flux as he preferred, had practically been born with the ability to transform and transmute. Before he had even learned to form complete sentences, he had been instinctively transforming the greens on his dinner plate into tastier salty treats.
By the time he was in grade school, he could turn rats into canaries, and back if he so desired, without any loss of memory, or mental capacity.
Naturally, Flux hadn't lasted long in grade school. He had been tapped almost immediately for admission into Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns.
His other forms of magic were clumsy at best, and abysmal at worst; he barely managed to pass basic telekinesis tests, and frequently failed out of defensive magic, scrying, and other forms of non-transformational magic. But his skill in a single area was so prodigious, that he had acquired special dispensation to bypass the other schools of Magic, providing he could find time and impetus to maintain basic Telekinesis.
Flux had done so, and graduated top of his class to boot.
Based on a relationship and monthly communiques he maintained with Celestia, as well as a burgeoning transmutation business, Flux had managed to find the bits to pay for room and board in Trottingham; small, out of the way, easy to keep secrets.
It wasn't that the work he did was wrong, but it was certainly controversial, and often frightening.
A perfect example was the mouse he had been experimenting on, which had shed its white fur, whiskers, and tail. The creature had tripled in size, grown a layer of armored scales, and a nascent pair of leathery wings.
Flux had created a miniature, and somewhat inaccurate, Dragon.
Nevertheless, he considered the spell a failure. The timer he had built into the spell caused it to revert, restoring the mouse unharmed to his original fuzzy, and somewhat endearing state.
Flux maintained a strict ethical standard in everything he did, despite the fact that the mice, rats, and small birds he used in his work were all taken from outside the Equestrian Nation, and therefore guaranteed to be non-sentient.
Had the spell been a success, the mouse would not have reverted at all; Dragons could not be transformed into other beings in so far as anyone knew, making them similar to Gryphons in that regard.
In the case of Dragons, it was not a feature of their very being, as with Gryphons, but an active instinctive magical defense that could draw on their enormous reserves of wild magic.
Whereas a Gryphon was, in theory, immune to even reality bending from beyond the framework of existence, the way Discord supposedly wrought his chaos, Dragons were potentially susceptible in that regard. No one had the gall, or suicidal death wish, to test the theory against the seemingly limitless, but barely contained magic Dragons could 'wield.'
Flux had heard Celestia herself speak of the creatures in a reverent tone usually reserved for references to Discord, her immediate family, or Nightmare Moon.
Most nobles, whether they were willing to admit it or not, knew full well that the Pax Equestris, and thus the implicit protection of Dragons and Gryphons, was perhaps the main reason the Equestrian nation had suffered so few attacks from outside sources in the past centuries.
This was, infact, one of the many motivations for Flux's work; while a transformation from Pony to Gryphon, or Dragon, would be a one way trip, and potentially place the transformed being under a great deal of societal pressure, it would offer unprecedented, and unparalleled understanding of cultures and races Ponies oft found alien.
Equestrians were negotiators, and peaceful beings by nature; but their association with the other races of their world had deteriorated over time into a legs' length relationship at best. Most of the upper crust saw no problem with this, but Flux did. And The Royal Sisters shared his concerns.
Other motivations for Flux's work included transformation as a medical procedure, transformation to change subspecies of Pony, and temporary transformation into animals for research and recreation.
Since colthood, Flux had always seen the world through the lens of his name; ever changing, ever morphing. All he wanted, was to extend that reality as far as it could go.
Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
15:00 GMT
ACV-10 UES Yorktown
East Atlantic Ocean
Three hundred and fifteen thousand metric tons. Two thousand feet in length.
Two compliments of the new FA-26 Scythe interceptors, in one and two seat variants.
Light and heavy VTOLs of every conceivable description.
A crew of one thousand and fourteen souls, not counting pilots and soldiers.
Twelve fireteams of Special Forces 'storm marines.'
The aptly designated 'Area Control Vessel' UES Yorktown could literally secure a subcontinent by the force of her will alone. That will was enforced by attack aircraft, her fireteams, close-in missile and torpedo defense systems, and an AARC-27 Sparrowhawk railgun defense system that could obliterate incoming projectiles the size of a house, travelling at hypersonic speeds.
Within a fourteenth of a second.
The flight deck clocked in at multiple acres of concrete. The interior of the ship was a maze of such uniform complexity that it took new seamen months of study to get acquainted with the layout.
