> The Conversion Bureau: Threshold
>  by Guardian_Gryphon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"What a piece of work is a man, How noble in
Reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving
how express and admirable, In action how like an Angel!
in apprehension how like a god, the beauty of the
world, the paragon of animals. and yet to me, what is
this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me..."
--Hamlet: Act II, Scene II.



Threshold (n): 

1. The point of entering, or beggining

2. The point that must be exceeded to begin producing a given effect, or result, or to elicit a response

3. The point of division between two differing states, or places; a boundary line





Earth Calendar: 1/18/2030
11:45, GMT
International Cyclic Quantum Accelerator Campus

"Coolant systems?"

"Operational."

"Where are we with satellite telemetry?"

"UN Military command is establishing the secure link now."

"Good!  Make them go faster.  Light a fire under them if you must.  We are firing this at twelve hundred, come hell or high water."  Doctor Immanuel Kerint straightened his thick, square rimmed glasses, and took a nervous sip of his schnapps.  He reasoned that it didn't matter if he had a little buzz, it wasn't as if he had to do any serious calculations that day.

Doctor Kerint and his partners at the ICQA had spent over fifteen years running calculations, testing their theories, and projecting out a seemingly infinite number of simulations.

Kerint gazed out the control room's exterior window at the Siberian tundra.  The governments of the world had insisted on constructing the ICQA somewhere nonthreatening.  Despite all the reassurances of the scientific community, no one wanted a device capable of generating that much energy in their backyard.

CERN's old LHC had been capable of generating seventeen teraelectronvolts.
ICQA could generate twenty petaelectronvolts, which was so many orders of magnitude larger that you couldn't fit all the zeros on ten whiteboards.

The United Nations had funded the monstrous construct.  Building down through Siberian permafrost had been an extreme task, especially given the sheer size of the facility.
The particle tunnels themselves had to be over four stories in  interior diameter.  
The circumference of the initial acceleration tunnel, or 'ramp up loop' was twenty kilometers.

The actual firing loop clocked in at an impressive and mind boggling forty five kilometers in circumference.

ICQA's first test firing had succeeded in briefly creating more antimatter, sustained only for a microsecond, than every particle accelerator that came before.  Combined.

But ICQA had been built to do something far greater.
Kerint's brainchild, the Atmospheric Wave Front Propagation Experiment was going to be one of the pinnacle achievements of human history.

Ever since the early 2000s, the planet had been in a spiraling state of decay.
People had ignored countless warnings about population carrying capacity, the dangers of polluting the Earth's water supplies, the critically low oil reserves, and worst of all atmospheric decay.

Global warming, as such, had never come to fruition.  Several large volcanic eruptions caused by badly placed geothermal taps, and illegal underground nuclear experiments, had forced global temperatures down despite the toxification and rising carbon levels in the atmosphere.

Instead, humanity was stuck with all but unbreathable air in some locations, a profusion of acid rain in its cities, a lack of clean alternatives to dwindling oil supplies, and ever declining crop yields due to atmospheric conditions.

Weather had reacted violently to the changes in global chemistry, pounding parts of Asia, Australia's southern coast, and the Gulf of Mexico with storms so brutal that the areas were deemed permanently and totally uninhabitable by 2020.

The human population stood at a staggering 14.7 billion.  Many scientists, Kerint included, believed that if something wasn't done quickly, there would be a massive extinction level event that would knock the population back to medieval levels through a combination of starvation, super plague, AIDS, and terminal genetic birth defects.

If Kerint had anything to say about it, the Atmospheric Wave Front Propagation experiment would put Humanity back on top.  The premise was awe inspiring; release a precisely tuned energy front that would affect the entire atmosphere; breaking down all invasive and synthetic chemicals to solid, heavy, basic carbons, which would rain down into the oceans and be processed away by the salt water.

If it worked, the atmosphere would be as clean as the day before man built his first coal fire.
Within a few decades, advances in genetic science would allow for cloning as a viable means to species replenishment, and if world governments could bring down the population then the planet had a strong chance of moving into a new golden age.

In Kerint's own words, "We shall put the Renaissance to shame!"

The forty five year old scientist had given everything to this one experiment.
From the day his mother had died of malignant cancer, caused by the toxic environment she lived in combined with a genetic predisposition, Kerint had vowed to solve humanity's problems.

He had graduated MIT at twenty, with two PHD's, one in quantum mechanics, the other in physics.  He had gone on to push his crusade on the world's governments and the UN, yelling until eventually, someone listened.

It hadn't been easy, but he had forced his way up the ladder of bureaucracy and finally... finally he had secured the last dollar of necessary funding.  And over the course of a decade, ICQA was born in the Siberian wastes.

Kerint ran a shaking hand through his thick black hair.  The edges were prematurely graying, something his doctor told him was a result of the near constant stress he had operated under since childhood.  But if things went as planned today, he reasoned, then perhaps he could *finally* relax.

He turned to look through the control room's other window at the particle acceleration tunnel below.  The ramp up tunnel would accelerate two protons to 0.98 c, or near light speed, before handing them off to the actual firing tunnel which would push that to 0.9999999875 c, or so close to light speed that the relativistic effect on the particles would cause gravitic fluctuations in the tunnels themselves.

Finally, the particles would collide, and the resulting stream of energy would be beamed by focusing dishes to three satellites, which would spread it to a full network of twenty two, which would in turn detonate the actual propagation wave down into the atmosphere.

Kerint grinned as he lovingly stared at the gleaming metal section of tube.  His child was going to produce an event that would reach out and touch every member of mankind, for all eternity.

He snapped his gaze to one of the research assistant, who was busy at a console in the corner.
The interface was one of the first fully holographic ones in the world.  No expense spared.

"Are we ready?"

The young woman nodded, "Telemetry is established with the Trinity satellites, and the full network has been aligned with six sigma accuracy.  We're on schedule."

Kerint chuckled, "Good yes... very good.  Carry on."

He stared at his watch as the hands inched, agonizingly, towards 11:58 GMT.
At 11:58, the accelerator would activate for the two minute pre-fire spin up.

He walked over to the main status board and drummed his fingers beside the activation key.
Finally, the time came.

A few members of press had been allowed to be present for the event, and the rest of Kerint's partners filed in to stand beside him.  They were extraordinary people, one and all.  Over the years they had become a small family, dedicated to the betterment of the human race.

Kernit cleared his throat, and the cameras went live, "Ladies and gentlemen," his lilting germanic accent held audiences across the world in mesmerized suspense, "First and foremost, I wish to thank my brilliant colleagues.  ICQA belongs to them, as much as to me.  It also belongs to each and every one of you.  It is our gift.  Our gift to humanity."

With that, Kerint turned and laid his hand on the activation key, his eyes on the large clock display projected on the control room's overlook window.  When the clock struck 11:58, he twisted the key.

Red lights flicked on throughout the tunnel, warning personnel to evacuate the area, as huge steel radiation-proofed doors slammed shut all across the complex.  Even the glass of the overlook was itself radiation proofed in case of an accident or leak.

The technicians began calling out a countdown, and information, "Coolant channels are active!"

"Acceleration in progress, ramp-up complete!"

"Handing off particles to the main tube!"

"0.991 c!"

"Gravimetrics look good!"

In a titanium tube, deep below the earth, two protons spun in opposing directions at velocities unimaginable to the human psyche.  With barely the space of a molecule to keep them from colliding, the two particles sped on in their quest for the insurmountable lightspeed barrier.

At exactly 11:59:59 GMT, the two particles collided.  In the course of a second, the energy of a million million stars was born in a space the size of the head of a pin.
This stream of pure energy inhabited, for a planck second, a fractal hexagon framework of ionized steel fibers designed to channel it out to the three firing dishes.

The energy coursed along the channel given it, racing out and up to strike the three satellites the dishes were aimed at.  The 'Trinity' satellites in turn divided and pulsed the energy out to the network.

At 12:00:00 GMT, the Quantum Wave Propagation experiment fired into Earth's atmosphere.
A wave of energy engulfed the entire planet, an event visible to every member of the human race, occurred in the space of a moment.

But down in the ICQA control room, no one was celebrating.
As the satellites had fired, alarms had blared and warning lights had flicked on.
The telemetry screens went from stable symmetric displays, to wild unshackled, and terrifying spikes that sent shivers of abject panic down Dr. Kerint's spine.

"The wavefront just jumped its gravitic barrier!"

"Propagation, in progress! We can't shut it off!"

"Something has changed in the waveform equation, outputs are not, repeat NOT nominal!"

Kerint slammed his palm down on the control board, "Initiate the contingency protocol!"

"Too late! Wavefront has passed critical phase!"

All eyes turned to the exterior window.  The ice blue of the cold Siberian sky lit up with a stunning aurora, as the wavefront passed.  The energy appeared as a boiling wave of greens and blues punctuated by chain lightning.  As it passed over, the clear blue of the northern sky turned to a sickly ashen grayish teal.  The sun itself vanished, occluded as something in the interaction between the wave, and the planet, went horribly horribly wrong.

As the wave finished encircling the globe, and dissipated, silence reigned in the control room.
No one wanted to speak.  No one had the words.

What words could be offered?
Few would grasp the enormity of the disaster at first, but Kerint's Einsteinian IQ allowed him to develop a grim picture of the day's events in the course of a few moments.

Kerint buried his face in his hands.
He was now a chief conspirator in an event that would be marked as the beginning of the end.
For all mankind.

Extinction was the future.
A future he had created.

Where had it all gone *so* wrong?





Equestrian Calendar: 10th Month, 1st Day, Year 955 PB (Post Banishment)
Late Morning
The Canterlot Archives

The monarch of Equestria was having a bad morning.
Things had started well enough, to be sure;  she had lowered the moon in a timely manner, sparing a few moments to think of her imprisoned sister. 

The sun had risen in a spectacular wash of golden color without any fuss, and breakfast had been a fantastic and refreshing start to the morning's activities.

Nothing had really 'happened' between breakfast, and mid-morning that gave Celestia any right to be upset.  She knew that, which made the deep sense of foreboding she was experiencing all the more troublesome.  The white Alicorn didn't subscribe to coincidence, and centuries of rule had taught her to trust her instincts.

When seemingly 'unfounded' feelings of concern tugged at her spirit, she was always more upset, by default, than if the problem had a definable source.  Not knowing what ill events might be transpiring at any given moment was a source of extreme anxiety for her.

She had developed a method for dealing with these gut-wrenching premonitions over a hundred years ago, and that was to lose herself in the Archives, in hopes that she would either read something that would provide insight into the vague issue, or that she would be able to distract herself and forget about it until such time as she had enough information to act.

Canterlot's Archives represented, unquestionably, the largest library in the world.
Dragon hordes, and the Gryphons' great library, contained some manuscripts that predated even the oldest ones the Archives possessed, but nothing could compete with Canterlot for sheer volume of collected works.  Everything from histories and magic textbooks, to fiction of all sorts, both engaging and ill conceived.

Celestia would sooner die of embarrassment than admit it, but she had a particular weakness for sappy romantic works.  It was her one private vice.

On that particular morning, Celestia did finally manage to shake off the impending feeling of concern.  But rather than completely dissipate, it nested at the back of her mind, constantly needling her, as though a miniature devil were sitting in there driving a tiny pin into her brain.

Celestia had learned to sideline less potent emotions such as this, however, and she did her best to ignore the little pin prick until it became something she could actually, physically, respond to.





Earth Calendar: 7/15/2031
08:55 GMT
London, The UK

"...in other news, violent food riots continue to add to the rising body count in Eastern Europe, exacerbating the casualties caused by the widespread famine plaguing the globe.  The Russian Federation has declared a state of indefinite martial law, and continues with its plans to 'peacefully' absorb several smaller surrounding nations in order to bolster their failing economies..."

"...Minister Keshir Riikal addressed the UN defense council today, pleading for more troops to help stabilize the Middle Eastern regions, which have been rocked by a series of increasingly destructive Jihad wars, as centuries-old cultural conflicts intersect with the collapse of the Arabian economies due to the total exhaustion of the world oil supply...."

"...The President of the United States formally announced the creation of the American Sub-Continent Disaster Relief Command; a paramilitary organization consisting of American and Mexican special forces, paired with Canadian Mounties and National Guard.  The organization will gain unprecedented powers to operate militarily in all three countries, under the oversight of a joint governmental advisory board...."

"...Biologists in Geneva are scrambling to collect genetic samples of remaining plant and animal life on Earth, as the greatest extinction event since the Cretaceous Asteroid Impact rocks the planet.  Some scientists estimate that all life on Earth, outside of captivity, beyond humans and microbes, will be dead within the decade.  These terrifying numbers come as the World Health Organization is slated to deliver its sobering report to the UN next week; early estimates say that as much as seventy percent of the world is experiencing famine, with those statistics slated to rise to ninety five percent within six months...."

"...Tonight on the Who's Who of the World; 'Immanuel Kerint; misguided genius, or butcher of the human race?'  We'll delve into the life history of the man responsible for perhaps the most destructive single event in human hi..."

"Off." The wall-sized LCD switched to black instantly, in response.
The man stepped to the window of his apartment, and looked down at the sprawling metropolis of London.  The streets were eerily empty, with only the occasional taxi, bus, or diplomatic car passing.  The world's hopes for large scale synthetic oil based fuels had died with the sun, and since the... 'event', the countries of the world had quickly exhausted most major fuel reserves.

Ninety percent of the vehicles on the road now were electric.
Without the full light of the sun, even corn couldn't grow in crops large enough to produce ethanol for anyone but the military.

Most of the world's crops were now being created and harvested in massive towering cylinders built in deserts and on tundras.  The facilities were hydroponic, and hermetically sealed.  
The produced their own artificial UV light, and the general crop of choice was kelp.  It was disgusting, both in taste and texture, but it was the most efficient thing that could be grown, and thus it was the only thing being grown.

A beleaguered, and significantly more gray, Immanuel Kerint, knew better than to trust the WHO numbers.  The casualties would be far *worse* than they were estimating.  His own personal guess, which he had verified out to five sigma mentally, suggested that the population would stabilize at eight billion.  If the governments of the world could rally and create a new fuel source.

As far as Kerint was concerned, the conclusion was foregone.
He had effectively signed a death order for six *billion* men, women, and children.
Those that didn't starve, would be victims of plague.  The signs of adaptive superbugs were already there; created by the foul conditions that over four fifths of the world had descended into.

A mewling, crying, moaning, dying mass of humanity packed into the cities; desperately seeking refuge.  London was an exception; the UK government had initiated a military freeze on immigration in all its member countries; no one in, no one out, period.

Anyone caught trying to cross the border, either direction, was treated as a combatant in defiance of military law, and killed on sight.

The HMS Elizabeth itself had recently destroyed a freighter with her F-35s.  The vessel had been arriving from France, ladened with starving immigrants.  It refused to answer hails, light signals, or turn around when presented with warning shots, and a few of the beleaguered occupants had tried to shoot down a Sea Stallion helicopter with a shoulder mounted rocket launcher.

