The refugees

by Pumpkin-dreams

Chapter 4

Chalcedony stirred, her head in a pulsing agony, and somepony prodding her insistently. She opened her eyes slowly, and shut them when the world seemed to be a spinning madness. Just a brief glimpse had made her stomach churn. The pony above her chuckled.

“General wants to see ya, and no, pukin’ ain’t an excuse not to.” The pony, a stallion by the sound of it, dragged Chalcedony to her feet and lead her by a series of tugs and pokes; she wouldn’t open her eyes.

It took a short time to reach their destination, and the pony guided her into a cushioned seat. There was a silence, then a new, smoother voice said “It’s considered rude for a guest not to look at her host, on most worlds.”

Chalcedony peeked an eye open and was assailed again by the dizzying world, though it was somewhat lessened. She coughed, and began to retch, and the pony at her side placed a bucket in front of her. Groaning, embarrassed by her display, Chalcedony managed to bear the rest of her swirling vision until it cleared.

She had been brought to a richly painted room, every available space taken by some trinket or display. Crimson curtains hung from each corner, outlined in gold thread and designed with silver. Similarly decorated cushions were carefully laid out throughout the room, so as to look busy yet not clustered. There were paintings on the wall, of mythical monsters and historic heroes, and each had a light focussed on it. The further half of the floor was elevated above the closer by a short step, and a desk was on that side. Behind the desk was a green stallion with an oiled, silvered mane and slicked goatee. He smiled down at her from his raised seating.

“I am General Ivy Treasure, and that,” he gestured to the helmet wearing grey pony next to her, “is Lieutenant Slate. You’ve been a, guest, aboard my ship for a few days now, and I do not believe we’ve been introduced yet.”

Still taking in her surroundings, Chalcedony didn’t respond at first. When Slate cleared his throat, she started and blushed. “I’m Chalcedony. Uh, sir. General.”

The general smiled a slightly different smile, and brought out a green glass bottle from his desk. “Ivy will be just fine. You are under the protection of me and my soldiers, after all.” Ivy poured the bottle’s contents into two stout glasses, filling them with amber liquid. “Care for a drink?”

Chalcedony accepted the glass, and Slate moved away to stand at his general’s side after disposing of the sick-bucket. Ivy made a toasting motion with his glass, and seeing Chalcedony struggling to hold her own with her hoof, told her “You are allowed to use magic here, m’lady.” Seeing her startled look, he added “The ponies of the Earthen March may have been, well, less than accepting of you, but they are but simple soldiers. Do not judge us all by their actions.”

She took a sip, now comfortably levitating the glass. It tasted like honey and flowers, and burned pleasantly. Licking her lips, she drank the rest quickly, and Ivy moved down to refill her glass, wearing a new smile that looked bemused and indulgent. Before he could speak however, a voice buzzed out of his desk.

“Sir, one of the prisoners got loose during the jump.”

Ivy turned to address the speaker. “THE prisoner, Chin. Chalcedony is under our care as a guest.” Chin made an affirmative noise, and Ivy smiled back at her. “Find the prisoner and lock him up again. That is your job, no?” The voice grunted and went silent.

“Where were we... Ah, yes. As I said before, the soldiers aboard this ship, loyal they may be, are not the most welcoming of others. I’ve invited you to my personal room to show you the higher breed within the Earthen March, in the hopes you may leave with a better taste of us. And besides which, I,” and Ivy stopped suddenly, letting the sentence hang.

Chalcedony finished her second glass, and feeling the fuzzy influence of the drink, took the bait. “You, what?”

At this, Ivy moved closer, so that their coats almost touched. She could smell something like cinnamon on him. “I can appreciate beauty in new things,” he whispered, flicking his tail over hers. Chalcedony blushed harder than before, and made a try to jerk away, but the strong drink and Ivy’s quick hoof kept her still. “If I am moving faster than you are used to, do not fear. I mean nothing but flattery. For now.” And he stepped away, letting the mare breathe easily. Slate bore a lecherous grin that he quickly hid once his general turned to him.

“Slate, if you would be so kind as to get some proper food for Miss Chalcedony. It pains me to know she’s been wasting away on the fare of the common soldier.” Slate saluted smartly, and trotted into a side room. Chalcedony thought to defend the chefs and their taste in hot sauce, but was interrupted by a freshly filled glass. “It’s called Summer wine, and you must have a discerning tongue to take to it so... enthusiastically.”