At any given time, on the lowest status of alert, the Yorktown could mount a preliminary assault capable of crushing a small country's worth of space within twelve minutes of attack notification.
In light of the sheer power an ACV could bring to bear, the Earthgov Navy operated only two.
The Yorktown, and the Enterprise. While most Destroyer classification vessels, and above, carried aircraft of some description, and while there were seven light carriers in the fleet, nothing could match the utterly unstoppable force of an ACV, with the potential exception of the four battleships Earthgov maintained.
Colonel George Fried Puller was a single cog in the vast mechanism of protective force that was the Yorktown. And the scale of the ship never ceased to amaze him, despite the fact that he had been living on it for half a decade, and then some.
Puller had first come onboard as a Lieutenant, assigned to fireteam delta.
Over five years of distinguished service helping place the collective boot of the Earthgov military up the hind end of several dangerous terrorist insurgencies, Puller had risen to the rank of Colonel, and the position of fireteam Sigma leader.
Like the other eleven units aboard the mega-carrier, fireteam Sigma consisted of a CO, in this case Puller, an XO, five soldiers, two demolitionists, a mechanic, a heavy weapons specialist, a sniper, a medic, and an associated trio of VTOLs complete with flight crews, pilots, and gunners.
While the latter fell under the auspices of the Air Corps, they technically reported to Puller whenever they were on-mission.
The responsibility was immense, but George wasn't complaining; his years of service had given him a good idea of the price of freedom, and it wasn't a debt he shirked away from paying, when it was necessary. Whenever he could avoid it, he beat, bludgeoned, bent, and sometimes even threw out the rulebook to do it. His reputation could be summed up in a word; results.
Sigma had been the ugly duckling aboard ship when Puller took over; by the time he was finished belaboring the force into shape they had the highest kill count, and most citations for valor, of any unit, for a full year running.
Politicians, paper pushers, and the brass, hated Puller's type; the sort who accomplished the mission using any and every available technique and resource, on the fly.
Everyone from the ship's Captain, down to the airmen on the VTOL doorguns, appreciated the command style for what it was; a flat out necessity.
Unlike most of the officers above him, however, Puller lacked the political finesse to shake 'the heat' his actions frequently elicited from the higher ups in the chain of command. Puller didn't have the skill, nor did he have any desire to learn. He viewed it as banal; a pointless waste of time that could be better spent doing his job.
As he navigated the uniformly gray, polished corridors of the Yorktown, he reflected on the day's schedule; Breakfast, to which he was headed. Then VTOL jump training all morning, followed by lunch on the job, and an evening of marksmanship drills. Two of his subordinate NCOs were lagging behind in their acuity scores; something he refused to put up with for even a single day.
Puller approached one of the so called 'knee knockers' so common to Naval Vessels, but as he made to step over the small steel barrier, his leg picked the most opportune moment to betray him. He banged his ankle on the metal protrusion, the impact resounding like the striking of a gong.
"SON of A..."
"Hey now, ants in your pants boss?" The voice was female, and decidedly saucy in disposition.
Puller recognized his lead VTOL pilot, Air Corps Lieutenant Lana Sorden. Most referred to her by her callsign; 'Firebrand.' Earned, as she continued to demonstrate repeatedly, by nature of her consistent and detrimental habit of mouthing off, regardless of the rank her superiors held.
Puller sighed, and rapped his leg, "Nope... opposite problem. Not enough ants."
Sorden nodded, her expression becoming more serious in a flash, "You missed your quarterly again didn't you?"
"I was gonna do it tomorrow..."
"Excuses excuses. If you don't mind me tellin ya off boss? Get your nanite-deprived ass to medical right now. I'm not sticking you in my co-pilot chair with bum limbs. Shoo."
Puller grunted, and grimaced, "I *could* put you on report, you know that right?"
"And *I* could get your flight status revoked. Nanites, now. Uuuh... Sir."
Puller rolled his eyes, "You're a real redhead at heart, you know that Sord?"
"Yeah yeah yeah...."
The banter was interrupted by the shriek of a two-tone alarm, accompanying flashing lights on the bulkheads, and the voice of the ship's XO over the intercom, "Alert Condition Two in effect, Alert Condition Two in effect. All hands to ready-ten stations, prepare for surfacing action."
Firebrand cast her superior a concerned glance, "Sounds like marching orders are on the way. Better double-time it. You don't wanna miss the action."
Puller grunted to himself, as he loped off down the corridor, "That'd be a *crying* shame."