The world had been too busy tending to its own dead to initiate any kind of outcry at the killing of four hundred 'innocents.'
The old way was gone.  The new rule of survival was 'stay alive at any cost.'
There were no innocents, no criminals, no soldiers, no civilians.  Not really.
Only the dead, and the survivors.

Kerint himself was essentially under house arrest.  Despite the world's preoccupation with its death throes, there had been plenty of people in high places clamoring for Kerint's extradition, and in some cases execution.

Some believed he could reverse the catastrophe, others just wanted to indulge their fantasies of justice.  Sometimes, Kerint wished they would.  He didn't feel worthy to breathe relatively clean air, have lights and running water, and receive a daily food delivery.  He had, after all, possibly condemned a whole race to death.

The only thing anyone unanimously agreed upon was that no one, Kerint included, had an explanation as to *why* the ICQA had misfired so catastrophically.  But the UK believed he was the best hope at reversing the problem, and so had confined him to his apartment.
They had provided him with access to a powerful server cluster, his research data, and correspondence with his colleagues.  Those few who hadn't been assassinated, disappeared, or committed suicide.

The government had then strongly implied that he was to quietly attempt to find a counter to the effects of the experiment.  If he couldn't, they might be forced to 'hand him over to the Hague.'
That would, by all counts, be a death sentance in and of itself.

Kerint sighed, and spoke to his VI again.  The device, a 'virtual intelligence' was based off of rudimentary predecessors like Siri and Watson.  It was not artificially intelligent, but it was a powerful linguistic parser and database manager, making it an invaluable tool for research.

"Pull up datafile 23-11-108.65.  Let's try this again..."





Equestrian Calendar: 9th Month, 11th Day, Year 981 PB (Post Banishment)
Midnight
The Canterlot Throne Room

"Is it as we feared?"

"It is."  Celestia stood in the throne room, addressing a circle of hooded and cloaked Unicorns.
The Council of archmages wasn't a governmental body per se, more of a conglomeration of the realm's most talented magicians, assembled to better all of Equestria through the study of magic.

To her surprise, she had been approached by the head wizard several months prior.
He had relayed startling concerns and findings; according to the studies of the council, Equestria was moving.

Not in any sort of limited two dimensional, or even three dimensional sense, but astrally.
Celestia had tried to explain it to her closest advisors with the illustration of bubbles; 
Equestria's 'bubble' was on the move.

Such occurrences were not unknown; the realm had even melded and broken away from several others over its lifetime, but these had always been gradual and weak events whereby the two 'bubble's brushed each other ever so slightly, opening a small stable portal between them.

Should Equestria collide with a realm with the potential of so much energy behind it; the event would be much more cataclysmic.  There would be no negative effects on Equestria's side, since it possessed all the momentum.  But for the other realm?
Celestia shuddered to consider the implications.  

She knew she couldn't stop Equestria moving; even had her sister been present, the two demigods could not have exerted enough power, even with the Elements of Harmony, to leech the realm's momentum. 

Celestia addressed the council of magicians, her regal voice echoing from the marble floors back up the golden balustrades, "Unseal the deepest vaults.  Peruse whatever works you must.  Find answers.  We need to know more.  We need to be ready.  For any conceivable outcome.."

All she could do was spend the next two decades preparing; for what precisely, she did not know.  But one thing she knew for certain; this event was going to change everything.





Earth Calendar: 9/23/2079
12:23 GMT
Florence, Italy

"HAS THE WORLD BEEN SAVED?  HUMANITY WELCOMES THE INAUGURATION OF EARTHGOV"

It was the headline of the Wall Street Journal, and an oddly fitting sentiment, given that it was Immanuel Kerint's 93rd Birthday.

The physicist was surprisingly well for a man his age; advances in genetic science had dramatically increased the human lifespan, at least in the segment of the population that could afford it.

If necessity was the mother of invention, then humanity had been inventing as never before.
Kerint felt guilty for thinking it, but his disaster of an experiment had produced some good for humanity.

Viable hydrogen fuel cells, positronic computing, quantum phase modelling, genetic engineering...  The list went on and on.  Humanity had thrown enormous effort into technological advancement to combat the threats of its own lifeless home.

Perhaps the biggest change was the one-world government.
Christened 'Earthgov,' it was a council wielding ultimate global power, counterbalanced by regional senates that could be run and molded at the discretion of each continent or sub-region.

Representatives were elected to the senates by the people, and in turn members from these senates would be elected to the Council itself by popular vote of their peers.

Humanity was throwing its chips on a single number.  With the world population hovering around eight billion, Kerint's grim predictions had been fulfilled almost to the letter.  The death's weighed on him, but less than they used to.

His consolation was knowledge, however bittersweet.  It had taken him twenty years to find the culprit; the true world-killer.  If only the ICQA had been fired on a different day.  Any other day.  Even any other hour on the same day...

Quantum Strangelets had been a theoretical menace once.
That was before Kerint's attempts to discover a reversal to the Wave Propagation Experiment lead him to discover proof of their existence.

On January eighteenth, twenty thirty, a quantum strangelet had intersected the Earth at noon GMT.  Just as the ICQA had been fired.  Kerint didn't subscribe to coincidence, but the world was too busy trying to rebuild to listen to the crackpot theories of an old man.

He had become something of a laughing stock since his 'exoneration', which, he supposed, was better than being more hated than Adolf Hitler, Benito Mussolini, and Joseph Stalin combined.

He never had found a viable fix.  The regret still haunted his dreams, waking and sleeping.
The interaction of the strangelet had produced variables so complex, even the new AI computer systems couldn't untangle them.

AI.  Artificial intelligence.
Man had finally smashed the Turing Test once and for all.

Positronics had led to an era of Quantum computing, and thus to AI.
The programs actually had to be based off a sort of 'etching' of a human brain into positronic pathways.  A Programmer would then strip out the white noise where personality, memories, and emotions would have existed, and add in directives and databases.

The program's weren't emotional, or even sentient.  They couldn't even intuit.  But they could be creative in an antiseptic sense, and their processing capabilities were impossible to fully comprehend.  AI now ran virtually everything on Earth.

Ironically, the advent of so many new technologies had led to a second, more subtle, form of global disaster.  Though it was hard to see inside the cities, most of humanity lived below the poverty line.  Jobless. Replaced by their own, more efficient creations.

They were calling it the Singularity.
A point at which man's own creations could govern, repair, construct, direct, and decommission themselves with no intervention whatsoever.  Their only purpose to produce goods and services for their mostly jobless masters.

Without AI, however, mankind would be extinct.  The Machines had been the key to stabilizing world logistics, alleviating famines almost overnight with their superior and a-moral capacity for 'optimum resource allocation.'

Kerint even had his own AI, patterned after his own brain.
Though the government no longer funded his research, a half dozen private corporations had been willing to stake a few billion of their newfound cash reserves on him, hoping he might yet discover a reversal for the atmospheric taint.

Since the immigration bans and his own house arrest had been lifted decades before, he now lived in a small villa in Florence.  The once beautiful Italian countryside was now, like every other place on Earth, a study in shades of gray.

Gray dirt, gray dust, gray petrified trees, and gleaming gray skyscrapers.
Humanity's monochromatic legacy of antiseptic lifelessness.  His fault.

Kerint seated himself on one of his many fiberglass porch chairs, to stare, as he always did, at the comings and goings on the street below.

The new 'Earthgov Military Police' found his body that way two days later.
He had died of cardiac failure, brought on by emotional stress.

The man who wanted to save the world passed at age ninety three; dead of a broken heart.





Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
13:22 GMT
Earthgov Quantum Situational Awareness Facility
Belarusian Grey Forests

Senior Technician Miles Edwards was bored out of his skull.
Of all the possible jobs for a man with such a complicated, prestigious degree as Quantum Metaphysics; staring at a monitor all day waiting for something that would never happen was easily the least worthwhile.

The QSA Facility was referred to by anyone 'in the know' as the most expensive publicity stunt ever created by Earthgov.

Quantum Science was considered by the populace to be the demons of Pandora's Box; a ticking timebomb of terrifying arcane magic-like knowledge that paramilitary organizations, terrorists, or cackling mad scientists might misuse or abuse to wreak havoc that would put the Winnowing to Shame.

The Winnowing.  A Strangely poetic name, Edwards reflected, for a decades spanning event that had cut Earth's population nearly in half.

He had described it as best he knew at his graduation cocktail party, "You take one, little, tiny aspect of the planet; the atmosphere's opacity, and you tweak it.  Suddenly; its 'rocks fall, everybody dies.' "

The discussion had lost him a date, but it was essentially a correct portrayal; if somewhat macabre, in a cavalier way.

To keep the populace from tossing and turning in their beds, and putting their votes behind different politicians, the administration had spent billions of credits creating a command center, connected to a worldwide network of tidal sensors, seismographs, atmospheric sensors, and satellites.

Its single purpose was utter redundancy; to sit and wait for a disaster that, in theory, could never happen, so that everyone could breathe easier.

It was true, Quantum Science was a genie who had long since escaped the bottle; but to create an event on the level of the disaster that caused The Winnowing would require not only trillions of credits' worth of assets, but also a highly coincidental set of circumstances, and devices or facilities so large the Military would notice them well before they ever got to the active 'Armageddon' stage.

Given its apparent uselessness, the QSA campus was often loaned out to researchers seeking to take a crack at plumbing the secrets of the universe, or publish another useless paper on the Wave Propagation Experiment failure.

Edwards was not yet part of the 'clique' of initiated scientists with access to the data archives; so his seemingly eternal toil was to slave away at a monitor, daily, and hope to be noticed by his section director.

Edwards had already begun writing up a new resume.

He hated his boss with a passion unmatched by all the other annoyances in his life.
The man was the sort who thought the universe's central axis passed directly through his,  considerably overestimated, brain.

Miles Edwards was so engrossed in his boredom, that it took him over a minute to register the fact that his terminal was trilling a soft, insistent alarm tone.  

For a split second, he thought it might be the alarm he set to keep track of the end of his shift.
He swiftly realized that the situation was infinitely more serious.

Edwards's fingers flew over his terminal, trying to make sense of the warning it was insistently displaying.  When he finally began to comprehend the meaning of the graphs, and lines of text, he had to take a moment to sit back in his chair, and let his mind chew it over.

Ultimately, he decided it was far too staggering a discovery to simply shelve, or handle himself.
He rose, and poked his head out of his office, "Hey! HEY! I got something on my scopes!"

At first, none of the scientists and interns in the main chamber reacted strongly.
Most, in fact, stared at him as if he were making an April Fool's prank a few months too early.
Edwards darted back into his office, and ordered his terminal to transfer the data to the main screen of the central chamber.

The room was pie shaped, with offices along the straight walls, an elevator at the vertex, and a screen that occupied the entire 'arc' section.

Edwards reached the main floor again just in time to watch the reactions sweep through the assembled eggheads.    At first whispers swept the room, then murmurs, finally it devolved into an outright fracas of noise, angry debates, and fearful assertions.

The bedlam was interrupted by a loud, piercing whistle that emanated from the direction of the elevator.  Everyone, Edwards included, whirled to see the facility director taking in the information on the screen with a quiet reserve.

The man gestured, "This is real?"  

Several people, Miles Edwards among them, nodded silently.

"Call the council.  We are now officially in a state of global disaster."







> 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."
> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
20:19 GMT
Earthgov Council Facility
Harrisburg Pennsylvania

The steam rising from the unadorned, simplistic, but artful saucers carried a waft of citrus, with the faintest undertones of cinnamon.  The unusual Persian tradition of serving tea in such shallow vessels was one of the ways Councilor Innara maintained a constant tie to her homeland.

Cal and Konem also privately suspected that she enjoyed using the custom of offering said tea to guests as a way of educating them in an unfamiliar culture, and disarming them.

Sulerahmen's latest guest, Councilor Matthas Korvan, was clearly not a run of the mill politician.
His ostensibly neutral, but overtly determined expression bespoke a cautious, conniving, sharp mind hiding behind his steely eyes.  His ambition was the quiet, subtle, long-burning sort that Innara knew all too well as the hallmark of potential; both for greatness... and disaster.

Innara chose her first words with utmost care, "I must admit, Councilor Korvan, your support was unexpected, but most welcome."

The suited man fiddled for a moment with his hat; a fedora, an unusual stylistic choice.
He sipped the tea lightly from his saucer, wincing unintentionally at its bitterness, "As you so eloquently put it Councilor; we have no choice.  Say what they will about the cost."

Innara nodded, and slipped a small cube of sugar into her mouth before taking her first sip, eyeing Korvan and noting the well concealed surprise and interest as full understanding of the proper way to consume Persian tea dawned.

Korvan indulged himself in a cube of sugar, and a long pull on his saucer, before speaking again.
Unbeknownst to him, Cal and Konem shared a private, silent, mouthed conversation from their nearly invisible position at the door,

Cal rolled her eyes, "He's a sap."

Konem shrugged, "But the suit is nice."

"Probably bought it at ten times the value its really worth."

"How can you tell?"

"Female intuition."

Korvan finished the saucer off, and smiled knowingly, "I know your reputation Councilor Sulerahmen, and I've studied your career; you didn't call me here simply for the tea."

Innara shook her head, "No.  I called you here because I bear no false expectations about the nature of our relationship.  You have provided me with a service.  I therefore owe you one in return, and rather than try to dodge the issue, I prefer to meet it on my terms."

Korvan let out a short sharp laugh, "Frankness.. I appreciate that.  Beating around the bush is the nature of the game... but when it can be dispensed with, its a refreshing change."

The man sighed, and twirled his hat in his hands again, before setting it down and leaning forward, "You're a Transcendentalist... but I know you have strong military connections.  On the other hand, I have strong technical connections.  Specifically, I have a scientist.  A man I think represents our best chance at getting a line on this disaster quickly..."

Innara smiled slightly, "And you have no way of getting him to the site of the event before it officially becomes a military exclusion zone."

"Precisely.  By the time I cut the red tape at Military Command, we may be facing something large, ominous, and misunderstood."  Korvan leaned forward, "When I first met Lawrence Thornton? He had just finished playing seventeen simultaneous grandmaster games of chess with seventeen separate AIs.  He won every single game.  He did it in fourteen minutes.  
We need him on-site... and you can make that happen."

Innara finished the last of her tea thoughtfully, "I must admit, as political favors go, yours is surprisingly pleasant.  Why the sudden push for symbiosis?"

Matthas leaned back, "I'm new, you've been at this a while.  I want to know how you've turned a dead end position in a ridiculed party into a respected, powerful political instrument."

Innara raised an eyebrow, "Patience Councilor Korvan.  Patience.  Nothing particularly special beyond that.  I possess the ambition to endeavour, and the patience to temper it."

Sulerahmen stared at a piece of lattice work behind Korvan's head for several seconds before continuing, "Your request is not merely mutually beneficial for us, but stands to improve the situation overall."

