A smuggler’s cargo is stolen, strange clouds come and go from the Everfree forest and a new team of flying aces seeks out new recruits to fill their ranks for the upcoming Equestria games.
A Dust 514 Inspired story focusing on the aspects of cloning rather than the EVE universe. Art by the incredible Shadawg. Tags will be updated as the story progresses.
Lightning Dust has lost almost everything she held dear but still clings to the hope that she will live her dream of becoming a professional flier. With the Equestria games only weeks away, a new team of professional flier seeks has begun a search for fliers with nerves of steel and hearts of lead. Seizing the opportunity to compete and restart her flying career she jumps at the opportunity into a crowd of renegades and fortune seekers.
The cockpit’s interior buzzed as the engine hummed with enough force to send vibrations to the lose components on the floor or taped to the dashboard of the craft’s control panel, combined with the constant wheeze from the respirator every time the pilot took breath the sole occupant was kept on edge.
She preferred it this way though, years of flying in the armed forces rewarded little action of any kind while she was shackled to a cargo plane with obnoxiously loud engines and chatty co-pilots with boring lives and few brain cells. Her new plane was a pleasant change in pace, with a full view of the sky out of the cockpit and relatively silent when she wanted it.
As a Pegasus flight came to her as naturally as breathing the air that whipped past her windshield adding pale white streaks to the sky like a second tail of sorts before vanishing. It was so beautiful to watch she almost wished she could slow down to enjoy it. Almost. She had pictures on her dashboard to remind her of pretty things when she landed, in the sky her eyes were everywhere and never lingered for more than a second.
A downside to going private was losing the advantage of backup if things got messy. And miles away from any support in her custom plane getting comfortable would get her killed when there was no co-pilot or even automated assistance that her old plane had for warning her of dangers. In the aptly named Twitchy Devil her eyes had to be everywhere at once from aiming to accident avoidance, her skills were the only thing keeping her alive in a world that was slowly gaining its wings.
A fact that was becoming more aggravating to her with every passing season after nations started to tire of smugglers in Equestrian aircraft and began to level the playing field against magic assisted airplanes. That usually to her meant surface to air spell-swords or rival aircraft trying to escape a rapidly closing net they would not see until the last moment. And if life taught her anything it was ‘when resources become scarce ponies become desperate’ and never was that more true with other species who had grown tired of the slow civilized way of dealing with pirates, and now wanted to try old solutions.
With the reappearance of the crystal empire, the prices of gems had been falling as the cheaper and often more stable crystals they used in construction went on the market. A crystal pony engineer, who she couldn't remember had helped build this craft on the condition she help him with “foreign trades” having little experience with the outside world himself and paid her services with labour. Now with more enough crystal in her engine to carry her wherever she wanted and enough around her to protect her she was far enough ahead of her competition to only fear hungry dragons. That was not what would down her though; one of the few pieces of equipment she kept in her craft besides the chest she was paid to escort was a lock-on klaxon that would give her half a second warning when needed. And as the horn sounded in her ears survival took over.
She twisted both hooves hard enough to send the plane into a roll, then into a downward spiral, her wings shooting out as the sensation of falling overcame her senses, and before she heard or felt the ripple two white trails flew out in front of her and detonated mid-air as the trace went cold. Still leveling out a third shudder rocked her in her seat, the owner of the two projectiles overshooting her own plane and appearing dead ahead of her.
The other plane, going twice as fast and now with two less cylinders mounted under its wings rolled from her assumed forward guns, trailing white power and heated tin foil in a feeble attempt to save itself from any hidden seeker spells she might have. Recovered from the blast she snarled into her mask and immediately pushed the throttle to maximum and set after her pursuer with both wings working simultaneously to switch the safeties of her weapons and flick the bore sight up over her head.
Ignoring the occasional thud of aluminium against her windshield or the obscuring trail she flew in tandem from behind and set lose a burst of lightening from the nose of her craft. Concentrated from unstable clouds the dual arcs lanced into the tail of the forward plane with a loud pop and a small trail of smoke as tin and timber caught fire and melted under the raw heat of a lightning arc.