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Ok, and heereee... we.... GO!
Please understand, for those of you who have taken a rollercoaster ride with me before; my release schedule for this is gonna be appreciably slower than Option Gamma, but I am avid to see where this all leads, so there's no danger of abandonment or overlong atrophy.
Welcome aboard.
Put your tray tables up, and assume crash positions.
As previously mentioned, there is no specific reading order here;
You can read Option Gamma first, read it after, or not read it at all (which would make me sad) but in any case you can hopefully appreciate this story.
YAY!!!! PREQUEL!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
I tell ya, this is how TCB should have been from the beginning. And...
we have the same name! (Almost.)
And of course this comes out on the same day that Past Sins arrives here, the day I has wanted to resume my own writing...
You don't like my free time, do you?
(jk)
It's beautiful.
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I thought it was already was an inhospitable wasteland of death.
As for the story... it was... nice.
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I'm going to not-read Option Gamma! muwahhaaaa- er... shit. I already did.
Dammit.
moar.
Very nice. So many potential plot openings - let the speculation commence
"The Earthgov Council maintained facilities in Harrisburg, Warsaw, and Singapore, rotating between them for three months each out of the year."
So where do they operate for the remaining three months?
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The other three everyone splits up and goes home.
Since the Councilors are representatives of regions they need time to maintain contact and accomplish work there.
Oh you haven't even met the villains yet.
But you will. You will.....
I'm going to put on my review hat now! Brace for impact, 'cuz this isn't going to be pretty...
Given what you have here, I wouldn't have published it so far. The prologue chapter is just prettied up exposition, explanations of deep background or setting information, that doesn't do anything to tell the story. And if the Everfree Writing Panels told me anything, it's that exposition costs you points. The first chapter bounces around several characters, not staying with any, aside from Councilor Sulerahmen, long enough for readers to suspect that they may become the protagonists of this story.
I might have condensed the prologue into a paragraph or two at the start of the first real chapter, and added another chapter or two so the readers could get a better feel for the start of the story.
Edit:
BEHOLD MY TWILIGHT SPARKLE LEVEL SCHOLAR-NERD STATUS! The date for the earth years should be listed as, for example, "2030 CE"
CE, or Common Era, is what scholarly types use to indicate the dating system used by a large fraction of the world, but want to be more politically correct than to use AD (Anno Dommine(Year of our Lord)) which helps keep things clear when talking to people who use calendars based on other starting points (and how long they their years are).
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(I jest; actually it's not that bad)
For the first part;
This isn't going to be pretty so brace for impact.
I'm not writing for reviewers. I'm not writing for points. I'm not even writing for or to scholarly standards. I'm writing for *me*.
The exposition is necessary, and since you're the only one who's showed any criticism of it so far my response is; message received, thank you (genuinely) for being constructive and making a valid point, but this is one piece of advice I already knew would be given me at some stage, and I chose to discard early on, even before hearing someone else say it. I think writing these days shies away *far* too much from explaining the world its set in. My works could be cut in half, sizewise, if I reduced things to allusions, and dispensed with vivid and intricate description. I'd rather suffer obscurity, criticism, and I don't even care what else than remove those things because they're a massively integral part of my style.
For this type of story, these are details that are necessary, and I had no desire to do what I did in OG and just allude to them.
I didn't even want to seed more details of it throughout the story. I wanted to show it; the blow by blow. Since I view the Prologue and Epilogue as, in a way, unique and different from the Chapter 1 thru final Chapter structure of the story, I feel comfortable doing different things with them.
Overall; I reject about 1/4th of the conventional wisdom I've heard on story writing anyways.
Maybe its presumption and arrogance, but I hold my style and artistic vision in higher esteem than I do the 'rules.'
I simply don't care enough about external criticisms based on narrative structure, or even audience preference (no offense you guys!) to alter what I want to write for the sake of the established norms. I'll change things if the effect is truly detrimental to the story, and I can see it once its explained to me; but in this case I feel that breaking the rules doesn't do the story any damage, assuming an audience member is willing to remain open to unconventional storytelling.
For the characters, I'm doing something different with Threshold.
I'm not exploring the relationship of a single nuclear group, I'm exploring the intertwined stories of what is going to end up being three groups of two, with supporting characters surrounding some of those groups at times as they journey through three different but closely interconnected strata of two worlds, and become major drivers of the events that shape the major entities in Option Gamma.