Korvan smiled, "Good! How soon can we get Thornton to the Azores? He's already on his way to JFK as we speak... could we get the wheels turning by tomorrow? I'd prefer to see him on-location before the end of the week if possible." 

Innara allowed herself a small grin at Korvan's gross underestimation of the strings she had at her beck and pull, "I will need approximately... fifteen minutes.  To make some calls."

By the door, an imperceptible snicker escaped Konem's lips.





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 6th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Just Past Midnight
Royal Vault, Canterlot

The Royal Vaults were seen by few, and storied by many.  The space was a literal set of six vaulted chambers that overlapped, forming a huge open space in their center that afforded easy access to all of them.

The marble and onyx construction was trimmed in gold and silver, creating intertwining Solar and Lunar motifs.  The Central floor was a vast expanse of pink marble, representing a peculiar, eerie sky.  Stars were speckled across the expanse by way of small inlaid silver circles.  The moon was an intricately engraved silver plate showing off even the tiniest details of its surface.

Across from it, the stylized sun was made of gold burnished so smooth that it seemed to glow with its own internal luminance.

Intricate silver and gold scrollwork twined about the walls and ceiling, crossing between artfully interconnected patches of onyx and marble and back again.  To the adept eye, the scrollwork was a history of the Equestrian Nation, going back nearly two millenia.  To the initiated, special nodes in the crossing of the scrollwork represented the invisible latches to hidden, magically reinforced wall slots.

The only two beings alive who constituted 'the initiated' were standing in the center of the room, each pacing quietly in their own unique patterns.

Luna was the first to speak.  Celestia still found it hard to cope with the changes she had suddenly undergone as the majority of her deific power had returned nearly a year ago, most of all her sister's new... or rather old voice often reminded her of the days before she was consumed... days Celestia was trying harder and harder to forget. 

Luna sighed deeply as she spoke, "Art thou sure?"

Celestia shook her head, "Formality sister dearest...  *Dispense* with the formality."

Luna shook herself mentally, "I am sorry Celestia... Celly.  It is no small thing to re-learn a language as not merely an intellect, but a habit."  She paused, then turned to face her sister, "Are you sure?"

Celestia nodded grimly, "Absolutely.  We have no reason to doubt the Octant.  Nevertheless, I didn't bring you here merely to inform you, or ask your advice; I'd like you to try it.  We may as well be absolutely sure that it is not *my* operation of it that is producing the results."

Luna inclined her head, "Agreed.  It is better to be safer than regretful."  The blue, black, and azure Alicorn stepped purposefully towards the hidden compartment reserved for the artifact known as 'The Octant.'

While the Elements of Harmony were the most revered, and discussed magical artifacts in history, there were various and sundry other single items, and sets of items, that possessed great power of their own.

Most of these artifacts belonged to the Equestrian Nation; Celestia had spent many of the years that Luna was trapped on the moon hunting down the majority of the known ones, and collecting them in the Vault.

The only other places one could find such items were the Gryphon's deepest armories, the hoards of powerful Dragons, or perhaps the most secret hives of the Changelings.

That latter Celestia wasn't sure of, and while Dragons were unpredictable, the Gryphons, with their natural immunity to magical alteration, made good custodians of some of the more... corrosive artifacts, which would otherwise erode other beings' bodies, souls, or both.

Celestia was content with the situation, save for the uncertainty the Changelings presented.
Occasionally she even found an opportunity to barter with a Dragon for a new piece to add to the collection.

The Octant was one such treasure.  Celestia had acquired it with a rather unique trade; a sculpture from her far away childhood.  The Dragon, a large Silver named Tirinel, had amusingly pointed out that an object he did not have the magical precision to power was a fair trade for an object that proved the monarch of Equestria had once been a 'mere foal.'

Luna carefully cradled the complex obsidian device in her magical field, the blue glow accenting the dark gray trim that made up the framing.  Slowly, she raised the instrument to eye level, stepping to the center of the room as she did so.  The device required very little magic to power, but the precision of the input had to be minute, to an unfathomable degree.

Luna carefully injected a tiny, carefully resonated burst of her energy into the channels of the Octant.  Instantly, with a soft hiss, blue, teal, silver, and green light spilled forth from the device, filling the chamber with intricate interleaved patterns that looked like nothing so much as a complex, artful, and mind bending cartograph.

Luna knew that such a description was, in fact, fairly close to the truth.  As Celestia had explained; the Octant was indeed a navigational instrument.  For worlds.

Her exact words had been, "If our reality, like all others, is a ship sailing the seas of existence, then the Octant is our way of looking beyond the sky, beyond the veil, and out into the expanse upon which existences drift."

To hear Celestia tell it, the Octant had been a 'must have' for her.  Some indellible instinct had been bothering her, for several years on and off, that something was wrong with her world.
The Octant had proved the final solution to discovering not merely final proof that Equestria was moving, but discovering what was in its path.

Luna peered at the star speckled web of lines, and grimaced, "Unless, dear sister, my magical technique has suddenly become not dissimilar to yours; then you are correct."

Celestia slowly, almost reverently, walked across the floor, her golden hoofguards clacking against the marble with resounding finality, and nuzzled the bright pulsing mass of light that The Octant was irrefutably showing as dead center of Equestria's path.

A tear coursed its way down the Solar Monarch's cheek, and Luna detected hints of pain in her sister's voice, "Our world... it will...." She found herself unable to finish the sentence.

Luna carefully set the glowing, arcane navigational instrument on the floor, and placed a comforting wing over her sister.  It wouldn't look it to an outsider; but Celestia was depressed, verging on tears.

For a long time, free from the prying eyes of others, the Alicorn sisters; demigods of sun and moon, comforted each other.  And wept.





Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
22:00 GMT
John F. Kennedy Intraglobal Airport
New York

"What do you figure most of these cost?" Konem glanced out the window as Cal cut one of her infamous ninety degree no-warning turns, taking their black, government registered sedan from the smooth surface of the access road to the slightly rougher duracrete tarmac.

Cal spared an upward glance, noting a passing business jet, its white pearlescent skin gleaming in the light of the airport's massive network of halon spots, "More than you make Ralph.  Heh.. more than we'll both make put together in our lifetimes."

Konem grinned, "Awww come on! Why you gotta always be shooting down my dreams?"

Cal snorted and weaved around a baggage cart in a hair raising maneuver, "Delusions, Konie.  Delusions."

"You know I hate that..."

"Cute nickname?"

"I was gonna say bastardized misnomer."

Cal flashed her partner a smile, "Very *good* Ralph! two University level words in one sentance!"

Konem rolled his eyes, "Says my boss who can't even boot a DaTab without crashing it."

Cal grimaced, and slowed the car as they approached a brightly illumined hangar near the end of the tarmac, "I don't trust those things.  Too easy to jack in to.  Somewhere, somebody is probably sifting everything you say in front of those glorified bugs through an AI..."

Konem held up his hands as the sedan came to a stop, "Whoa whoa whoa... spare me the paranoid lecture.  Only you, and the weird old cat-lady who lives in the flat next door, have this irrational..."

"Logical."

"...paranoid..."

"Cautious."

Konem paused, and fixed his senior partner with a look one part disgust, two parts sad amusement, "...borderline psychotic viewpoint.  Catch up a little will ya?"

Cal rolled her eyes, and opened her door, standing beside the car and resting her arms on the roof.  Konem noted, as he did the same, that she looked relaxed, a little insulted, and perhaps a touch amused.  But her eyes betrayed her; they flitted back and forth, never resting.  Konem had never seen them cease their constant, acute, high octane scanning pattern.  Never once.

The man sighed and threw up his hands, "Cal who is it you're worried about?  Terrorists?  In this climate?  They couldn't go toe to toe with a wet roll of TP... much less a railgun on its worst day."

She inclined her head and sucked on her lip thoughtfully, "The second you stop being afraid someone is out to get you... they will.  There's always someone Ralph.  Just pick up a history book."  Her expression changed to a slight smile, designed to deflect the conversation, "Maybe you can download one to that little silicon spy drone you're always harping on..."

Konem laughed, deciding to once again let the issue at hand slide, "And I suppose you think Steve Jobs was a Terminator?"

"Who? a What now?"

Konem shook his head, "And you claim to be a history buff? Psssh."

The conversation ended on a light note, as the agents both took note of a black Skyrunner shooting a short-field approach.  The jet touched down, slammed its reversers into active, and the tires squealed as it cornered the earliest possible taxiway at what must have been an uncomfortable speed, swiftly rolling up to the hangar, and spinning down its turbines.

The landing lights momentarily blinded Konem, until the pilot switched them off.  Cal had covered her eyes.  As the engine backwash, which had tousled the female agent's blond hair, died down, the door of the craft opened, disgorging first a staircase, then a suited man with a severe demeanor, no tie, and a conspicuous military issue rail-pistol.

Following him, a man stumbled down the airstair in some horrifyingly garish cross between a lab coat and a trenchcoat, with mussed up sandy hair, and a visage that could have been rugged, if not for the pallor that bespoke a life of indoor work.

Konem shot a glance at Cal, and raised his eyebrow, "Seriously?"

Cal sighed and exhaled, her eyes momentarily bugging out, "Yeeeeah.  Seriously.  This is gonna be fun..."

Konem stepped forward, and shouted to make himself heard over the uproarious den of the airport, and the still niggling whine of the Skyrunner's own engines, "Lawrence Thornton I presume?"

The man nodded, and dashed awkwardly across the pavement, cupping a hand to one ear.  His strong British accent came as something of a surprise to both agents, "You uh... you're the suited goonies I'm supposed to rendezvous with, yeah?"

Cal drilled the man with a killer expression, "And you're the socially inept egghead? Excellent.  Get in."

Without further preamble, she returned to the sleek sedan, slamming the door particularly hard as she re-entered the vehicle.  As Konem walked towards the curvy, low set vehicle, he shook his head and chuckled, "Lawrence, is it?  Now you've mad her angry.  And she's the driver."

"Aaaaand that's.... bad?"

Konem stopped and fixed Thornton with a serious glare, "The last guy who got into a car with her, when she was angry, had to go to the hospital afterwards."

The debonaire Asian bodyguard left the bedraggled British scientist standing in shock.
Eventually, Thornton turned, and dashed to the car, just managing to get himself and his duffel into the back seat before Cal started the engine.

He grimaced when he saw her expression, "Look... was it something I said?"

Cal slammed the vehicle into drive, pressing the accelerator so suddenly that Thornton banged his head against the back window as he was subjected to sudden acceleration.

"Mother of God! You Yanks drive like *lunatics!*"





Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
23:30 GMT
ACV-10 UES Yorktown
25 NM East of the Azores

"George?  If you do this again, I'm *warning* you, you're risking a forced medical leave to repair *serious* deep tissue damage."

Colonel Puller grimaced as the Yorktown's chief medical officer, an older man with steel gray hair, thickset glasses, and a face locked in a permanently kind expression, jammed a massive needle into his upper right arm.  Slowly, the glass tube attached to the needle disgorged its shimmering payload.

Doctor Wainwright shook his head, "George, nanosupport injections go bad slowly, but the damage is being done from the second you go over your limit.  If you'd delayed this one more day?  You'd be flat on your back with nanorecirculators plugged into your legs, arms, and chest.  For three weeks minimum."

Puller glowered, trying not to make eye contact with the man who's ministrations, and dedication, kept his heart beating and muscles churning, every four months.  "I didn't think it was *that* bad."

Wainwright shook his head again and exhaled, "Well if it hasn't been made clear before, I'm doing it now.  For your own good.  Do not *ever* pull a stunt like this again.  What if you had ended up on-mission?  Go a week or two over, and you could die.  George you. Could. *Die*."

Puller sighed and his head drooped, "Sorry doc."

The CMO shook his head, "Don't apologize to *me* Puller, its your body you're allowing to be eaten from the inside out.  I'd just really rather you didn't."

As the last of the seven trillion, eight hundred forty million nanites entered Puller's bloodstream, doctor Wainwright extracted the needle.  The Special Forces marine leapt from the medical table, and pulled his right sleeve back down, "It won't happen again.  Promise.  Am I cleared for duty, word on deck is we have trouble brewing."

Wainwright scowled, "I'd rather you stayed here for the rest of the day.  But I'm willing to bet the second I hit the head, you'll be out of here like buckshot, with one of my clearance chits tucked in one of those zillion pockets you got on your pants.  Go on, get outta here.  Just get back in for a check in twenty four so I can be absolutely sure you haven't lost any deep tissue."

Puller smiled, "Thanks."

"Don't mention it.  Just learn from it."





Alarms blared, hatches sealed, and ballast vents opened.  In a shower of bubbles, three hundred and fifteen thousand metric tons of submersible supercarrier wended its way gracefully upwards through the lifeless depths of the sea.

When the expansive flight deck broke the surface, the displacement wave traveled visibly for eleven miles.  Instantly, external lights snapped on, bathing the polycrete tarmac in illumination equivalent to a sunny day.  As hatches in the island opened, and flight crews poured forth, strategically placed doors recessed in the deck slid back, revealing rising elevators with Scythes and VTOLs chained to them in formation.

Whenever the carrier was in submerged mode, a basic cadre of attack and transport craft were kept in 'ready position.'  In short order, the chaotically organized flight crews detached and moved the vehicles, making room for the elevators to descend and retrieve more craft.

At the same time, hatches and panels switched positions, opening side bays for VTOLs, concealing torpedo ports that were now above the waterline, and revealing the massive ACV's surface-based arsenal.

Not a single corner, corridor, or square foot of deck was bereft of frenzied, but practiced and well oiled action, mostly the result of airmen and seamen filling their positions to perfection; well oiled cogs in a massive machine that was a much man as mechanics.

Intelligence and readings flowed in like a tidal wave through the ship's newly liberated LADAR dishes and satellite uplinks, appearing on hundreds of terminals and being processed by several AI.  Perhaps the only members of the crew not processing data, moving munitions, or reconfiguring the ship for surface operations, were the fire teams.





Colonel Puller barely managed to make the start of the briefing, but he slid into his chair just as the seaman on duty took the dais.  The stadium seating room was one of the largest briefing facilities on the ship, only two more were even comparable in size.

The seaman clicked his presentation remote, and the wall-sized screen at the end of the room leapt to life, displaying an area map, "Here is all we know; officially, the Earthgov Quantum Situational Awareness Facility has detected a growing, dangerous anomaly in the vicinity of the Azores Islands."

A murmur of nervous whispers swept the room, Puller exhaled sharply, forming his mouth into a surprised and distressed 'o'.  The seaman continued, "Credible verification indicates it has the potential to expand, and in doing so it is going to release tremendous amounts of hard radiation over the entire area, and potentially do serious damage in other unpredictable ways."

The navy suited man paused, as if he couldn't believe was he was saying, "We have received authenticated orders from the Council and Military Command to engage in evacuation operations.  We will be assisted by civilian freighters, cruise liners, the transatlantic maglev, and air support from London, Greenland, and New York."