In response the plane slowed to a crawl and banked left to avoid the collision letting her fly past unchallenged. Rather than re-engage it maintained its speed, a small beep on her radio let her know it was trying to talk now that it had been hit. Circling the smoking place three times before falling from her adrenaline rush and matching speed behind her aggressor, both guns locked on its tail. Commonly border guards shot first then retreated for backup if their target shot back to avoid getting killed over a private’s pay grade.
This was probably the only trait shared between anypony shooting at her though as her fight for survival was done as ruthlessly in the marketplace as it was ferociously in the sky with little room for lenience either way, and as much as she would love to add some more holes into her aggressor’s property money was money. This meant that two missiles would cause more damage than she was willing to deal for another marking on her wings to signify a fourth downed plane.
Cautiously keeping level with the opposing plane she flicked her radio on to send of warning only to receive a debilitating burst of static. Flinching hard enough to tilt the plane saved her glass canopy a spray of deadly silicone that instead tore at her right wing then shot into the main engine’s intake.
With a cough and bang the Devil rocked in mid-air before falling into a nosedive with a shrieking engine spitting the iconic black smoke that sent shudders up any flier’s spine. Before her eyes the ground was incoming and from behind bullets rattled into her tail as the feigning plane on her tale opened fire from a pair of hidden nose mounted machine guns.
Death approached from all angles, with a torn hull worth countless bits and the ground she worked so hard to escape dawning on her dying craft with the enemy behind putting cracks in her once immaculate armour coming in closer for the kill. There were three dots on her cockpit, each a tale of a plane she had downed and a pilot that walked away. Never in her life had she engaged in this form of headhunting, and never before had she resorted to her last resort if a battle ever turned this bad.
Releasing her controls and letting the feeling of weightlessness overtake her senses she grabbed a needle from underneath her chair, right next to the ejector leaver that her baser instincts screamed at her to pull instead, and jammed it into the largest vein in her opening wings that were instinctually trying to slow her descent.
Distilled from a number of plants found around the world, the powerful stimulants the mixture created was often used in lower dosages by non-pegasi to stay awake or match the response times that winged creatures had adapted. When taken by a Pegasus though the serum caused mass damage with only marginal gain, when applied in triplicate though and mixed with other ingredients the hit became a powerful amphetamine that effected perception differently than its comparatively harmless lower dose form.
With a dry heave her head shot forward as her body tried to purge the toxin entering her heart and spreading to her extremities. As her head bobbed back up the world had seemed to grind to a near halt. Stray shots flew past her glass cage, one in particular that seemed to tear through her crystal armour in particular caught her eye as the blue trailed round orb cut past her glass dome shattering nearly gutting her plane. A hypervelocity gun she thought, tilting the flaps on her wings and sending the plane into a spin to avoid more fatal gunfire as another crazy idea came to her. What an outside observer would see as a flurry of movement, were to her meticulous and agonisingly slow: her engine was cut, cooling ports were opened, fuel was stopped and then dumped back in en-masse and finally the re-igniter was keyed three times in under a second. Aerated and now pumped full of fuel the solid crystal burst into flame just as the throttle in the cockpit was pushed to the maximum.
With a feral scream from the pony at the helm and roar that would have been more akin to a Manticore than a piece of machinery metal melted and the engine leapt to life as the mare tugged yoke with bared teeth. With its belly facing the sky the mare could almost make out the blades of grass as she flew by the ground in her heightened state, images of crashed craft and broken fortunes going before her eyes briefly before vanishing back into memory.
Faced with the sky again she saw only the underside of her enemy, a Kestrel if she remembered the build model correctly from this angle, a gryphon made craft as the name implied, that relied heavily on magic items and talismans to stay airborne rather than inherent magic that their builders usually lacked. To survive a hit from a lightning arc, and better yet rebuild itself from the looks of its tail the craft must have been heavily modified with some enchanted wood and military grade weapons.