Slate returned with a pile of dishes on his back, and spread them on the desk. Served on fine dishware was steaming vegetables and still warm bread with jams and cheeses. On the side was a collection of pastries and sweets. Ivy prepared a plate for Chalcedony, but after a few bites she found it too rich, and her stomach was already unsettled by the Summer wine. While they ate, Ivy told her about many things that passed unheeded. His lineage, some of the battles he had lead, where he had gotten the paintings.

Chalcedony perked her ears when he mentioned Vanilla, though. “I do hope he has tried to be accommodating. We had a fierce talk, he and I, and I should hope that he was not so brutish to you afterwards.” Chalcedony tilted her head, hearing his words as if through a thick sheet. “He is assigned to be your protector, and a rude servant is a poor one. Though I suppose he failed to tell you.” Here he laughed politely. “Always that way with the young ones, reluctant to be reassigned no matter who does it. Do make good use of him, though; I’d hate to see his, ahem, talents gone to waste while he is in your service.”

Confused, Chalcedony tried to ask what Ivy meant by that, but the fuzziness in her thoughts hampered it, and when she opened her mouth it was to sip from her glass again. When the meal was done, she tried to stand from her seat and stumbled over her own hooves. “Slate, if you would escort the Miss to her room. It seems she’s had too much to drink, and should have plenty of time to sleep it off before we get to NewMane.”

Slate lead her out of the general’s room, and down a short way. Chalcedony realized they were in the military wing as they passed the training rooms, and was directed to a guarded door. They parted for Slate without prompt, and he showed her to an empty room, almost as kingly as Ivy’s. She fell onto the bed, and went to sleep quickly in the plush blankets.

The next day Vanilla knocked on her door, having been redirected here by one of the general’s messages. A haggard, disheveled mare answered him, hiding her eyes from the dimmed lighting. He lifted a brow but said nothing, leaving her to tidy herself before they went out. It took only a moment for her to sort out her mane, though the bloodshot eyes remained. Fidgeting under his eyes, she said something about drinking too much in a hoarse voice.

They went to the mess hall for a late breakfast, but Chalcedony could not stomach any food. Then Vanilla lead them to the docking bay, where dozens of other ponies milled about.

“We are almost at NewMane,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “ponies are eager for their world-leave.”

“What’s NewMane?” Chalcedony asked.

“Alliance control planet for this sector.”

Seeing she would get little more, Chalcedony waited with the rest, though predictably far apart from all but Vanilla.

The Star Marcher landed unsteadily, and the outer doors opened onto a wide catwalk. The ponies aboard flooded out, making their way to the nearby city. Chalcedony and Vanilla were the last ones to leave.

The catwalk they stood on was one of an interconnected web, branching off in a hundred different ways to accommodate all of the docking ships. Vessels of every size and model were resting on platforms below and above, ponies bustling to and fro every level. It was a constant stream of activity as ships unloaded their passengers or prepared to take off, and the noise was nearly deafening.

Vanilla stepped off and breathed deeply on the fresher air. Chalcedony paused, one hoof hovering above the catwalk, staring awed at the sky above. Vanilla waited impatiently for her to recover.

“It’s so... different,” she said at last, breathless. “The sky, the smell, the air. A new world. I’ve never even been off Zerra, and now I’m standing on an entirely different world!” Chalcedony laughed shortly, utterly terrified. “Is that a new sun, too? Are we even in the Red Shake system?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, and hopped off the ship with a wince as though expecting a blow. Then, standing on a new world, she pranced in place for a second and opened her eyes, looking upwards. Her mouth made an ‘oh’ as she saw the Star Marcher from the outside.

It looked much the same as it did from the escape pod days ago, but put in perspective she saw just how massive it truly was. Most of the other ships could fit entirely inside it, some more than once with room to spare. And then there was the jagged wound on it’s side. It appeared that the ill-fated Sky-lord ships managed to hit the Star Marcher before being destroyed; it ran at least half a mile, exposing bits of the ship’s intestines. Pegasi were fluttering about it, assessing the damage, until a group of Marchers came up and shooed them.

Vanilla finally managed to lead her away, though he was once more bombarded with questions. Most of these were about NewMane, of which he had little knowledge, but curtly told what he could. They were still in the Red Shake, a few planets away from Zerra. The city itself was a new addition, only twenty and change years old. It was there that the Equestrian Alliance coordinated their movements throughout their colonies, minor they may be.