Further down, a young airman raised her hand, "You mean we're expected to get three hundred thousand people out of their homes, off their islands, and to the mainland in... how long?"

The seaman grimaced, "Opspec defines our max window as two days."

The room erupted into quiet, barely restrained worry.  Puller stood up and shrugged, projecting his voice, "Well then.  In that case... times' a wastin.' "





Earth Calendar: 1/18/2102
23:30 GMT
Government Facility A52-S429
Location Classified

The space, filled with a triangular solid steel table, and gray fabric paneled walls that housed large sleek screens, was widely known as 'The Keep.'  The door, usually locked, betrayed the utilitarian defensive mindset of the structure around the chamber, with its riveted and braced surface standing at odds with the rest of the room.

At the table itself, sitting at each of the sides, were three men.  They sat in such a way as to face the screens opposite them, but also their compatriots.  All three were in their mid sixties, all three wore precisely the same suit; Black jacket, gray shirt, no tie, and a small American Flag pinned to the left collar.  The old, but still patriotic emblem was a testament to the men's deeply rooted belief in their origin, and purpose.  In reality, the presence of the flag was an irony its now-dead creator and supporters would deeply resent.

None of the three men knew each other's real names.  In a sense, they didn't care about their own original names.  Their lives, from the moment they had first set foot in that small octagonal room, so many decades ago, had vanished.  Erased utterly.  Replaced with a construction designed to intimidate and obfuscate.

Some variation of the process befell every member of their organization; it had been that way since the group's inception in the 1920s.  The early operations of their field agents had given rise to the term 'Men in Black,' but this was a misnomer at best despite the proclivity of the organization's upper echelons to well tailored old-style suits.

Each successive group of three, collectively referred to as the Triumvirate, took a set of related code names, and were never again known by anything else.  The men never discussed their past lives, never wrote down anything pertaining to them, infact they trained themselves not to think about the details in any way shape or form.

The current Triumvirate were named for pit vipers; Asp, Krait, and Adder.

Each had chosen to wear a small silver pin, opposite their flag, shaped like the head of their namesake reptile.

Asp's brow furrowed, as he intently watched the screen opposite him.  He manipulated the controls before him, the buttons and touchpads, and revolving selector so familiar that he could do it by touch and memory alone.

After a moment, he broke the silence, "This has the potential to spiral out of hand swiftly."

Krait nodded, "How soon will the Scientist arrive?"

Adder sprang into the silence, "Tomorrow, at the absolute latest.  I made assurances that he would be brought into play, and fast-tracked the favors that were called in to arrange for his transport.... Are we sure the intelligence can be retrieved?"

Asp inclined his head, "We have a placement; Component 93501-A.  He is... in a position to feed us the necessary datum."

Both men turned to Krait, "What is your estimation of the probability that this constitutes a beachhead scenario?"

Krait manipulated his controls for several moments, data flying by on his screen.  He answered slowly, "I would place the chances at eighty seven point two six percent."

Asp sighed slightly, "We must begin the Nero Contingency."

Krait nodded his assent.

Adder looks momentarily skeptical, then nodded as well.

As one, the men reached out, and placed their thumbs against hidden scanners in their control consoles.  The light strip inlaid into the table turned a disturbing shade of yellow.
Each man manipulated their controls for several moments, eliciting three atonal buzzes from the room's speakers.

The resident VI spoke in its intentionally harsh, and inflectionless bass resonance, "Nero Contingency initiated."

As far as the Triumvirate was concerned; the world was on the brink.  Extreme measures were necessitated.  For the first time since July of 1947; ExCET was being fully mobilized.





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 6th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Just Before Dusk
Celestia's Royal Chambers, Canterlot

Flux was nervous.  Celestia's summons had struck a tone he had never hear issue forth from her pen, or her muzzle.  The Unicorn's entire trip to Canterlot had been miserable; fraught with questions and speculation.  Had he done something wrong?  He hoped not, he always strove to remain within the bounds of propriety and morality in his work.  Had some disaster befallen a member of his family?  Had some darker event unfolded?

The most agonizing period had been the last five minutes, pacing an endless loop before the double doors to Celestia's private office, waiting to be invited in; his only company two stone-faced Pegasus guards.

At long last, after what seemed two eternities, and several years for good measure, the door opened, and one of the guards inclined his head, issuing the much desired invitation.

Flux stepped slowly, and cautiously, into the rich, but subtle space.  Gold and silk were in abundance.  As a student, he had been invited into the room several times before, but in every case Celestia had been smiling.  Flux noted, in distress, that she was not smiling.

He quickened his pace, approaching to a proper distance, then bowed low, his mane sweeping the floor, "Your majesty."

Celestia sighed, "Rise my friend.  I am weary, and now is not the time for formalities."

Flux stood, cautiously, keeping his eyes respectfully lowered, "You summoned me... it sounded urgent?"

Celestia nodded, and jerked her head towards the balcony, "Walk with me."

For several minutes, the pair traversed the wraparound, railing enclosed strip of cut marble, sparing frequent glances for the glimmering lights of Canterlot below.  Flux made a point of maintaining a respectable distance, allowing Celestia to remain ahead of him by a head's length.

Finally, the Alicorn turned to face her one-time student, "Flux... I wish to share a secret with you.  It will be public knowledge soon enough; but for now it is imperative you keep the sanctity of this information."

Flux bowed again, "I swear it on the sun."

Celestia nodded curtly, "I'll make this simple.  Our world will shortly have.... guests."

Flux raised an eyebrow, briefly forgetting his grossly unnecessary overage of etiquette and staring Celestia in the eye, "Majesty?"

"I'm not sure I wish to explain further at the moment.  But I want you here, on retainer."

"May I beg permission to ask why?"

The Alicon turned to stare at the sun, which she would soon be lowering, "We're going to need your... unique skills."

> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
05:30 GMT
ACV-10 UES Yorktown
5 NM East of the Azores

Puller was thankful that the hatches on the Yorktown were mostly pneumatically operated slide configuration.  On older ships, the doors opened on hinges, which made opening an exterior portal in windy conditions a risky proposition for one's fingers.

The Colonel smacked the bar on the door; a carryover from the previous configurations, that served the dual purpose of being a manual release incase of pneumatic failure.  The wind whipping across the deck promptly filled the ante-chamber with a moaning roar, augmented by the whine of aircraft engines.

The flight deck smelled strongly of jet fuel.  While most land vehicles, Drones, and even VTOLs, had converted to hydrogen fuel cell, or a hybridized system long ago, fighter aircraft still needed a full on traditional jet engine, fueled by traditional chemical substances, to maintain a competitive edge.

Obtaining fuel was not a problem, despite the scarcity, given that military fighters were the only major consumer of jet fuel in the world.  All other craft that required combustion as a process in their engines were run off a somewhat slower, and less efficient form of hydrogen cell hybridization with less costly propellant alternatives that were fairly easy to produce.

Puller forced his way out into the wind, looping the closed strap of his helmet over one shoulder to keep the gusts from taking it over the side.  A mistake like that was a nugget move; one nobody ever lived down if it happened more than once.

Puller's armor was black, with the red striping of Fire Team Sigma, and a silver emblem of the aforementioned greek letter on the left shoulder-guard.  The helmet was the same shade of barely-reflective black, and mirrored the same angular kinetic resistant edges found on the rest of the gear.  

The basic design was standard for Special Forces troopers, though it came in a veritable cornucopia of colors and patterns, both with and without striping in varying patterns and shades depending on the unit.

The colonel noted that a drone, one of the largest military models, was being attached to one of the ship's four magnetic catapults.  While most fighters and VTOLs didn't strictly need, or weren't compatible with, a catapult, they were still necessary for certain craft, both manned and unmanned, and sometimes the massive burst of initial speed was a combat advantage to launching fighters.

As he forced his way through the spray-filled, freezing gusts, Puller watched in fascination as the almost fighter-sized AI driven turboprop flew off the deck with the distinctive snap-hum-whizz of a cat-launch.  The UAV was likely intended to do an initial scoping of the islands to get a lay of the land up close, and ensure that sat-intel hadn't missed any critical dangers related to the anomaly.

Puller muscled his way through the wind, careful to remain outside the lines, both visible and invisible, that designated hazard zones.  A single moment of mental lapse on a carrier deck in flight operations status was a good way to get sucked into an intake, tripped over the side on a hose, axed in half by a drone propeller, or smashed to a bloody pulp by the multi-ton motorized munitions and fuel carts that were whizzing back and forth.

And those were just the initial horrors that came to the marine's mind.

He finally found relief from the wind on the leeward side of a VTOL.  Three of the craft were lined up side by side, and a crowd of airmen were busy closing panels, attaching munitions, loading relief supplies, checking control surfaces, and in general ensuring that the vehicles would bring their passengers home safely.

Puller noted that several universal mounting ports carried not their usual missiles and chain guns, but pulleys, rescue aparati, high-lumen spotbeams, and even a small sensor suite.

Lieutenant Sorden, 'Firebrand', poked her head out of the cockpit of her VTOL and flashed Puller a smile, shouting to make herself heard above the cacophony of sound, "Booboo all better?"

"More or less!"

She glanced back at her control board, comparing it to a preflight checklist loaded on a DaTab strapped to her leg, "We're out of here in five! This would go alot faster with some help."

Puller nodded, and carefully swung around the nose of the aircraft, letting himself into the gunner and co-pilot's seat via the left hatch.  He had never understood why VTOLs and helicopters followed a convention of putting the pilot on the right, in defiance of every other aircraft.

He pulled the side-swinging canopy closed, and slammed the latches firmly into place, cutting out some of the ambient noise.  Firebrand did the same and cast a glance over her shoulder.  In the rear of the vehicle, more members of fireteam Sigma were busy helping the airmen on deck to finish loading the craft.  The cargo was mostly medical supplies, blankets, rations... the things a rescue operation required to run 'smoothly.'  Or as well as could be hoped.

Firebrand turned back to her console, and flicked a switch.  Most craft ran off of touchscreens and holographic HUDs, and a few even had voice control via an AI; but to a one they all had traditional buttons, switches, toggles, and levers for critical functions like throttle, eject, engine start, and master arm.  There was no getting around the need for tactile feedback, and unconditional reliability, in some situations.

She glanced at her checklist again, "Master Arm?"

Puller ran the switch up and down once rapidly.  His panel responded with two tones, and a green bar, acknowledging that the system should be checked, but not activated, and reporting success.  He nodded, "Green."

"Avionics have cleared POST and boot, showing full startup.  Testing control surfaces..." Firebrand jiggled the craft's control stick, simultaneously pumping the rudder pedals, and glancing over her right shoulder, out the window, to see that the appropriate fins were moving.

She smiled, "Alright looks fine here, give me a check on port flaps, fins, and surfaces."

Puller repeated her appraising glance, carefully noting the disposition of each object as it moved in response to more agitation of the stick and pedals.  He nodded once more, "Left side good."

"Allright.  Booting external sensor pod, while that's loading I'm gonna run a check of the engine pod actuators, keep an eye on your side will ya?"

The two had been doing the same preflight for so long that it was practically instinct, but they always repeated the steps aloud.  It was better safe, than sorry in thousands of charred pieces scattered over the ocean, or a field somewhere.

Puller watched as the VTOL's hybrid turbine engines swiveled on their pods.  The craft was possessed of four such pods, two large ones near its center, held out on stubby, curvaceous wing struts.  The other, smaller pods were attached either side of the expansive two-finned tail.

"Left side good."

Firebrand returned her gaze to the control board, "Right side good.  Sensor pod had POSTed and booted, tied into communications feed.  Sending test ping to Yorktown AI... ping returned."

She tapped her mic, keying it to the VTOL's external speaker, "Clear backwash zone.  Clear backwash zone." She then reached forward, and flicked two physical switches, tapping several areas of the touchscreen as a followup, "Spinning up turbines."

A whine filled the cabin as the powerful engines began to come to life.  The whine morphed into a growl, and Puller could see leftover seawater on the deck skittering away from the engines' downdraft.

"Startup complete."  Firebrand keyed her mic to the flight's main operations frequency, "Island, Firebrand, requesting comms check and mission designation."

After a few moments, a male voice returned over the speakers, and presumably the pilot's headphones, "Island acknowledges; comms check verified.  Your flight is assigned to my station, callsign Airstream.  Your designations for this mission are Speartip one, two, and three.  Verify that mission objective packet has arrived on your scopes please."

Puller leaned forward and read his screen as data filled it.  He pushed his own helmet on, and keyed the mic, "Verified.  Objectives and OpSpec have arrived; we have been appraised.  Ready to depart in sixty."

"Acknowledged.  Call back when the flightline is green."

Firebrand tapped her mic once more, "All aboard who are coming aboard.  Speartip two, Speartip three; check in."

"Speartip two; loaded, and ready."

"Speartip three, same here."

A knock came on the bulkhead, and one of Puller's soldier's poked his head into the cockpit, "Doors shut back here, take us away."

Firebrand grinned, "Flightline, Speartip one, we're prepped for departure, awaiting green light."

"Flightline here, LSO says you're cleared out over the port side, maintain angels two until the four mile perimeter.  Transferring you to Island, good luck."

Puller waved out the canopy glass to the LSO, "Roger."

A moment later, the ship's Island connected again, "Firebrand, Airstream; flightline says you're good.  Island has cleared you for flight ops, punch it when you feel it.  Come home safe."

"Gotcha.  Leave a light on for us."  Firebrand flexed her gloved hands around the throttle, "Speartip flight, we're on for a port side departure.  Ramp up engines, prepare for formation operations.  Keep it low and tight, you know how this works."

She glanced at Puller, "Cinch those straps down, its bumpy out there."  Without further ado, she gently pulled the throttle quadrant back, the engine's previously 'loud' growl swiftly eclipsed by an immense roar of unbridled power.

As if slaved to one master control system, the three VTOLs levitated several inches all at once.
Firebrand sucked in a breath, and let it out slowly, "Speartip one, coming right."  She inched the stick and rudder pedals over, and as if part of some choreographed ballet, the VTOLs revolved in near-perfect synchronization, to face away from the ship.

"Call it boss."

Puller nodded and leaned back hard in his chair, "Stomp on it."

Firebrand obliged, kicking the rear engine pods into forward as quickly as they would go, accelerating the VTOL from zero to nearly eighty miles an hour in the space of three seconds.
The other craft followed suit, and once they were up to speed, the main engine pods rotated to level, and another kick indicated the transition to their top speed of two hundred and sixty miles an hour.

Puller held a hand to the side of his helmet, "Speartips away.  Back in time for dinner."
He closed the channel and sighed, "More or less anyways."





Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
07:02 GMT
Earthgov Council Facility
Harrisburg Pennsylvania

Lawrence Thornton hated wake up calls.  He was used to a life where he could set his own timetable; flying across the globe and being 'tossed' as he put it, into a strange guest suite was not an ideal way of generating the conditions for sleep.  Not for him.