A split second survey of her own plane revealed heavy damage for a single strafe, but nothing that would impede her flight. Strangely though as the costs mounted up in her mind the desire to try and outrun the gryphon plane shrunk in indirect portion to her repair bills. That flier had tried to KILL her, hunting her down to the ground and riddling her craft with rounds even after she was in a tailspin, even when she offered mercy.
There was almost resignation in her actions even in her drug induced state as a few weapon safeties were quickly taken offline. They were quickly squashed as her opponent, unaware of her recovery, left their underside exposed to the hell she had unlocked. Above her desire to kill was simple logic, there was not a mission around that would cost her life itself even if it meant removing her opposition.
As she tasted iron in her mouth and looked down on her nose to see blood seeping from it the deal was sealed. As the vestiges of her rush started to wear off her the small dot that was her aim finder doubled in size as safeties were switched off and new weapons were brought to bear. Growing with every passing second she waited until her craft was close enough to cause maximum damage. As the range finder fell under a kilometer with a manic grin a series of thuds shook the craft as tiny bolts of fire shot from her plane’s wings and streaked toward her foe.
Explosions rattled their craft closing the short distance between them before her cylinders had time to reload, her instruments beeping at her from all directions reminding her of the impossible. Lack of fuel, lack of ammunition and the final dial reading only “five thirty, out of time” which was impossible she had been up only a couple of hours there was plenty of time...
With a shudder the mare awoke on her desk and shook the crumbs and stray sheets of paper off her muzzle with disgust. A dream no less, and now of all times. Huffing in displeasure she turned to her usual bedfellows, a bottle and a knife lying side by side. With a quick look at the brown fluid sitting just above the label and the now blaring alarm clock she set about putting things in order for the day downing most of the contents with one hoof and flailing blindly at the off button on the alarm with the other.
Today was a rare day indeed, requiring less booze than usual to enjoy but more than her drier days off to get simply get through creating a conundrum she settled by limiting her intake to the bottom of the brand marking plus whatever she could get while on duty provided the bosses were busy.
With a satisfied hum she corked her drink and dropped it into her waiting saddle bag on the ground, normally nothing would make her happier than to immediately fall back onto her desk until she had to run as fast as her legs could carry her to workstation. With alcohol on board she could perhaps find some precious dreamless sleep or at least look better than any number of hours getting ready.
A moment's peace would be undeserved for a day such as this one of all things, if anything this particular day was just another cycle of repetition that was now sought rather than avoided. No Nightmares so realistic as to carry the foul smell of sterilized air as a Blimp beaconed into existence or the perfect pitch of a trench full of stallions shouting "oooh-ra" before charging over would bring the weight of her new duties the same way as a mistaken memory of her time flying.
"Two years’ experience as a weather pony, a lightning wrangler and storm chaser and four years as paid martial arts instructor for Cumulus Military academy"
"It says here you were discharged from the Wonderbolts' flight camp, care to elaborate"
"I was demoted by Spitfire herself, Sir"
The stallion nodded his head in understanding before clearing his throat "I don't give flying feather about who kicked your sorry flank out the Bolts” he screamed slamming his hooves against his desk “I what to know what was running through your fucking brain when you thought to come here with a dishonorable discharge from the Equestria's premiere flying aces"
Unfazed by his outburst she looked to the mare sitting next to the midnight blue stallion. She was calmly brushing a few stray hairs from her mane back into to position with a bemused look across her perfect complexion.
“It was political, Sir”
The stallion rolled his eyes and huffed preparing to launch into another verbal assault “wait” the uniformed mare quipped “I want to hear this, go on”
Taking a deep breath she started her story. The same story that had been told countless times to countless ponies with the same result, she would get yelled at and promptly kicked out of the building "I almost got five ponies killed when they decided to visit their friend and go through forbidden airspace that was filled with clouds we were meant to be busting. Since they happened to be the elements of harmony, and the one that helped me make the twister threatened to quit it put the academy in a rough spot so I guess I got the shaft instead of the element of loyalty” She still didn't dare utter her former wingpony’s name not after carrying both of their faults to the bottom of the cider barrel.