They entered the city proper, and once more Chalcedony was overwhelmed. The buildings raised into the sky, spears of metal and glass that pierced the cloud layer at their tips. Crosswalks and maneuverable platforms criss-crossed the different layers of NewMane city, and here the noise of space faring engines was replaced by the bustle of everyday ponyfolk. Brightly lit signs pointed every direction, advertising stores or restaurants or other less family friendly places. Trees floated on magical platforms, spinning in place like tops.

Vanilla lead them first down a few layers to find an affordable hotel. The one he picked was called ‘Ursa’s Rest,’ and had a picture of a great blue bear on the sign with twinkling z’s around it. It was a simple place, and Vanilla rented them separate rooms for a week, much to the disappointment of the desk attendant. He deposited his spare belongings in his room. Chalcedony waited outside, having nothing of her own.

Next was supplies. They went from store to store, mostly at the pleading of Chalcedony. Vanilla had bought groceries enough for the time being at their first stop, but the unicorn wanted to find every new thing possible to try. He tried to stop the shopping spree, but eventually gave in and tried to keep Chalcedony away from the more volatile foods. Food poisoning would just make things worse.

Last was a new weapon for Vanilla. And, seeing as Chalcedony had been the one to destroy his previous, he decided she would pay for it.

“I don’t have any money, though.”

“The scryer works as a credit bit, too.” Vanilla told her as they browsed through the window displays. “Should have about a thousand.”

Finding one he liked, Vanilla went to talk to the salespony, leaving Chalcedony to look about while they talked weapon-jargon. There was a wide selection of choices available, rifles, pistols, lancers, and the larger cannons and blasters, all using energy chips as ammunition. They even had a few melee options; swords and spears and the like that bristled with magical power. What Vanilla had set his sights on, though, was rarer than all these things. A classic style, saddle mounted repeater rifle. Capable of using almost any bullet available Powder, the salespony, told him.

It cost far more than they could afford, even with their combined funds, but Powder was willing to give them a loan for the rest. They left the store, Vanilla carrying his purchase on his back.

“How are we going to pay for that?” Chalcedony asked. “Unless you’ve got some savings, we are over three thousand bits in debt.”

“There’s plenty of work in NewMane,” he answered, looking over his shoulder at her. “Besides that, there is no ‘we’. You’ve already done all you could to repay me, despite it being funds from the March.”

Chalcedony considered this. “Well, I owe the March some bits then, don’t I? You’re part of the March, so if I paid you back, we’re even. And with both of us working, we’ll pay off the debt faster, too.”

Vanilla sighed deeply, but did not object further. He took them throughout the city, searching for fliers or help-wanted signs. There were some that were too far out of their skills to be viable. Some paid minimally for gruelling work. Most were already taken by returned ponies, trying to pay off their own debts. Finally they came across a small building nestled between two others, with a sign reading ‘Dealer’s Contracts.’ There was a short line, but according to Vanilla there were often more contracts than ponies willing to take them.

They waited, and came at last to the front to meet a greying unicorn with a wide brimmed hat, which he tipped off as greeting. “Haven’t seen you two before, so let me introduce myself; I am Dealer, proprietor of this fine establishment. If you need a quick job, I’m your stallion.”

Seeing Vanilla tense up at the sight of the horn, Chalcedony spoke first. “Hi! I’m Chalcedony, this is Vanilla Drops. We uh, need a ‘quick job’, so...” She trailed off.

“Any past experience with mercenary work, combat, escorting, working under stress, tending wounds, repairing machinery, outlaw hunting, or critter wrangling?”

Chalcedony paused a moment to decipher the sudden stream of words and started to shake her head. “Oh, wait! Vanilla’s a Sergeant with the Earthen March!”

Dealer inspected the other stallion. “Heard of the March. More like a guard detail than actual warriors.” Vanilla bristled but stayed silent. “How much fighting have you actually seen, boy?”

“I fought at Jellus and Ignus, and have served the March for thirteen years.”

“He killed a, well, an eagle thing, at Zerra too.” Chalcedony pitched in.

Dealer laughed. “Think that’s called a gryphon. What’d you do to tick him off, call him an eggling?”

“It was a she, and, no. I don’t think so,” Chalcedony said, and gave him a brief description of the attack on Zerra. At the end, Dealer whistled.