Perhaps soldiers, and veteran politicians, could adjust their internal clock as if they were flipping a switch;  but Thornton had never been forced to get up before ten AM in his life.  Therefore, when a sharp knock at the door of his room harshly interrupted his adolescent sleep cycle, it left him grumpy, groggy, and thoroughly frustrated.

Thornton staggered to the door, and wrenched it open.  Cal's smiling visage greeted him, backlit by the normally dim bulbs of the artful hall sconces, which seemed to blaze with the fury of the sun to the scientist's unready eyes, "Gooood morning sunshine.  Sleep well in the Yank bed? Of course you did."  She clapped him on the shoulder twice in an infuriatingly patronizing and cheerful manner, "Come on, put those British brain cells to work.  Powers That Be want to see you in short order, then our flight will be here.  You want to have time for food? Better suck it up and put the pedal to the metal."

With that, Cal shut the door.  Thornton was thoroughly blindsided, and not a little ticked off, by the sarcastically over-joyous stream of words she had all but spewed at his exhaustion addled mind, but he did have enough active gray matter to realize that she was right about one thing; breakfast would have to be soon, or never.

He decided to forego a shower; flying on a private aircraft didn't bring with it the 'grunge' inherent to most traditional forms of global travel.  He pulled a shirt and slacks from his duffel, realizing for the first time that they were likely used; he had accidentally switched them with his few clean garments in his haste to pack.

That would be the ten for tenth time he had encountered such a mix-up leaving his flat for a trip, he reflected ruefully.  Most of those times he hadn't even been in a hurry.

He shrugged, donned his change of clothes, then stood for several seconds as if anchored to the floor.  His lips moved, and his fingers danced as if playing a symphony.  The peculiar ritual was a habit of Thornton's; his body tended to do compulsive, hyperactive things when he was engaged in deep thought.

Thornton's conundrum resulted from the hurried nature in which he had been pulled from his flat, and his work.  His brain was the sort that could switch tasks at a speed bordering on the paranormal, but only when it chose to of its own instinctive accord.  When his brain wanted to fixate, it could fixate for hours, days, or even years.  He had spent most of the flight still locked into mentally replicating and refining his last experiment, consequently he hadn't caught up to current events, not really and truly, and thus had no real conception of what to do next.

Eventually he decided it would be best to take his bag with him.  He could acquire information about the location of food merely by associating his DaTab with the building's network, and if the so called 'Powers That Be' wanted him after that, he presumed they would find him.  He had no particular sense of compulsion to find them.

As he shouldered his bag, he used his free hand to connect his DaTab to the complex's wireless network.  A helpful popup instantly offered access to a map, complete with directions displayed in real time.  Apparently the Harrisburg campus had four different places to eat, two with a large selection, but defined hours, and two speciality eateries that were open 24/7.

Given the time, Thornton decided he'd have the best luck with the nearest specialty eatery, and struck out down the corridor.  The Harrisburg campus was truly well appointed, and Thornton made this evaluation from experience.  His position with the Biotech party afforded him a generous salary.

The floors were carpeted in tan, trimmed with maroon, forest green, or a bluish shade of purple, and Thornton's analytical mind realized that the color depended on the direction the hallway ran. 
The lights that were spaced every few meters were artful, but simplistic; chrome oval fittings with a soft white, pleasant bulb, producing the best-guess equivalent of sunlight at dawn.

Due to his quick decision, Thornton's breakfast turned out to be the expensive equivalent of synthetic Chinese takeaway.  Given that sometimes his eating habits eschewed the patterns of a normal human to the point of severely endangering his intestinal tract, it was a net gain over his usual morning meal.

As he had predicted, he was summoned shortly after procuring his food.  Agent Konem strode into the near-empty lounge area and swiftly took a seat opposite the groggy scientist,  "Looks like a nutritious part of a balanced breakfast."

Thornton had never been particularly good at detecting sarcasm, having always been of the opinion that attempting to sort it out from regular conversation was a waste of time and energy; so he merely raised an eyebrow and continued forcing down fork-fulls of artificial noodles.

After a few moments of silence, punctuated only by the sound of chewing, Thornton opted to indulge his curiosity, "Ralph, right? Say Ralph... what's with the blonde? Your partner I mean."

Konem grinned and shook his head, "Word of advice? Don't call her that.  Ever.  The first thing you learn with Cal is to stop seeing her as a woman first."

"So she's one of those tomboy types?"

Konem squinted at the ceiling, searching for good descriptors, "Mmmmm not exactly.  She's a woman too, and she knows it, but she's not a woman *first* or foremost."

"Which makes her... what?"

Konem answered sharply, and seriously, "A weapon."

Thornton exhaled, his eyes widening in an expression of part disdain, part resignation, "Ooook.  So clearly she's not the social type."

"You have *no* idea."

Thornton worked in an over-large bite of noodles, speaking around the unchewed mass, "Thrill me."

"She once beat a man into a coma with his own fist because he pointed an unloaded gun at someone during a political rally."

"That doesn't seem physically possible," The words were followed by a swallowing noise.

"That's probably what bubba joe terrorist thought... until he met Cal.  She knocked the gun away, grabbed his empty right fist in her own hands, and despite the fact that this guy kicked and struggled like a maniac, she used his own fist as a bludgeon."

Thornton made to finish off his food, but paused with the fork in mid-air, "What ever happened to the guy?"

Konem rose, and shrugged, "Last I heard he was a bigger vegetable than your leftover celery."
Ralph paused, then inclined his head in the direction of the sickly green objects, "You gonna eat that?"

Thornton shook his head avidly, "You can stomach it? I can't *stand* synth-greens.  Something not quite right about 'em.  I wrote a paper on it once, turns out the way the hydroponic kelp is reorganized by the nanoparticles introduces..."

Konem snagged the celery sticks deftly from Thornton's tray before he had a chance to deposit his trash in a receptacle, interrupting his verbose scientific explanation with a loud crunch as he bit into the artificial food, "Your loss my friend.  Your loss."





Cal would never admit it to anyone; but she was embarrassed.  Thornton had laid hands on Councilor Innara's DaTab exactly three minutes earlier, by the blond agent's count, and in that time he had accomplished more with the device than she had ever managed in an entire lifetime of trying to learn their operation.

The scientist had placed the rectangle of plexiglass on the table in front of him, and was feverishly manipulating data with both hands, not even pausing when he occasionally compulsively ran his left hand through his hair; his right hand simply took over for the tasks of both appendages temporarily.

In total it only took the man five minutes to review the information provided to his satisfaction.  Thornton leaned back and sighed, displaying an expression of concern that looked unfamiliar and infrequent for his visage, "This is all direct pull-down from satellites and monitoring stations? No manipulation? No filters?"

Sulerahmen nodded, and Korvan, who had arrived a minute into Thornton's probing of the data, added his own affirmation, "This has only been seen by two hundred people on the planet, at most."

Thornton raised an eyebrow, "And what did they tell you?"

Councilor Innara leaned forward ever so slightly, "That this was a threat not to be taken lightly."

Korvan inclined his head, "Admittedly, there are still some dissenting voices that are calling the prevailing interpretations of the data exaggeration..."

Thornton stiffened, "This is no exaggeration.  If anything? Its an *under* estimation.  I'm not sure what they've told you but whatever they said... multiply it times a thousand."

Sulerahmen's eyes narrowed, "Are you suggesting...."

Thornton shook his head, "No suggestion, no implication.  I hate unquantifiable.  No I'm *telling* you that this could well lead to a full scale extinction event."

For several seconds, there was no response, beyond Konem shifting uncomfortably, so Thornton stood, and continued as he began to pace, "I'm gonna just assume none of you know much about Quantum State Differentials, or Kerint's Gravitic Equations, and such, so here it is simply..."

He pointed to the table, and the holo projection controls it contained, "May I?"

Councilor Sulerahmen nodded, and Thornton went to work, his fingers dancing over the keys like an expert pianist, until he had summoned the precise non corporal glowing interface he needed.

The scientist fiddled with the hologram for a moment, then turned to the group, "See this sphere? This is us.  Not the globe, the universe as we know it.  Now this is a stretch, but try to understand that the perimeter of this little ball touches every point inside it, and no point inside it, simultaneously.  So for all intents and purposes location is non-relevant from the standpoint of traditional spherical trigonometry."

Konem groaned, "Oh I hated that class."  A glare from Cal made it apparent that his interjection was ill timed.

Thornton continued running a hand through his hair, spinning the blue tinted orb obsessively and randomly with the other, "This is us.  Everything you could ever see, measure, explore... quantify.... about the extent of this universe.  This quantum reality.  Now all that holds it together is energy; energy is matter, matter is energy, time is energy, space is matter... its all the same basic building blocks arranged in differing complex higher patterns."

Cal shivered involuntarily.  She didn't really grasp the full extent of the British physicist's words, but the way the sphere of light framed his face gave him a sudden ominous aspect that completely overrode the initial impression of the absent minded ditzy geek.  Here was no mere man, but a potential destroyer of worlds.

This disheveled, compulsive, and all together unnerving man continued, speaking with true gravity for perhaps the first time in decades, "Now this little ball... this is not the extent of existence.  If you're familiar with string theory, or Mengelisk's ideas of quantum perceptual affect, you've got some grasp of the many worlds theory.  Put simply there are likely other universes, and worlds, and energy within the void around our little sphere."

Korvan squinted, "And you're saying they could affect us in some way?"

"They already do, but usually not in a way that you can see without large scale instrumentation.  This case is... different.  Whatever is happening in the Azores, right now, is simply the initial manifestation of an interaction between something out there.... and this."

Thornton tapped the side of the sphere for emphasis, "Because of the way this... new energy, is entering our system, it is manifesting here and now.  I can't say *what* it is... yet.... but I can put it in numbers I suppose...."

The scientist glanced out the window at the Harrisburg complex, "How much electricity does a city use per year?  Have you ever looked at the statistics?  Now how much does every city on the planet use?  How much have they used in their lifetime? Even if you don't know, you probably grasp that its nothing in comparison to the energy produced by our sun in a mere day.  So how many suns are in our galaxy?  Millions? Trillions? Some of them produce orders of magnitude more energy than our sun in their lifetimes.  Try, if you can imagine for a moment, to add all that up..."

Thornton punctuated the last words by pinching his index finger with his thumb, and forming a new holoprojection; a pure white pointed rod.  He tapped the ball twice, and it expanded enormously to reveal that it was composed of many many smaller spheres, networked by a web of lines.

"Say one of these is us; our local gravitational plane.  Earth maybe.  Its not to scale, but close enough for now.  See the rod?  This is energy.  More energy than the Human race has produced, or ever will produce, in its lifetime.  More energy than our star, than any star, than all the stars in our local cluster combined will produce in ten of their lifetimes.  This is what's happening.  Right now."

Thornton turned, and rammed the rod into the edge of the bubble.  The point of light pierced the web of lines, and impacted a bubble, shattering both the smaller sphere and the rod into millions of glittering pixels.

"Ever see someone break a snow globe?  That's what our planet will look like if this incoming energy is focused, or if its Zero-Point momentum potential is too high."

Cal couldn't resist voicing her concern, "You're saying... what? That the planet is going to get shaken up as a whole?"

Thornton shook his head, "Maybe.... or maybe it could result in a cascading shatter effect that engulfs the planet and shoves our entire local gravitic plane out of our universe.  I can tell you right now that either one is a distinct possibility... but this is not going to go away.  It *will* get worse.  The only question is how *much* worse."

The scientist rubbed his eyes.  To Sulerahmen it looked as if he was frustrated; upset that the responsibility of an issue so weighty had come to bear on him.  Upset that his routine had been upended, and his expectations soured.

Silence reigned for several minutes as everyone did their best to take in the revelation.  Councilor Innara spoke first, "More than ever, I am convinced that we need a better grasp of the anomaly before we can hope to mitigate its effects... if such a thing is possible.  My contacts have responded quickly; a craft is arriving within the hour to ferry you to the Azores, Mr. Thornton."

Korvan stood, Cal thought she detected a slight nervous tic in his legs.  The Councilor picked up his hat, and fidgeted with it for several seconds, "Lawrence... this? What you've told us?  This needs to stay sub rosa.  If the public becomes aware of the potential magnitude of this, before we have answers to their questions, it's going to be a nightmare.  Keep everything you say, and do, with regards to the anomaly, limited to the people in this room."

Thornton nodded.  Sulerahmen picked up where Korvan left off, "I'm sending my agents with you for this assignment.  They carry my authority, and should be able to ensure that you can procure the equipment and transportation you need.  They're also with you to act as protection, not just for you, but for the secrecy of the situation until such time as it can be discussed publicly without serious negative ramifications."

Cal and Konem traded surprised glances; this was the first they had heard of their part in the assignment.  Innara had backup security, to be sure, but she rarely dispatched both of her trusted agents to an assignment simultaneously.  It was yet another grim testament to the seriousness of the situation.

Thornton sighed, "Well... I suppose another flight on the Skyrunner is out of the question?"

Cal smirked, "I hope you can sleep in a jump-seat.  Ever ridden out a carrier landing before?"

Thornton's only response was a slight groan.





Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
08:00 GMT
Port of Madalena
The Azores

Pico Island had doubtless once been a verdant tropical paradise.  Due to the popularity of the Azores as a getaway destination for the empowered, some of its original green had been imperfectly restored with the help of holography, and synthetic plants.  The resort portions of the island therefore evoked a sense of artificial, tepid, but somewhat satisfying beauty; like a well trimmed golf course.

Pico was the heart of the tourism industry for the archipelago, and as such the port of Madalena was a shining example of a small, modern, wealthy seaside city.  The rest of the islands were home to the year-round general populace, and dipped much closer to the poverty line.  In some places, rumor was that the islanders didn't make enough for a full family to subsist; getting by largely on the aid of the Earthgov.

The expansive canopy of the VTOL afforded Puller a good view of the city as the craft passed over the port-proper on its way to the capitol building.  The capitol had once been split between several cities on differing isles, but Earthgov had opted for consolidation as a means to efficiency.

As if tracking with his thoughts by clairvoyance, Lana snorted, "Politics always follows the money eh?"

Puller shifted uncomfortably; the flight had been just long enough for his body to begin to tire of the restrictive seat, and yearn for action, "I doubt anyone down there; big money, little guy, or politician, is gonna be happy that we're here."

Firebrand exhaled in agreement and fixed her eyes on her instruments.  She knew that *she* wouldn't react well to someone telling her she had to abandon her home, possessions, and roots, without chance of ever seeing them again.

Between glances at her panel, and keeping her eyes on her landing vector, she noted that the roads leading to the port were a jammed morasse of cars, trucks, vans, and people on foot.
Obviously the evac order had already come in, at least to the major municipalities.

Puller took note of the massive logjam of humanity as well, and reflected that the main problems were going to be twofold;  first the sheer logistical issue of moving so many people, and second the fact that many of the lower income natives were going to strongly resist a forced evacuation.