Surprisingly though neither of her possible employers were glaring at her after she finished, they just sat there waiting silently until the stallion spoke up “damn”. She smirked, at least she got the loudmouthed stallion to be quite for a moment, even if they were going to both accuse her of being Tirek reincarnated before demanding she leave.
“You don’t sound particularly sorry” the mare asked leaning toward her accusingly “In fact I don’t think your even trying to impress me anymore” this was new to her, usually she would be on her way out now and her only worry would be minding the door didn’t hit her. The mare however didn't look amused, angry, or even concerned about her openly admitting she almost killed national heroes. Her voice was in fact void of anything but conviction, and that concerned her.
“Your flight report” she started pulling the folder marked with the Wonderbolt insignia and a number of stamps reading ‘confidential’ and ‘rejected’ out of her saddlebag “says you are an exemplary flier, equal to the only mare in the world who can do a sonic Rain-boom and according to some of these performances” tapping her hoof on the papers “you surpassed some of the previous records set by Aces. Some nearly a decade older than you are when they did”.
Hearing her achievements read aloud was usually the quickest way to get her in a good mood, and to know that Spitfire herself hadn't struck her name from the history books was a dream come true. Her gut however told her to keep quiet though. “You get where I am going with this don’t you”
“No ma’am”
The mare exhaled in frustration while her partner slyly grinned. She knew the two behind the desk didn't think much of her, the stallion being the more overt of the two when he just scoffed at her the second she stepped into the room.
“I’ll be blunt with you then Dust I don’t care much for the Princesses, Spitfire, the Elements or your little ‘stunt’ with the twister” finishing her sentence she rose from her chair “I want to know exactly why you gave up when it got out of hoof”. She fought back a nervous twitch at the mare’s workds ‘giving up’ was not something she did. Ever.
“I didn’t give up ma’am I just needed some time to recover” out of the corner of her eye she could see the stallion’s face contort in anger, he held his tongue though when heard the mare continue talking.
“I don’t want to hear it Dust, what I want to know is why you were ready to walk out my door with a smile the second you got it off your chest” again her tone was not angry, just insulted “this is the pony I want working here Lightning” she said throwing a picture at her “because when I look at that photo I see a pony who is ready to go above and beyond to succeed, and all I see here is a pony who doesn’t know how to take a setback”
To the untrained eye her posture was still perfect and neutral, it was only due to repetition and the possibility of getting a job in the sky after months of searching and failures that kept her like this though “permission to speak ma’am” she asked forcing a civil tone through gritted teeth.The unicorn mare nodded sitting back down in her seat “ma’am with all due respect what you see is what you have, and I swear to you if give me a chance to prove myself I will do anything you ask with a smile on my face if give me another shot”
This seemed to appease the mare more than the stallion who was now scowling, and looking at the wooden desk “you can promise this miss Dust?”
“Ma’am I promise no matter what you ask me to do you will be impressed”
With a small smile she levitated a couple of papers and an inkwell out of her bag and placed them on the shared desk “this is your chance then, don’t disappoint me”
She eagerly marched forward, catching a glimpse of the photograph of her in a Wounderbolts trainee suit and happily stepping on it. Taking the quill in her mouth she signed her name and stood at attention again.
Satisfied the mare took the papers, levitated them into her saddlebags and promptly walked toward the room’s second door marked ‘CCV’ “Oh and Lightning” she called without stopping “it’s not me you should be trying to impress” with that the mare departed. Turning her head back to both of the ponies watching her as she reached the doorway and smiled as Lightning turned her head away from her rear and the stallion winked at her. With the door closed the stallion then sat at attentively and focused on the remaining mare before him.
“Before we get started here I want you to know two things”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Don’t call me that” he quipped pushing his chair back and resting his hind legs on the table “Unless I’m in a bad mood or in front of my superiors” he almost spat the final word from his mouth as he continued “you call me Card or otherwise Mr Shark if you need something”.