“Sky-lords, now those are some proper fighters. No offence, Chalc’, but your colony didn’t stand a chance.” Ignoring her frown, he turned to a screen at his side with the label ‘Spark-screen’. “Given your record, and lack of experience, respectively, I don’t think I can place you on the tougher contracts yet. Can’t send rookies out to fight wars, just gets em’ dead and me a bad reputation. How about an escort?”

The job was to guard a small caravan as it traveled through the untamed lands of NewMane to supply a smaller town. Bandits had been causing trouble for awhile, and numbers was a good way to dissuade them. They accepted, and Dealer gave them each a paper that would get them on the caravan.

They left, and had just enough time for lunch before they had to report in. All along the way, Chalcedony tried to gather as much information as she could about what might happen. The dangers, the usual plans, if she would get her own gun. Vanilla stayed silent, only telling her that should a fight actually happen she should hide somewhere. Not for her safety, but so that she wouldn’t get in the way, he was careful to emphasize.

The caravan was to leave from the eastern edge of the city, and it was there that the two found them. Fifteen ponies were gathered around a large, patchworked cart with a harness for four ponies. Seven were obviously fellow mercenaries, grizzled ponies that had their own weapons and stood apart from the rest. The other eight ranged from young to middle aged, and were busy checking the supplies.

Vanilla, once they had left the weapon restricted city, was wearing his own gun saddle and left to talk to the other earth pony mercenaries. Chalcedony watched the cart until it was ready to leave. The wall in front of them slid open as they approached it, and gusts of arid wind blew sand into their faces. Outside the city was an endless desert, with the sun glaring yellow and unhindered.

Four of the cart ponies hitched themselves in and set off, everypony else taking positions around it. Thus started the first day of a week long journey to the town of Brown Cactus.

An hour out, Chalcedony found herself with nopony to talk to. Vanilla had taken a spot at the rear of the troop. The other mercenaries just laughed at her or made lewd comments, sometimes both, when she tried to talk to them. Most of the caravaners were too busy tending to the rickety cart, or pulling it, to hold a long conversation.

There was an older stallion that was rarely at the harness, though. He called himself Dusted, and was friendlier than the rest.

“I’m an old vet’, actually.” Dusted explained when Chalcedony asked about his role. “Signed up with Generosity after I got honorably discharged. Hold your questions,” he chuckled, stopping the mare with her mouth half open. “I’ll get to it sooner or later. Generosity’s the name of the, hm... I’d say ‘company’, but it seems more like a religion to these ponies. Well, they call themselves preachers of Generosity, so I s’pose that’s what they are. I wouldn’t know much about them, only joined up a year back. They go about the stars, helping who they can, and that was enough for me.”

Dusted motioned to the supply laden cart behind them. “This here’s for a little town way out there. They’re too far away for the Alliance to really bother with ‘em, and the usual traders have been scared off by the bandits. The preachers here heard about it, and they started throwing together a care package. Elsewise, Brown Cactus’d probably starve, or get overrun with crooks, or some such.”

“What about your discharge?” Chalcedony asked. “Er, honorable discharge, I meant. Who’d you serve with?”

“I was a captain with the Equestrian’s five-hundred and first, aboard the Blue-streak. That ships little more than scrap metal now, and the five-oh-one is just about the same. We got dragged into a real mess, nothing short of waking an angry hydra up in it’s swamp. You ever hear of an arms race, Chalcy?” She shook her head, rapt. “Two sides get to fearin’ the other, and instead of butting heads or talking it out they try to intimidate them. So they set to building more and bigger weapons, until their arsenal is insurmountable. When both sides do the same thing, though, it- Well, it turns into a self feeding cycle. Soon enough, both of em’ got enough power to blow their planet out of the skies and got a bad case of trigger-hoof.”

Dusted fell silent until Chalcedony pressed him for more details. “Later,” he told her with a sad smile. “Tales like this ain’t fit for a marching tune.”

They walked the rest of the day quietly, and as they set out camp Chalcedony saw that the desert still stretched past the horizon. The mercenaries made their own tents away from the preacher’s. Chalcedony was searching for Vanilla when he said “Do you have a tent?”

“No,” she answered, turning to face him. “I thought you did?” He sighed and went to speak to some ponies. Chalcedony went to find Dusted.