As the VTOL swept in over the long, plasticy green, artificial grass strip before the capitol dome, Firebrand interrupted her CO's thoughts, "Hey, spot me on that side would ya?  I'd hate to come down crooked on something."

Puller dutifully gazed out his side of the vehicle, and gave a thumbs up, "You've got a good twenty feet between us and the nearest obstacle."

With a curt nod, Firebrand gracefully flared the VTOL, and brought it down on the synthetic grass so smoothly that Puller had to double check to be sure they were down.  His pilot reached out and began flicking the engine cutoff switches with a grin, "The captain has turned off the fasten seatbelt sign, it is now safe to move about the disaster area."

Puller shot her a glance, raising his eyebrow.  She shrugged, "Relatively speaking."

> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 7th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Two hours before Midday
Celestia's Royal Chambers, Canterlot

Canterlot had been overtaken by an organized bedlam.  It wasn't every day that a Royal chose to commission, fund, and most surprising of all, lead an expedition beyond the borders of the Equestrian Nation.  Much less on short notice.

Such a historic event had only been recorded three times in the equine country's past; none had been more recent than the pre-banishment era.  No living member of society, save the Royal Sisters themselves, had actual memories of such an occurrence.

To Flux, the commotion was at once familiar, yet tinged with the alien.  The talented unicorn had been the chief biologist on many a scientific endeavour; all very large, posh, complicated affairs much like the one he found himself caught up in.

The sense of the strange and eerie stemmed from the fact that the Pony in charge of the expedition was not the snobby high bred archivist type, nor the dashing brazen military sort, both of which were familiar archetypes to anyone who had undertaken more than a few Royal expeditions.

For a Royal to actually oversee a Royal expedition was admittedly logical, but unheard of.
Flux found himself particularly in awe; Celestia he knew personally, but Luna was a complete mystery, wrapped in a starry enigma.

It had been agreed, suddenly and apparently unanimously, that the Princess of the Night should take charge of the, as yet, seemingly purposeless expedition.

Flux had spent the majority of the morning blindly going through the semi-familiar routine of packing gear, instruments, and personal effects; all the while his mind was occupied with the mystery of the group's objective.

The Unicorn was loathe to ask anyone else on the expedition staff; for one thing he expected they knew as little as he did, for another it would be disrespectful.  The Princesses would share their wise counsel in their own time.

His resolution to be patient took in his head, but less so in his heart, and consequently his head set to using what meager facts he had to piece together an understanding of the events that would motivate Royalty to first take such an interest in his exciting, but largely laboratory-bound research, then become vested in such an off-the-fetlock expedition to Celestia only knew where.
Literally.

As Flux darted from room to room in the Castle, collecting knick knacks, sample jars, and the odd article of clothing, his analytical brain kept reaching one seemingly inescapable conclusion; friend or foe, for better or worse, the Royal Sisters knew that somewhere out there, beyond the safe borders of Equestria, there was someone or something new.

Why else to send Luna; once heralded as both the liaison to the less diplomatic races, and the overseer of all things battle related, along with himself; perhaps the foremost expert on the biology of multiple species in the land?

The most recent 'first contact' in the history books was the initial encounter with Minotaurs.
It had gone as well as could have been expected;  there was very nearly a war, until Celestia had invoked help from the Gryphon Kingdoms.

The Minotaurs, respecting the display of power, had then provided no trouble whatsoever in negotiating a peace treaty, in fact displaying a surprisingly hospitable fact of their culture once the initial 'pleasantries' were over.  It was ironic that a species who could be so peaceful first required that a prospective ally prove that they either had the power to challenge them, or the trust and friendship of someone else who could; a role the Gryphons seemed to fill quite often by Flux's estimation.

If the new expedition had truly been formed for the purpose Flux was increasingly beginning to suspect; then it would mark the first new race discovered in a century.  For all the trepidation the idea provoked, he had to admit that the concept of being party to such a defining event also appealed to him immensely.

As Flux arrived back at his suite, coming full circuit in his whirlwind trip around the palace, he discovered that a pair of Royal Guards were already awaiting his return; their ever inscrutable faces betraying no impatience, despite the fact that they may well have been standing there for up to an hour.

At some stage, they had gathered the scientist's two large trunks, and assorted smaller bags; obviously Celestia had not been exaggerating when she said departure would be prompt and punctual..

Flux blushed slightly; embarrassed that his absent mindedness had held the two uniformly white and blue stallions in their thankless station for so long, "Aaaah.. Terribly sorry sirs....  You haven't been waiting here *too* long have you?"

The guard on Flux's left took one disciplined, measured step forward.  His tone was emotionless and even, completely matching his muzzle, "Your presence is requested at the earliest possible moment.  We're here to escort you."

Flux nodded, and stood stock still, trying to decide how to handle the veritable cornucopia of miscellaneous items contained in his saddlebags, and magical grip.

Finally, as the patient, and almost judgmental, looks of the guards bored into his skull, he settled on quickly prying open one of the trunks and stuffing the last of his effects in as quickly as he could.

The messiness of the solution was unappealing, but it was infinitely less uncomfortable than keeping the guards waiting.  Intimidation factor aside, Flux hated to put others out.  He could always re-sort everything once the party made its first nightly camp.

The moment he had the latch firmly affixed, once again, to the trunk, the two guards each grasped a small attached handle in their muzzles, and pulled the crates into the air; their scant few feet of altitude maintained by the magic that suffused the wings of all Pegasi.

Despite his near constant exposure to feats of thaumomancy that defied all classification or containment, Flux still marveled at the small everyday miracles that Earth Ponies and Pegasi were effectively born with.  To him, there was a much harsher limit on the weight his telekinetic grip could handle.

To the guards, the trunks he would likely struggle with were literally as light as feather pillows.
Perhaps gravity itself was a constant, but no one ever said anything about having to *obey* it.

Flux couldn't help but sneak the occasional glance at his escorts as they moved, seemingly effortlessly, down the vaulted hallways of the castle.  Quickly, however, his mind became occupied with deducing their destination.

He had expected to be taken to the main courtyard; it seemed like the logical place to assemble a large caravan for departure.  Instead, the guards appeared intent on guiding him around the other side of the mountain, to the river overlook.

The realization generated a swelling sensation of excitement for the Unicorn; there could be only one reason to bring him to the overlook.

His newfound expectations were not met with disappointment.

As Flux exited the marble hallways of the castle, exchanging the room-temperature decorated spaces for the cooler shaded rock of the overlook, a glorious sight filled his eyes and demanded his attention and awe.

Suspended before him was a ship; for all the world it looked as if a legendary naval warship from the old stories had sprung to life out of the pages of a book.  The vessel hung in midair, connected to the overlook by a long sturdy gangway that could doubtless support a three -wide column of Ponies, but surely didn't have the tensile strength to maintain the hull's position.

The ship was, in fact, suspended not by moorings, but by an immense billowing cascade of gleaming fabric, secured with countless firm lines, and even plated in several especially vulnerable spots with gleaming armor.

Here lay an airship that put every vessel in the Nation's history of air travel to shame.

To Flux's detail oriented and disciplined eye, it looked to be at least three times larger than the largest airship he knew of.  The envelope, like most Equestrian airships, took the stylized form of a whale, but instead of a single tail, the vessel sported two; in order to aid in controlling its mind boggling bulk.

Where oars might have sat on the hull-proper, had it been a seagoing ship, instead were affixed winglike paddles.  These served as propulsion when worked by teams of 'rowers,' or turned into the wind like sails if the weather was favorable.  A ship the size of Equestria's new pride and joy likely had its own dedicated weather Pegasi to clear the skies and create favorable weather systems, Flux reasoned to himself as he continued to gape at the ship.

The airship was white with gold trim, but midway down both the ship hull and the envelope there was an artful swoop of darkest blue, trimmed in steel and silver, that extended back over the ship to tinge one tail, and completely color the other.  One tail bore the emblem of the rising sun, the other, the blue one, was stamped with the sigil of the waxing moon.

As he tentatively approached the gangplank, Flux saw that the figurehead was the horn of an Alicorn, formed from entwined onyx and marble, inlaid with complicated designs in the thinnest strands of gold and silver.

He also noted the presence of two rows of menacing weapon ports within the side of the ship.
Equestrian airships usually eschewed arbalests, except for the relatively few border patrol vessels in the Royal Navy.

The guards forged on ahead, bypassing the connecting bridge and simply flying Flux's trunks directly to the deck, where a crew of Earth Ponies promptly made off with them to stow them in parts of the ship unknown.

Flux took his time on the gangway, and was passed several times by hurried groups of Unicorns and Earth Ponies going in both directions.  When he arrived on deck, the sight that greeted him was unsurprising, yet more than a little awe inspiring, and certainly intimidating.

To one side, left of the tiller, stood the Princess of the Night, resplendent in her traditional war armor.  Most Ponies were accustomed to seeing the Royal sisters in their regalia; few knew that they both possessed ceremonial (and doubtless functional) armor.  Luna's was comprised mostly of curving plates of steel and Lapis Lazuli, with the occasional sharp onyx blade, affixed by silver wires, that looked deadly enough to gore an enemy in one stroke.

Across from Luna, Celestia stood in her usual golden garb, flanked by two of her guards.
On the other side of the tiller stood an older looking Pegasus with mostly silvered mane, but a few remaining fiery streaks.  His uniform and the gold orbs on the collar, identified him as the captain of the ship.

The other two metaphorical points of the compass were occupied by a pair of large, stoic looking Gryphons, one jet black with the tiniest of green flecks, one a solid shade of tawny.  

They were dressed in their own more practical and menacing battle armor, and carrying huge lances strapped to their backs, alongside crossbows that looked powerful enough to pierce solid ancient stone with their quarrels.

It all made sense of course; Luna was leading an expedition into the unknown, and thus the armed status of the ship, her armor, and the two Gryphons followed logically.

Despite the cultural divide, and even fear that tinged modern Equestrian relations with Gryphons on a public level, they were and always had been firm allies of the Nation.  Ponies had little stomach for war, yet lived in a dangerous world.  Gryphons were born predators and guardians.  

By contrast, the avians had little to no diplomatic sensibilities, but Ponies were practically made to befriend others.  

It was a perfect match, and the longstanding alliance had always been mutually beneficial; the Ponies kept the Gryphons from ending up in too many wars for even their considerable prowess to deal with, and the Gryphons hunted and exterminated all the horrors that went bump in the night, snuffing them out far from the peaceful lives of the Equestrians.

Flux had no doubt the Gryphons were responsible for the design and execution of all the armor and weapons gracing the new airship.  Unbeknownst to most, the Gryphon Kingdoms were actually the ones who designed and manufactured the armor for Celestia and Luna's guard divisions.  The gold of the exterior was mere leafing that hid internal alloys twice as strong as solid steel; the product of Gryphic metallurgy, which was unsurpassed by any other race.

Diamond Dogs might have been the best miners of all the bountiful produce that rock and shale could offer, and Unicorns might have been the best workers of gemstones and crystals in all the realms; but if one needed work done with steel, iron, bronze, gold, or stranger and more mythic alloys, the Gryphons were the indisputable first and last word in the business.

Flux suddenly felt very small and insignificant; he was gripped by a deep compulsion to avoid interrupting the discourse of what might as well have been demigods and archangels in comparison to him; the scatterbrained disheveled and hurried magical scientist.

Before he could act on his compulsion, and slip away belowdecks, Celestia took notice of him, and graced him with a radiant smile that seemed to raise the light level in the canyon by several orders of magnitude.

She inclined her head, "Dearest sister, honored Knights, this is Flux.  He is, without a doubt, the most qualified observer, learner, and thinker when it comes to matters of form and body.  He is also a longtime friend and student."

Luna dipped her head once in greeting, the Captain fired off a salute garnished with a slight friendly grin, and the Gryphons imitated Luna's gesture.

Flux was sure his cheeks were flushed red enough to be seen a mile away.

He shuffled awkwardly, and searched for words, finally settling on something as generic and polite as possible, "I'm... really quite in awe... this ship is an amazing achievement.  I'm honored to have a place on her."

A short rumbling laugh escaped the black Gryphon, "I see that the skies are not familiar territory for you?"

Flux shook his head, "I've been on an airship mayhaps twice in my life."

The ship's Captain, whose cutie mark Flux noted was a form of compass rose, with a tiller artfully worked into it, smiled, "I wish I could remember how that kind of discovery felt.  You do this as long as some of us have, it becomes second nature and then some."

Luna shook her head, "If discovery is what thou seekest, I doubt that any of you shall come away from this disappointed."

Celestia raised an eyebrow, "Careful sister.  Rumors are like a virus; they spread.  Remember your own stipulation; your purpose is not to be discussed with the crew until two days underway."

Luna smiled; a gleaming predatory, icy expression that sent an involuntary shiver down Flux's spine, "Out of the two of us, Celestia, I think I am the more secretive.  Trust my instincts."

Celestia shook her head in self chastisement, "Of course.  You always had the head for plans and maps and secrets.  Just don't slip too far into Classical, or no one but perhaps Flux will be able to understand you."

It was Luna's turn to raise an eyebrow, "We thinkest thou mayest underestimate our burgeoning talents in the artes of newe languages that thy subjects, and other races do now spake."

For the briefest of moments, celestia looked slightly horrified.  Luna snorted, "A *joke*, dear sister.  A mere jest."

Celestia chuckled, "Your sense of humor is better than mine sometimes."

Flux felt as though he was in the most awkward position possible; party to a conversation that he felt he had no business hearing, but Celestia and Luna seemed open to sharing their words with all on the deck, so he stood his ground, shuffling one front hoof awkwardly.

The Princess of the Sun leaned forward, mindful of the spikes on her Sister's armor, and shared a short but loving embrace with her.  "Stay safe."

Luna returned the emotional gesture in kind, and offered an almost incomprehensibly kind smile, "Have no fear for us... Mind your own dark corners."

Celestia nodded, and without another word, made her way down the gangplank in stately fashion, still flanked by her stone faced guards.  As the ruler of the day did so, Luna, the Captain, and the tawny Gryphon dispersed to their various tasks.

Flux stared after her, trying to reason out Luna's final farewell.  He mumbled aloud to himself, "Dark Corners?"

The large black Gryphon surprised him with a response, his deep voice almost vibrating the teak of the deck beneath Flux's hooves, "Its an old Knight's expression.  When you go into a dark cave, or an enemy keep, your foe will inevitably gravitate to the darkest corners.  The newer turn of phrase is 'watch your back.' "

Flux cocked his head, and stared up at the metal plated warrior in confusion, "Why would she tell Celestia to watch her back?  We're the ones sailing off into danger..."

The Gryphon laughed again, "Danger is everywhere little Pony.  We're here because we'll most likely have to deal with the sharp kind.  The Princess... she has an even more disturbing foe."

"That being?"

"Politics."

Flux winced, "You know?  I think I'll take the sharp sworded foe before the sharp tongued one."