She nodded her head once fighting the urge to think what sort of mother named her son that “secondly if I say something to you either in the field sky or the damn break room follow it to the letter. I’m an understanding stallion, but if see anything close to disrespect or Celestia help you hear any bloody belligerent remarks coming from you or anypony else that changes, you understand”
“Anything else Mr. Shark”
The stallion huffed handing her a silver lined business card with a milky white gem encrusted into it “don’t fuck with me kid, that’s her job”
The last few hours of her life felt surreal as she shut her apartment door and turned the key. She had been accepted into the skies after months of failures. She almost expected to see an ecstatic little sister and encouraging pair of parents run up to her to congratulate her while her older siblings praised her in their usual way, by mentioning how much better they did at their age. Slumping to the floor she knew that would probably never happen again though, the days of family being a mixed blessing rather than a curse had passed the moment she failed ironically.
Now arriving home was a greeting of dirty clothes thrown haphazardly around the floor and her roommate once again on their bed pitching a tent underneath the sheets and snoring softly until she closed his door averting her eyes and holding her breath until she was far enough away to not gag. Her usual moments like these were short lived before work called and demanded she get dressed and try to pay the other half of her bills waiting tables.
Tonight was a rare moment though, as she walked back home her usual customers heckled her as per usual until she for once told them she wasn’t going to be coming back to them tonight. Ideally she would have rather been fired after a night of insulting the usual scum that frequented her workplace or kept her mouth shut in favour of severance pay instead. Now despite being loaded with another week’s worth of groceries she would never eat as she read the letter over again that she felt unusually giddy.
The gilded grey and black letters she skimmed over promised her money and excitement that only sports stars could achieve, that is dangerous work that almost guaranteed harm and a salary that almost made the danger worth no second though. What stood out to her though was inked in green down the bottom right of her form Lightning Dust: Approved For Active Duty. Were it mentioned by any other pony she would have said it was petty and pathetic, but knowing that somepony specifically wanted Lighting Dust and nopony else still sent a tremor through her wings whenever she read the personalised mention a stamp lacked.
That and the style of writing that only the illusive mare could have written was pleasant opportunity for her depleted ego, unless the vulgar giant of a stallion had unusually elegant and feminine penmanship. With a Cheshire grin she carefully placed the letter away careful not to damage it and set about unloading her roommate’s shopping. Despite his tendencies to indecently expose himself or infuriate her with his laziness she couldn't bring herself to dislike him being in a similarly overworked state most of the week.
Still she would never compare two jobs to one though, let alone both of hers. Besides while she didn't outright dislike him she could still envy that fact he had days off and probably enough money to cover her side of the rent when she left. With a huff as she closed his refrigerator and sat down on one of his chairs at his table she couldn’t help but think the stallion probably had it in him to go a lot further up the chain provided he actually put some effort into his job. Still, wealthier than her or no she still made a deal with him to give a week’s notice before leaving.
And with great difficultly she put down her side of the rent for the next week along with enough food to ease her absence. While elated she was going to have another shot at life seeing that many bits leave her was heart wrenching enough, thinking about what she would have to do to regain them should she fail was terrifying.
With a deep breath to steel herself she hopped down from the chair and began picking up her clothes around the room. Her possessions were mostly in her saddlebag anyway, still packed from the day she left home. Her various pieces of clothing ranging from her waitress dress to a janitorial suit were still lying around and needed to be washed before return. Normally her ever negligent roommate would fail to notice her work clothes when mixed with his and washed them free of charge for her.
Garments being rarer in a society that didn’t wear them save for unique occasions meant that cleaning them was done at home or professionally at a launder which she couldn't afford with so few bits to her name at the moment. And without any detergent or spell to do it at home cleaning the various stains her outfits acquired through the day or night equated to a scrubbing brush and far more time than she usually wanted to spend with it.
The lack of food made the otherwise unpleasant task painful as well as arduous, her growling stomach kept twisting the taste of the wooden handle of the brush into an unusually tempting morsel despite the smell. Distractions were usually the key that got her through these boring tasks, the empty bottle of liquid that would have made this job a lot easier sitting there to remind her of the flight suit the academy had the audacity to demand back.