He was sitting by his own small fire, apart from the growing bonfire. An energy pistol was in his hooves, and he was cleaning the various parts of it.

“How much longer till we leave the desert?” she asked, taking a seat across from him. He laughed.

“NewMane’s a sand planet, Chalcy. Sand and salt, really. Not a drop of water here for millions of years, if you listen to the scientist ponies.”

“Why build a base here? There must be a greener world in the system.”

“You ever wonder why it’s called the Red Shake?” Dusted put away his pistol, and shook a hoofful of sand over the flames. “It’s cause every world around here’s called a ‘red planet’. Means they all got nothing but dust, sand, and rock. Great for mining, apparently. Bad for everything else. The Alliance set up shop here cause it’s pretty central, and has a manageable gravity. No fun trying to take off when the laws a’ physics are toying with you.”

“Oh,” Chalcedony pawed the ground. “I just thought there might, you know, might be some other life nearby. I used to look at the stars and think that maybe they were full of trees, and strange creatures just waiting to be discovered.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of. I used to wish the same thing. And hay, ponies haven’t even covered a fraction of the universe yet. There could be some new life out there, somewhere.” Dusted smiled awkwardly, and Chalcedony returned her own small grin.

“We are allowed to rest in the caravan, provided we do not tamper with the supplies,” said Vanilla from behind. Chalcedony blushed and stood up.

“Goodnight, Dusted. Sir.”

“Dusted’s fine. And don’t let the parasprites bite.”

Vanilla lead her back to the caravan. Looking inside, it seemed wide enough to fit them comfortably, but Chalcedony hesitated. “I can sleep outside, if you want,” she said. Vanilla just stared.

“I was- If I am to protect you, it would be easier if you did not sleep outside. Where the bandits can see you.”

Conceding the point, Chalcedony situated herself on the opposite wall, careful to avoid the various packages. She said goodnight to Vanilla; he just grunted and closed his eyes.

In the morning, the ponies packed up camp and ate some traveler’s bread; a hard thing that took far longer to spoil and was infused with minerals. Chalcedony tried to ask Dusted about his service again, but each time was distracted by another story. He talked of his time as a bouncer for a night club, about his sister who became a lawyer of some kind, and other things. Eventually the subject came to his mark.

“Got it when I was fifteen.” Dusted said, looking fondly at it. It was a pair of sticks crossed over a white flag. “I was still working as a bouncer at ‘The Breast Around’,” he cringed at the name, “and a couple colts got into a fight. I don’t know what exactly caused it, but they were going at it fierce. My job didn’t say anything about stopping fights outside the club, but I figured one of em’ was bound to do something they’d regret. So I stepped in and walloped the tails off of both until they were too sore to keep swinging. Then I sat them down and straightened em’ out. They went their separate ways, and I never heard from either. Didn’t notice the mark till I got home. Sis’ said my talent was peace. I laughed at her, told her I got it by beating up a couple of rowdy colts. She said ‘That you did, but you got em’ to stop fighting. And I bet my bits that they won’t fight each other again after that talking to.’ Moral of the story; to get to peace, either find the white flag and wave it, or jab everyone with the stick till they stop fighting.”

Chalcedony laughed with Dusted at the end. Then she looked thoughtfully back at Vanilla. “I’ve never even seen his mark,” she said.

“Why do you hang about him, anyways?” Dusted asked. “He seems like a cold sort by nature, but he’s downright freezing when it comes to you. ‘Less I’m missing something that a mare might notice...”

“Oh, no no, nothing like that!” Chalcedony said with an embarrassed chuckle. “Just, he saved my life back on Zerra. And now, on some new planet, I’m clueless. Useless. I... I need him, otherwise I’d just be lost and afraid.”

Dusted accepted this. “If I was still in my prime, I’d happily show you about. But I’m an old pony now, and content on this older rock. Fraid’ our paths are gonna go different directions, Chalcy.”

The rest of the day passed uneventfully.

On the third day, Dusted had to tow the cart and couldn’t talk, so Chalcedony went to speak to one of the preachers. It seemed that, no matter what she said, the other pony always tied it back to Generosity.

“Generosity is a noble calling,” the mare said, smiling blissfully. Chalcedony had no idea what this had to do with their lack of a modern cart. “It teaches us to care for our fellow pony, and give to them. ‘All good deeds will be repaid’ is our motto.” This was the majority of her more sensible speech. Often times she just quoted scripture from ‘Generosity’s book,’ as though that was the answer to whatever Chalcedony had asked.