The Gryphon smiled, and clapped him on the back, a gesture that felt a little too rough for Flux's liking, "Wise words indeed Flux.  I am Brelik."

Flux offered him a wan smile, "Nice to meet you..."

Before the Unicorn could elicit any more awkward backslaps, a loud whistle sounded, followed by the blast of three brass horns.  A flurry of activity ensued;  lines were cast off, ballast shifted, mechanical pulleys and locks secured, and the 'sails' were run out.

Flux ended up standing with Luna and Brelik next to the tiller; it was the only island of safety in the sea of activity that had swamped the deck.

Ahead, he could see several Pegasi, and the other Gryphon, flying in a waiting pattern at the mouth of the canyon.  Flux tensed; the moment was palpably ripe with anticipation.
The launch of the new ship was going to draw attention, and be the topic of discussion at dinner tables for weeks, especially given the secrecy surrounding it.

Under normal circumstances an event such as the launching of a large airship would be surrounded by a much publicized buildup of ceremonies, speeches, celebrations, and banquets.

The sight of such an incredible work of art and engineering bursting forth with no fanfare or explanation was going to turn heads.

Luna gestured to the tiller with one hoof, "Captain, please proceed."

As the captain laid one hoof on the huge wheel, Flux noted that the connector on which it spun was itself set into a groove on the deck so as to allow it to be pushed or pulled to control elevation while in motion.  Changing altitude at a standstill required dropping or acquiring ballast.

Beside the wheel, to the Captain's right, a compass resided in a binnacle, for steadiness, and next to it was mounted a rather intricate clockwork timepiece, for deriving exact navigational measurements.

The Captain cast a glance at Luna, who nodded.  He bellowed, in a surprisingly loud voice likely cultivated over years of performing this same task over and over, "ALL SAIL BANKS, AHEAD ONE QUARTER!"

There was a slight groan of settling wood, and Flux watched in amazement as the massive fabric membranes extended out either side of the hull began to sweep, slowly, in perfect time, like so many great oars.

It was slightly ironic; but the propulsion power, when not under sail via the wind, was provided mostly by Earth Ponies due to their incredible leg strength.  An uneducated onlooker would almost inevitably assume the entire crew was made up of Pegasi; but in truth the best crew was a diverse crew.

The great airship slowly, but steadily, slid away from the river overlook.  As the front edge of the envelope peeked out of the canyon, the sun caught the gold trimming, scattering light in a million blinding rays that seemed to pierce the fluffy white clouds gracing the azure sky.  A fitting herald to the arrival of the majestic beast.

As the tails of the envelope cleared the tighter part of the canyon, the Captain cast a furtive glance to stern, before shouting once more, "ALL SAIL BANKS AHEAD FULL!"

The rowers' efforts redoubled, and Flux was sure he could faintly hear the beat of drums below deck; likely a means for keeping even timing on both sides of the craft.

As the ship cleared the canyon entirely, the captain spun the wheel several revolutions to starboard, and pulled back on it gently.  Since the ship's ballast was at neutral, the ensuing tilt in the sail banks lent a gentle upward gradient to the entire craft, propelling it higher.

Flux could see that the flight of Pegasi, and the second Gryphon, were not their only escorts. Three other, much smaller and more traditionally outfitted airships were also waiting for them.

He tilted his head, "Why the convoy?"

The Captain, eyes still locked straight ahead, snorted, "Ship this size? We need escorts.  They carry extra supplies, ferry the unflighted to and from the ground if need be, and make scouting runs for us.  We've got the Cloudspray, the Thunderhead, and the Azimuth.  Good ships all."

Flux realized, with a start, that he didn't know the name of their own craft, so he put the query to the group.

As the great ship levelled out, and the escorts formed up; the flyers making a wedge before them, and the other three airships forming a diamond, of which they were the tip, Luna provided the answer.

"This is our first full scale, long distance expeditionary ship.  This is the Ascendant."





Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
10:33 GMT
Port of Madalena
The Azores

To say the city was in chaos would have been a grossly unjust understatement.

Puller sat, exhausted, on the skid of a dormant VTOL, sipping water from his canteen and taking in the morasse.  The evacuation had ramped up to full swing hours ago, as Destroyers, cargo ships, and cruise liners arrived to augment the Yorktown's carrying capacity for refugees.

Colonel Puller had spent most of the first hours helping set up roadblocks, and checkpoints to herd and organize the shell shocked populace.  Twice he had been called from those duties to tend to other matters; once to handle a small nascent riot, and once to help set up a medical processing station at a Hospital.  

The latter was necessary as a dedicated queuing spot for those patients from the islands' hospitals too ill or injured to be moved in traditional manner.  The processing station served as a spot to take them for check in, stabilization, and offloading onto a dedicated medivac transport; usually a stabilized heavy VTOL.

The riot had occurred as a result of tensions between some of the lower class living on Madalena's outskirts, and the fire teams from the Yorktown.  Shortly after Puller's flight had arrived, the sky had been swarmed by the VTOLs of Yorktown, and the now accompanying destroyers.  The craft brought a constant stream of Soldiers, med techs, engineers, and Military Police to the island, and in turn ferried cabins full of refugees back to waiting ships.

Already an entire cruise ship of people had been sent on their way, not to mention those who had already possessed departure tickets on civilian airlines, or simply owned their own long range yachts.

It seemed like alot of people out of context, but compared to the total population it was a drop in the bucket.  Puller took a deep draught of his water, and wiped a bead of sweat from his brow; at least it was a start.

Luis, Fireteam Sigma's senior demolitionist, had managed to find time to pull down a news report on a DaTab.  Apparently the story of the evacuation had broken on the mainlands of the world, and had very nearly triggered a panic.  The official line was a 'geologic instability.'  That alone was terrifying enough.

People in New York, Miami, London, Lisbon, Dublin, and Dakar were feeling the concern more than most; camps were being set up in these cities as receiving stations for the refugees.  From the camps, the evacuated populace would be processed into their new Earthgov region as emigrants with expedited papers, and relocated as soon as possible to housing that was, apparently, already under construction.

To Puller, watching the constant stream of cars and foot traffic to the designated aerial and naval evac points, it seemed like they would never even reach that stage.  Some part of him understood the unrest many locals were feeling; there were no signs of radiation as of yet.  The anomaly hadn't even manifested visually, so far as anyone could tell.  It all felt like a sisyphean exercise in foolishness.

The masses of humanity seemed to oppress the gleaming, wealthy, chic aesthetic of Madalena under a crushing weight of sorrow, confusion, and the stench of sweat.

It was ironic.  While many of the independently wealthy could have called on private craft, the sheer volume of military traffic had led to the establishment of a no-fly zone for a two hundred mile radius around the islands.  Anything that wasn't an official part of the evac was grounded.

That mean that, in a twist Puller found personally amusing, the rich and suit-clad were forced to share lines with the blue collar, as well as the tattered and poor.  No class distinctions; no one received preferential treatment save for the sick or injured.  Everyone else was processed first come, first served.

As soon as his water was finished, Puller stood, stretched, and strode purposefully back to work.
The VTOL he had used as a perch was parked outside the central evacuation command tent, which was set up within spitting distance of their original landing site on the capitol lawn.

The tent wasn't much to look at, but the interior was dominated by a giant mobile holotable.
This strategic map was manned round the clock by officers with a direct line to the Yorktown, and Military Command.

'The Big Top' as its unofficial codename had become, issued all taskings on the island based on up-to-the-second data, captured from satellites, CCTV, and team reports; then sifted and processed painstakingly by Yorktown's data analytics AI and personnel..

Puller tapped on the table's glass surface to get a young Lieutenant's attention, "Need a new tasking."

The Lieutenant glanced up, nodded, then pulled up a list on his portion of the table's display.
After running through several items, he tapped one, pinched it, then flung it in Puller's direction.
A moment later the Colonel's own small wrist mounted DaTab beeped twice to acknowledge it had received the file.

The Lieutenant gestured to a blinking dot on the map, "There have been reports of possible local hostilities at this processing station.  We could use someone with a level head to handle it, if you're willing sir."  

Puller estimated the trouble site was about three blocks from his current position.  He nodded once, and checked to make sure the rifle on his back was loaded and ready, "I'll lock it down.  Can you have two soldiers from my team meet me a block out on the east side of the zone?  Lieutenants Luis Ramirez, and Victor Koenig."

The Lieutenant tapped his earpiece, "Will do sir.  Good luck."

As the beleaguered man turned back to his never ending logistical tasks, Puller strode from the tent.  He raised his left arm, and tapped the DaTab, strapped there in its waterproof shockproof casing.  A map materialized.  The colonel only needed a short glance to memorize his route.

Once he reached the nearest sidewalk, he took off at a brisk military jog, chanting a familiar double-quick march softly under his breath.  His progress was easy; most of the people on the move were in the road, and all were headed in the opposite direction.

Once Puller began to enter the downtown area of Madalena, he gained even more room by cutting around the outside of roadblocks and restricted areas, eliminating other foot traffic from his itinerary entirely.

The city seemed eerily silent.  The skyscrapers, slowly emptying out their tenants, workers, tourists, and shoppers, provided a nearly soundproof blocking against the groans, mumbles, shouts, and the thrum of motors that choked the main evacuation routes.

Behind the military blocks, the city was deserted; as if swept clean by the plagues that had exterminated the Mayans, or Incas overnight.

Automated lights, both within and exterior to the structures, had come on as per normal; a result of the sullen overcast skies above.  The tang on the breeze whipping down the artificial corridors of the gleaming skyscrapers told Puller that a nasty storm was in the offing.

"This'll make life soooo pleasant."  He mumbled aloud, the words rebounding off the concrete and steel surfaces around him in time to his hurried footsteps.

Puller slowed to a fast walk as he approached the appointed rendezvous.  Shortly, he came upon a tall, broad shouldered man reclining in a deserted metal chair outside an equally deserted street cafe.  

Lieutenant Koenig was the resident sniper on Fireteam Sigma; the Germanic man sported thick heavy trooper armor, an even thicker black military mustache, salt-and-pepper hair, and the best aim Puller had ever seen a living Human exhibit in the field.

Koenig stood and snorted, "Its going to be wonderful weather this evening.  Perhaps a slight chance of showers coming in off the bay?"

Puller grunted, "Yeahp.  Followed by scattered catastrophes.  Where's Luis?"

Another voice echoed from a nearby alley, "Speak of the devil and he shall come." 

A short, dark skinned Hispanic man materialized from the shadows.  His vest, as per his position, was mostly filled with the trappings of a master destroyer of barricades, roadblocks, doors, and bunkers.  "We planning to put a hole in something boss?"

Puller shrugged, and glanced down the street, "Maybe.  Big Top says the nearest processing station reported potential violence, so they asked for backup."

Koenig checked the scope on his massive rifle, "So we're looking at a great deal of potential trouble?"

Luis smirked and fingered a coil of detonator wire, "Sounds just like our kind of party boss. Trouble means putting biiiig holes in things.  I love trouble."

> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
10:48 GMT
ACV-10 UES Yorktown
5 NM East of the Azores

Lawrence Thornton was frustrated beyond description.

The trip to the Harrisburg landing strip had been equitable to torture for the British man; Agent Calton had treated him to the cold shoulder, and agent Konem had eschewed conversation for the sake of keeping his own head free of the fire zone.

Things had, inconceivably, gotten worse.  Thornton had been expecting a tight squeeze on the aircraft; perhaps some sort of fast courier with a small spartan cabin and a rough ride, in exchange for hypersonic speeds.

The cabin on the FCT-6A was actually fairly spacious, but Thornton wouldn't have called it a cabin at all.  Cal informed him that the proper term was 'hold.'  Thornton quickly realized, to his abject horror, that It wasn't so much a fast courier as a fast troop transport.

The 'seats' were rows of barely cushioned metal slabs, lacking acceptable back support or headrests, with five point harnesses and cargo netting.  The rows of slabs were aligned perpendicular to a center uncarpeted steel aisle with tracks in it for rolling small vehicles, or cargo pallets, in and out.

The windows were so small they may as well have been omitted, the lighting was dim and red, and there wasn't even so much as a cup holder by way of conveniences or comforts.  Thornton's word of choice would have indeed been 'torture.'

His final attempt at sleep had been thwarted by a loud voice bursting from the crackly, and all together grating speakers, warning the occupants, "Please secure your seats in preparation for trap."

Thornton raised an eyebrow, groaning as he fiddled with his harness, "Trap is right... this is hell."

Cal smirked, "This is military flying.  Trap is the technical term for a carrier landing.  Take my advice; lean back as hard as you can.  We go from about one-fifty kph to zero in less than fifty yards."

Thornton moaned, and finally succeeded in securing his harness with a metallic snap, "If I get whiplash, you're not getting a bloody thing out of me until I see the ship's doctor and get my pain relieved."

Cal shrugged, "Fine by me.  We can also have him sew your mouth shut, and we'll finally be relieved of *our* pain too."

Thornton glared, and shot a quick glance at Konem, "Is she ever going to let up?"

The black haired agent snorted, "I am *not* getting involved... this is *your* problem."

Cal grinned, and Thornton glowered.  Konem's answer confirmed for him everything he had suspected; Agent Samantha Calton was not going to be easy to please, easygoing, nor, apparently, forgiving.

The scientist pressed his face to the window, just managing to catch a glimpse of their target; a scant few acres of armored concrete festooned with flashing lights for guidance.  The Transport dipped into a harsh turn, obscuring Thornton's view and providing more than enough concerning sensations in his stomach to necessitate turning his head back in the direction of travel.

Konem was grimly braced against his own 'seat,' but Cal actually looked relaxed, even pleased.
Thornton began to wonder if she was ex-military.  "Or clinically insane," he mumbled half-aloud.

"What was that?"  Konem raised an eyebrow, and shot the scientist a warning glance.

Thornton shook his head, improvising as quickly as he could, "Just thinking you'd uh... have to be clinically insane to want to fly one of these and try to hit the landing mark on that pavement down there."

Cal shrugged, "People who do it a few years develop a knack.  Pilot could prolly put us within an inch of a perfect trap, in heavy seas... blindfolded."

As if on cue, the whine of the engines increased tenfold, and the nose of the craft pitched up hard.  Thornton leaned back, pressing his head into the scant comfort and protection of the cargo netting lining the backs of the seats.

"I hope you're right!" He squeezed the words out through gritted teeth.
The forces of the craft's hard braking maneuver were already taking a toll.

There was a new sensation in Thornton's stomach, like falling from a great height in an elevator, as the craft plummeted to its rendezvous with the deck.

A set of well placed hooks in the belly connected sharply with a titanium bar, attached at both ends to micro-maglev units embedded in grooves on the concrete.  As the arresting bar began providing braking force, there was a severe jolt and the engine whine increased yet again; the twin turbines contributed to leech the vehicle's considerable momentum.  