While they will all meet all of each other in some capacity, for the majority of the story I'm following separate groups who's actions are affecting the greater arc in varying ways. One of the weaknesses of this, which you have pointed out, is that it can become hard to feel the scope without the first few chapters all in place. My reasoning behind releasing now is to hold myself to a clock. I don't have any set-in-stone deadlines, but once there is an audience I feel subtle pressure that contributes to kick-starting my writing process sometimes. I needed that, or I was in danger of lapsing into a rut.
This is gonna be a big story, maybe not quite the size of 'Gamma, but who knows. What you're astutely observing is the disconnect of not having all the info, which is kinda something I want people to feel, in one sense, because it creates suspense. In another sense, it is indeed a weakness at the early stage, but I'm up for the tradeoff in this instance.
As for the time; there is no CE, or AD.
Once the two worlds join, Equestria restarts their year counter, as seen in the OG prologue, and Earth just starts referring to its years as the Earth Calender after The Winnowing. Its a Solidarity thing.
Its no fun to write for SciFi if I can't invent new technobabble terms gosh darn it!
HIT IT WITH AN INVERSE TACHYON PULSE!
EDIT: lemme be sure I'm clear;
1; Constructive Feedback is good. I like it. I just reserve the right to smile and politely say 'No, but thank you' to some of that advice.
2; I know I'm breaking rules, and I'd like to think I'm not being arrogant in doing so because I don't really expect many people to be on-board with me breaking the rules.
So that's being Gryphicly sutbborn.
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Back when I was proofreading OG I flat out said that I considered this to be your story, and that you should be feel free to ignore my suggestions. I just didn't feel the need to put the disclaimer in each time. (My time for writing reviews can wind up limited, so I like to get right to the point)
I could write a long essay/rant in defense of conventional wisdom... but this isn't the place. Same for exposition. I know that your stuff makes for good reading.
I fully agree with your argument about needing to put pressure on yourself; I've done the same. I agree less fully with the argument about suspense, at least this early on; we don't know enough about the characters to care about them, yet.
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I know you intend it as constructive criticism, and your civility shows that.
I always appreciate useful civil feedback like yours. Heck, even what you put above is useful to me, because even if I don't intend to alter my style, or the way the story progresses, etc; I may be able to seed in things that are both acceptable to me and my style, and smooth the audience's ability to handle what I'm putting out when they view it via a more conventional lens.
So any feedback on the story's mechanics (separated from the universe, or style) is gonna always have *some* use for me on some level or other.
Keep it coming!
And yeah; this semester I'm building a game engine and writing a 120 page screenplay for my classes along with the usual papers and reading for the others.
On top of that, while I am learning to practice what I preach and ignore haters, grow a thick skin 'n all, its always a tad bit upsetting to deal with them; so gaining momentum is important for me.
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*Vadernooooo.jpg
Poor poor mad genius...
The screwup wasn't even his fault.
It would have worked.....
I absolutely love your worldbuilding here. You did exceptional, heavily powerful worldbuilding in the Option Gamma, but it was limited by your (relatively) narrow focus and also your Gryphon obsession. There's nothing wrong with the Gryphon thing and narrow focus, it's just that SUPERSOLDIER X IS SUPER BECAUSE X will always come off as juuuus a little bit self-indulgent for the writer. (No complaints here!) With this story, though,
my probability-o-meter is o-metering future epic-scale epicyour worldbuilding skills are the focus. Hell, if you hadn't characterized Equestrian peoples by their imposed absolute moralities, *Shakes fist at air impotently,* I'd have irrationally advocated your ~verse all over Internets by now.P.S. Anyone wanting to seriously talk about absolute morality, please PM me. I'd rather not have it get into a comments thread, since only one side of the topic deals with simple stuff like neurology and anthropology.
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Thanks very much
The world really is a bigger focus with Threshold, hence the faster jumping between more character groups in order to cover more of it.
I hope to hybridize in Genesis; maintaining some good world work while also getting back to focusing on those characters. A balance.
So, I got a wild idea for a one shot spin-off story. Well, more like a character study. 1,000-2,000 words or so. I rechecked this chapter for some of the details, and noticed something you may want to fix, and something that may have been you being subtle.
The Director, when reporting the problem, doesn't say /where/ it is happening, until after the Australian Councilor refers to the Azores. You might want to fix that.
But the subtle bit I think I found was that it was the Australian Councilor that was first to get over shock enough to speak.