Dusted went to sleep almost immediately, once they stopped for the night. Chalcedony went to her spot in the caravan early, and was surprised to see Vanilla there as well.

She said, mostly to herself, “These ponies are crazy. Well, maybe not crazy. But they’re...”

“Crazy?” Vanilla finished, and snorted. He said nothing else that night, but Chalcedony deemed it a success.

Halfway through the fourth day and Chalcedony was being taught by Dusted on how to navigate a desert. She had been curious about how the caravan ponies were going to find the town, and Dusted had been willing to divulge what little skill he had gained in the area. As he was trying to explain the differences in dunes, the sands exploded into motion.

Ponies appeared on either side of them, dressed in sandy brown and wielding salvaged weapons. Without word or hesitation they opened fire on the caravan, sending the preachers scattering for cover. The mercenaries, once they recovered from their own surprise, returned fire. Chalcedony stood frozen until Dusted shouted for her to hide under the cart. She did just that, joining several others as they cowered.

Outside, the gunfight raged. The mercenaries, Vanilla included, had formed a defensive circle around the cart, putting it between them and the bandits they couldn’t see. One bandit charged in, uncaring for the bullets and beams that hit him, wielding a great scimitar. He swung it, hewing off the foreleg of a mare, before a lucky bullet punctured his head and he fell. Amidst the barrage, another bandit fell; one whistled harshly as this happened. The rest turned and fled, quickly vanishing in the desert. It had lasted barely a minute, and Chalcedony had heard little but grunts and blasts.

Chalcedony moved out from under the cart, watching the dunes for signs of the bandits. Then she noticed the maimed mare, gasping as blood squirted from her stump. Chalcedony’s coat turned even paler, and she made several motions towards and away from the injured mare; she wanted to help, but had no clue how to do it. Finally a preacher shoved her aside, moving to the mare with a medipack and trying to stop the bleeding. Chalcedony sat where she had fallen, feeling scared and helpless.

Dusted wrapped a foreleg around her, leading her away from the grisly scene as the mare died. He deposited her on the other side of the caravan and gave her a sip of water. Chalcedony just stared into the sands, tasting imagined, bitter, copper in her mouth. Feeling a hoof rubbing at her side, she looked over and saw that the blood had seeped into her coat while she was hiding.

“Oh,” she said, then turned her head to the side and retched.

All told, the bandit attack had been a failure. Two brown clad bodies lay dead, and many more were injured if the mercenaries were truthful. Both had the signs of famine about their skeletal frames, and the scimitar wielder wore a layer of protective metals beneath the cloth. Of the mercenaries, only the one mare was dead, and two others had small injuries. The preachers were unscathed, more upset at the damage done to their supplies.

They debated for a while about whether to bury the mare in the sand, or carry her back to NewMane so her affairs could be sorted. Finally they settled for wrapping her body in a spare cloth and carrying her in the cart, until the corpse began to rot. Then the caravan set off once more as though nothing had happened, and went on till the sun began to set.

Dusted had to find Chalcedony this time, and found her sitting in the darkness outside of camp. He took a seat next to her and said nothing, watching the stars.

“I didn’t even know her name,” the unicorn said at last.

Dusted shifted closer without touching her and said “Would’ve been worse if you did. But this is the way of things now. Ponies killing each other over treasure and duty. I’ve been dodgin’ your questions about my discharge cause I hoped you’d never really understand the answer. Seems like now’s as good a time as any; if you still want to hear it.” Chalcedony nodded once, barely lifting her eyes to see the stallion next to her.

“What I said before, ‘bout an arms race; that wasn’t just random thoughts from an old vet.” Dusted breathed deep and began his tale.

“The Alliance and the Sky-lords are regular enemies, biting at each others throats whenever they can. Few decades ago, they both set their sights on a planet very far away. It was filled with things they were just chompin’ at the bit to get, wood and metals and the like. They had a sort of truce for a while, both realizing that any action to take the planet would mean open war. So they sent in spies and saboteurs, and when those came back with reports on the other side’s bombs and such, they set to building more.

“This had been going on for a some years before I ever got involved. I’d just been promoted to captain, and my first assignment was to go in and settle a riot planet-side. Cause all the time those two sides were glaring at each other, the colonists were caught in the crossfire. They were an angry bunch, and rightfully so.