The extra half hour or so every time she needed to wash her uniforms almost made using the last of the soap to dissolve the skin tight suit seem like a bad decision. For better or worse though the look on the mailmare’s face when she accepted a bottle of blue and yellow slurry with string floating in it was as priceless as the prospect of a new jug of detergent. Besides as long as the phrase “thanks miss but I’m not thirsty right now” was committed to memory she could laugh as hard as she wanted as long as she didn’t think about the clueless pony actually drinking the mixture.
Finishing with a smirk she spat out the brush and hung the old uniform out to dry in the shower and thought over her mental checklist of the evening. Normally whenever she found privacy and or silence she would honour the quiet moment of her day, or week if job hunting grew hectic, by spending it in bed. And as tempting as that sounded with an empty belly she still had some kick left in her.
Wiping the floor with a determined grin she cautiously balanced her weight between her legs and her outstretched wings nervously lowering herself in the familiar wing-up position. She hadn’t had the chance to fall back into her usual routine for months now and coupled with the fact that she hadn’t been preening her wings as religiously as she once had her flying had suffered. Removing her front legs from the ground and balancing on her primary feathers she experimentally tried to do a wing-up.
With some success and pain a dull feeling between her wings she pressed on reaching five brushes with the dirty tile floor before slipping and falling. Brushing her mane out of her face she tried again only to have the pain in her stomach become too much. Her third attempt brought her the same agony but in her joints, seizing until she feel onto her side. Rubbing her injured jaw and standing on shaky legs in defeat she looked into the bathroom mirror and fought the urge to vomit.
Scowling she turned the sink taps on and gulped down mouthfuls of water and air before shutting the valve off and shifting into the position again, she hung there for a moment simply thinking.
There was a lot she desired but much that she wished to be rid of at the moment, the most prominent being the food in the refrigerator. There was not only none of her food there, there was NONE. There was not a single bit of her debt she could easily fly away with tomorrow there was NOTHING there to take or needed to be given. She was at ground level, the very base line of the world without anything to prove to anyone. There were no chances of failure, not ten, not a hundred or a thousand wing-up she had to do or had done before.
With a huff, and the feeling of wind in her mangled mane she opened her eyes to find the tile perhaps an inch from her nose. Then she began again, pain coming and going with every movement in her wings and number she softly whispered to herself as she came back up. Somehow she hit fifty marks, then jumped from her wings to her forelegs without missing a beat. She repeated this cycle once more before falling to the ground and unceremoniously lying there in caked in sweat. Eventually once the power to rise again came to her she observed the mare in the mirror again, there at least she had some more claim to her roots. The physical mandate for Pegasus cadets had taken more out of her body than her appearance, still it looked like she had gotten into a fight with a steam train.
And by Luna the smell was probably potent enough to wake Wheat up, she reasoned stepping into the shower to get rid of any thoughts of becoming more like her roommate. She realised her error the moment she turned the dial as freezing water hit her heated body. For once the water felt nice though prompting her tired limbs to hurry before that inevitably changed for the worse. There was little room in her schedule for pleasure but she felt liked she deserved one thing before leaving tomorrow. Done with her shower and no longer stricken with shaking limbs she took a comb and pair of scissors and set to work removing her phony tail styled hair and fringe, working her mane into a more suitable and aerodynamic cut.
With a quick shake to remove excess water from her coat her windswept mane stayed put, without some gel it would be hard to keep it that way for long once she set off flying in the morning, or if she flew judging by how badly her wings hurt, and impossible if she was going to go to sleep. Still she looked almost exactly like she had been before the Wounderbolts removed her from the academy, and hopefully a lot less like she spent most of her day working rather than working out.
With a soft sigh she sluggishly returned to her bedroom. Tomorrow would doubtlessly spell out hell to pay for her sudden workout and departure if she knew her roommate at all. Which was thankfully not that well considering how rarely they talked outside breakfast. With grunt she fell into bed rolling around and still quite sore but finally appeased.