“So I head down there, do my thing for a few weeks, and suddenly all Tartarus is set loose. ‘Parently somepony somewhere got trigger happy, ended up causing a little skirmish. In the end, the damages were minor, but that was just the spark they needed to start up a war. Within an hour, I get orders from the Alliance to join up with the rest of five-oh-one and fight the Sky-lords. By the next day, armies are stomping all across the planet, killing everypony in sight. End of the week, the first bombs are dropped. Could’ve just ended it there, looked down on the wreck they’d made with just that, but no. They had to retaliate, had to show that they weren’t gonna be messed with.” Dusted had grown more agitated as he spoke, but caught himself and calmed down.

“One thing lead to another. Everypony on the planet was told to evacuate to the space ships. Course they didn’t rightly care about what happened to us. The glassers and flare-drops fell by the dozens before anyone had a decent chance to get outta there. An entire planet laid to waste in an hour or so. All over somepony’s greed and stubbornness.”

Dusted sat silent for awhile, eyes closed, Chalcedony watching him with a horrified awe. He spoke again, very solemnly. “Most of the five-oh-one was killed on the planet, along with the rest of the poor souls. I escaped by some joke of luck, and was honorably discharged with the other survivors. Now they call that planet Hallow; like hallowed ground, I s’pose. It’s nothing more than a big lump of molten rock and ruins.”

“So, yeah. There’s your welcome to the universe Chalcy. Guess it’s up to me to apologize for my generation’s failures. Sorry.”

Chalcedony leaned over and rested her head on Dusted’s shoulder. She had no words to say to the former captain. They sat like that for the rest of the night, watching the stars in the cloudless sky.

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully. The caravan made it to Brown Cactus and buried the dead mare there. The supplies were given to the mayor of the town, and they stayed the night to restock on travelling supplies. It was a small place, and they seemed thankful for the supplies, but Chalcedony stayed to herself. She and Vanilla had been given the deceased’s tent to use, since the cart had been occupied, and she would hide in this most of the day.

The caravan left without fanfare, and the journey back was just as dull.

Once in NewMane, the preachers gave each of the mercenaries a card to show for completion of the job. Chalcedony said farewell to Dusted, who was staying with Generosity. Then Vanilla lead the way back to Dealer’s Contracts where they showed their cards and retold the events to Dealer.

“Contract fulfilled, and only one casualty. Not even a civilian, either. Nice job you two; you’ll be in the heavy stuff before you know it.” He handed them each a new card, valid for a seven hundred credits at any Alliance store. Smiling, he pulled up a new document on the spark-screen. “If you’re up for it, got a new one. A small fry, nothing you two can’t handle, less that last one was a fluke.”

Vanilla looked at Chalcedony, who had been subdued since their return. She kept her gaze on her hooves without response.

“If it helps any, this is foalnapping case. The Force can’t be bothered to give a feather about some small settlement off in the desert. Just pop in, investigate, you don’t even have to confront the pony; just report it to a Forcer and they’ll handle it. Easy as could be.”

“Foalnapping?” Chalcedony asked, one eye peeking out from under her mane.

Dealer leaned back in his seat, sales-pony grin coming to his face. “Terrible thing, it is. In the last two months, seven ponies have gone missing. Oldest was fifty something, youngest was six. Poor kids, taken right from their mother’s teats while their security does nothing.”

Vanilla made a move to speak, disliking the stallion’s attempts to guilt them into the contract, but Chalcedony interrupted him. “We’ll take it.”

Dealer nodded, tapping the screen and tying it to their file. “Next trip out is tomorrow. Here’s your tickets, paid for of course. Payment will be negotiated on your return. Best of luck!”

When they left the building, Vanilla didn’t pause before berating his companion. “What were you thinking? We know nothing about the situation, or the ponies, or, well, anything! We are going into a possibly dangerous zone without a plan or information.”

“Well, I’m not just leaving those foals to some crazy pony!” Chalcedony said, and thinking the argument settled, walked off a ways. She stopped and turned when Vanilla didn’t follow. “Aren’t you coming?”

Vanilla glared at her, muttering under his breath, but walked after with reluctant hooves.

Comments

[North]

This is truly one of the best stories I've seen in a while. I can't get why there are so little views.

[Statera]

Please continue!