Thornton was pitched forward violently as his body tried to obey the laws of motion, and continue on its previous course at its previous speed.  This action was arrested, painfully, by his restraining harness; the synthetic, rough, cloth-like weave digging into his shirt like so many claws of an invisible beast.

Then it was, mercifully, over.

Lawrence realized he had reflexively snapped his eyes shut during the ordeal.  He carefully peeked out from under his left eyelid to see that Cal had already undone her harness and was collecting her black, suspiciously lumpy duffle, from the cargo netting.

Thornton opened both eyes and began fiddling with his own harness.  Why one would need to bring a duffel bag full of guns and ammunition to a secure Naval warship was anyone's guess, and the real reason was likely ridiculous, by his own estimations.

Lawrence staggered free of his 'seat' in time to be jolted with a blast of cold sea air as the rear hatch began the slow crawl to its open position, accompanied by a drawn out pneumatic hiss.  

Cal shouldered her duffle and shot him a warning glance, "Don't stray, stay between me and Ralph."
She had to shout to be heard over the engine spin-down noise, combined with the ambient roar of the carrier deck.

Thornton glared; the flight had made him prickly and he didn't appreciate the agent's tone, "Why?"

Ralph smacked him on his right shoulder, "Because if you make one wrong step you'll either get your head severed by a drone prop, or your arm sucked into an intake.  No warning."

Thornton gulped, swallowing his pride, and his newfound nervousness.  Cal glanced over her shoulder to ensure he was following, then took off down the ramp at a practiced fast-walk.

Thornton had to sprint to keep up.  His first view of the carrier deck did nothing to assuage his discomfort and nervousness.  It was nowhere near as uncomfortable or dangerous looking as he had expected.  It was ten times worse.

The wind cut through his jacket, as if to glaze his bones in ice,  the pungent stench of jet fuel filled his nostrils, fouling his throat with an acidic tang, and the noise pierced his unprotected ears, rebounding inside his skull like a loose ping pong ball with steel spikes.

Ahead of him, to Thornton's amazement, Cal strode forward looking not only as if she belonged in the environment, but as if she was enjoying it.

Shaking his head, fingers in his ears to block out the bedlam, Thornton followed, eager to reach the shelter of the main 'island' tower.





Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
10:50 GMT
Port of Madalena
The Azores

Puller strode into the makeshift processing camp with purpose.  His rifle was intentionally slung at his back, but his sidearm was also clearly visible on his hip.

He had already scouted the situation from afar, with the aid of a scope borrowed from Koenig.
The problem was eminently evident.  Thugs.  Puller knew their type well; drug pushers by their dress, the way they carried themselves, and the barely concealed synthi-crys packs jammed into their duffels.

Synthi-crys, crystal nirvana, or just crys for short, was the drug of choice in a post-plant world.
Technically a synthetic 'grown' mineral, crys was well known for its hallucinogenic properties.  Puller had seen it before; it was so psychotropically addictive that a single four milligram dose was often enough to enthrall a person for the rest of their life.

The effects had been described by researchers as the ultimate high; dopamine uptake was inhibited, neurons were hyper-stimulated, and brain chemistry was fundamentally altered causing the organ to become practically dependant on the drug.

Withdrawal was often fatal, unless aided by medical tissue-repair nanites and strong gene therapy.

Puller's childhood had been spent in the particular zone of greater New York infamous for the crys trade.  The mineral required specific conditions for its formation, one of which was a rare quartz derivative found only in volcanic rock.   The powder was shipped in from sub-tropical locations, and combined on-site in target cities at locations known as Crusties.

Puller knew that a decent number of the courier jobs he had accepted as a young boy led back to the cartels in some way.  Nearly everything in the crys zones of cities did.  That had been a strong motivation for his military application.  

The phrase in the suburbs was, "Gangland or Gunland."  The military was often the best, and only way to avoid a life of crime for a young man from a low-income family.

Puller had been luckier than most.  The military didn't refuse many applications, but most ended up as noncoms.  George had managed to score highly enough on his entry tests to qualify for officer school, and accelerated command track.

The ill-clad, rowdy, and rude men he was striding towards were likely high level brains and mid-level enforcers for the cartels.  The main reason to operate on Pico would be both to mine the needed quartz derivative for Crys, and to sell it to any visiting tourist or businessman stupid enough to look for a high from any source without asking first.

The pushers were congregated around two senior medtechs.  Puller winced and quickened his steps as he saw one of the thugs shove a lab coated woman to the side roughly.

"Gentlemen!"  The colonel projected his voice to draw attention, "Is there is a problem here?"

Puller's words brought a halt to all activity in the vicinity.  The queue of people slowly making their way into a medical exam tent paused to glance nervously at the brewing confrontation, the beleaguered medtechs took a cautionary step back, and the attention of the drug-runners instantly shifted to Puller.

A heavyset, tall, unwashed man in a white shirt fixed Puller with a particularly vitriolic glare, and stepped forward to face the armored officer, "You here to put us on the boat Milboy? 'Cause otherwise, this ain't none of your business."

Puller glanced from the drug lord, to the queue, and threw out his hands expansively, "As far as I know my friend, they're putting everyone on the boats... there's the line.  No one is getting left, no one is getting detained.  So what's the problem?"

"The problem, my 'friend,'" The man took another step forward, coming chest to chest with Puller, "is that none of you patetas seem to grasp how the concept of a line works."

Puller shrugged, intentionally emphasizing his sidearm with the motion, "Uhhhh first come first served? Early bird gets the worm?  No cutting?  Look the longer you stand here babbling the more people get into the line ahead of you."

"I think you're missing the point, so let me make it clear; me and my men here?  This is our island.  Anyone who's ever felt differently ended up buried in a shallow sandy grave.  Would you like to be the next person to argue?  We own this town, therefore we go to the head of the line."

Puller shook his head, "No one is getting priority except for families with young, the sick, and the wounded.  Rich, poor, influential, average... doesn't matter. Now.."  his tone changed subtly, but rapidly, taking on an extra glaze of icy steel, "either get in the queue with everyone else, or come with me and get 'special treatment.'  We have some nice warm brig cells back on the boat that I just *know* you belong in.  What will it be?"

The drug runners chuckled, a disparate conglomeration of harsh menacing sounds.  Several reached for ill-concealed pistols.  The leaders smirked at Puller, "Baaaad choice my 'friend.'  Bad choice."

Puller shrugged, "I agree.  This could have been done without any fuss.  Too bad you're undergunned."

The man withdrew a massive civilian model chemical-charge  pistol from under his dirty white shirt, and pressed the barrel casually to Puller's shoulder, "Oh yeah?"

Puller nodded, "This is Kallis Manufacturing Type R-86 hardened medium combat armor, designed to repel RAC rounds at midrange.  Tritanium plating with an internal kevlar interweave, and a built in energy diffusion matrix.   That cheap-ass little gangland pistol would bounce off this so hard at point blank that it would break your wrist into a thousand bony little pieces while I sat here laughing quietly."

The drug lord stiffened, and hammed the pistol into Puller's throat, "Won't do you much good if I pop you in the head now will it?"

Puller chuckled wryly, "Not if your head pops first."

A plume of red burst from the man's skull before he even had time consider the statement.
As the body began to fall, the resounding 'CRACK' of the rail-snipe shot caught up to the stunned onlookers, echoing with morbid finality from building to building down the block.

Puller casually wiped a few flecks of blood from his face, and withdrew his pistol, "You gentlemen have three choices.  Touch another weapon, and my man will put an armor piercing round through your braincase so fast the grey matter will compress.  A 'shallow grave' aside, you can either take off down that alley double-quick and never let me see you again, or you can wear the cuffs, hit the brig, and at least get off this island before every grain of dirt gets swallowed into the pit of hell... or wherever its all gonna go.  Any takers?"

Two of the gangsters went for their weapons.  The first and closest dropped instantly, accompanied shortly thereafter by the distinctive rail-snipe report.  The second took two of Puller's rounds to the chest before he even managed to chamber a round.

The colonel leveled his sidearm at the nearest of the remaining men, "Fall out."

The man hesitated.  Puller placed his finger on the trigger, " Now."

The rest of the thugs took off at a jog towards the alley.  Puller holstered his sidearm and sighed.
One of the medtechs approached, looking shell shocked and bewildered, "Thank you... but... was that really necessary?  Won't they just come back?"

Puller gazed off down the alley after the fleeing figures, "No... no I don't think so."

All at once, the white shirted figures were engulfed in an expanding orange fireball.
The concussion wave arrived at the same time as the sound, ruffling Puller's hair and deafening most of the surrounding bystanders temporarily.

Puller cast a sidelong glance at the slack jawed, horrified med tech, "Any other problems you just let me know.  Call the 'big top,' ask for Colonel Puller.  Right now, I'd suggest you calm these people down, let them know the situation is well in hand."

As he walked off down the sidewalk to join Luis and rendezvous with Koenig, Puller cast a final glance back at the doctors, "My advice gentlemen?  Carry your sidearm.  They don't certify you with it so you can use it as a paperweight."





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 7th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
One Hour Before Nightfall
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
A Day's Journey South South-West of Canterlot

Flux found he had very little to do aboard ship, and yet he was not bored for even a solitary moment.  After they had come underway, the Captain had called a lower ranking crewmember to show Flux his quarters, and help him ensure all his effects and instrumentation were secure and organized.

The cabin he had found himself in was sumptuous by the general standards of ships, both air and naval.  There was a thin, but comfortable carpet on the floor, a large brass-rimmed porthole, an adjustable vent that fed into the ship's central furnace for heating, and an oaken table ringed and banded in silver.

One corner was dominated by an empty teak wardrobe, another by a single-pony wrought iron bed with a thick mattress, and crimson sheets that looked at once warm and inviting.

Light came from two magelights bolted to either lateral bulkhead, which were controlled by a small brass knob adjacent to the door, and a twin by the head of the bed.

Despite all the comfort on display, the 'facilities' were still a communal affair; but they turned out to be close-by down the corridor, clean, well lit, and proportioned to give the users privacy from each other.

Flux chuckled inwardly as he intuited what must happen to the excess 'compost' while the ship was in-flight.  He decided it was better to be above the ship than below it, given the choice.

After a stop in the hold to check in on his gear trunks, Flux had been content to simply find a perch on the main deck, out of the way of the hustle and bustle, and simply watch the fleet soar.  The sun played off the brass fittings of the other ships, reflecting back to the silver and gold trimming of Ascendant and creating water-like patterns in the teak of the deck.

All the vessels were under sail-power; the winds had turned favorable and rowers would not be needed until such time as the weather changed; which the ship's resident weather Pegasi seemed to think would not be for several hours or more.

Flux gazed next at the flight patrol as they dipped and turned, running a final sweep of the clouds ahead before switching out for the next watch.  The concept of the air-patrol made Flux slightly nervous; the only reason to send armored Pegasi and a Gryphon on scouting duty was if trouble was expected.

As the patrol came to an end, most of the Pegasi made beelines for the other ships in the convoy.
The Gryphon, however, returned to the Ascendant, alighting not far from Flux, near the starboard fore hatch.  

As he arrived, Brelik issued forth from belowdecks, and exchanged a few hushed words with his compatriot.  The black Gryphon then took to the skies to head up the newly forming patrol.
The  tawny Gryphon, who Flux had not yet had a chance to greet, began to make his way leisurely to the aft of the ship.

The Unicorn decided that his curiosity outweighed his timidity, and he spoke up as the large, menacing creature passed, "Heh... Hello.  I'm Flux... I don't believe we were properly introduced."

The Gryphon cocked his head, and his beak took on a slight grin, "I suppose not.  Busy day afterall.  I am Sildinar.  I've heard of you in the Kingdoms; you attracted some attention from my father once when you were conducting a study of our biology."

Flux nodded and blushed slightly, "I'm flattered that you remember... I still regret never getting the chance to visit the Kingdoms-proper."

Sildinar shrugged, an amusing gesture that caused his wings and shoulders to flare simultaneously, "Perhaps when this is over I can arrange the trip for you.  The terms of our agreement with the Royal Sisters stipulate that we are here as scouts and guards only; I expect our duties to be over long before those of everyone else."

Flux jerked his head in the direction of travel, and the setting sun, "What do you suppose our duties are?"

Sildinar raised an eyebrow, "I should not say; out of respect to our host... But  I'm certain someone of your intellectual capacity is more than capable of intuiting what Brelik and I have concluded."

Flux nodded, and remained silent for several moments.  When he next spoke, his tone was low; one of distinct concern, "Do you honestly think we'll run into trouble?"

Sildinar nodded, "Of one kind or another.  If forces along the way do not interfere, then we will almost certainly encounter something unsavory at our destination.  We can only hope that what we are searching for, and whatever undesirable thing we discover, are not one and the same."

Flux nodded once more silently.

Sildinar sighed, and stretched, his legs and wings splaying out, and nearly clipping Flux in the process, "I do believe I shall hunt now, so that I will not disrupt tonight's meal with my carnivorous habits.  I will see you shortly."

With that, the Tawny Gryphon leapt over the rail, and spiraled down towards the forest below, leaving Flux to ruminate on his serious predictions.





Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
14:28 GMT
Earthgov Council Facility
Harrisburg Pennsylvania

Councilor Sulerahmen was nearly asleep when the call came in.  The quiet, but insistent polyphonic tone, accompanied by a blinking hologram over the bedside table, meant that rest would have to wait.  For how long was entirely dependant on the nature of the call, but secretly she hoped that whatever the business was, it would be concluded swiftly.

Innara didn't like to admit her limitations publicly, but she knew her tolerances well, and she had reached her limit for hours-without-sleep over thirty minutes prior.

She tapped one quadrant of the blinking blue disc, enabling voice communications but no video.

A voice emanated from a hidden speaker, "Councilor?  You asked to be informed when Dr. Thornton arrived on-station... Yorktown Ops just called to confirm he arrived safely, with escorts.  They'll be dispatching him along with the agents, as soon as they can synch up a ground team on-site."

Innara nodded once in relief, and affirmation, before realizing the operator on the other end of the call could not see her, "Thank you for notifying me."

"My pleasure ma'am."

The connection terminated, and the Councilor rolled over to resume her desperately needed rest cycle, thankful that at least something had gone right in the previous twenty four hours.





Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
14:30 GMT
Government Facility A52-S429
Location Classified

The full Triumvirate was not technically in session, but Asp and Krait were nonetheless manning 'The Keep.'  Nero contingency mandated at least one member of the Triumvirate be there at all times, two was preferable.

ExCET's branches and barbs extended deep into the government, and various corporations; the only way for such a monumental secret to remain a secret was to limit knowledge of its full extent to as few people as possible.  The Triumvirate knew things that weren't even stored on master databases in the Keep.

The three men were the most essential component of the organization; in a potential beachhead scenario their lives were the most important asset on the planet, as far as ExCET protocol was concerned.

The two men kept vigil silently, for the most part, speaking only to confirm findings or make operation requests.  Deploying all of ExCET's forces was a considerable undertaking; agents in-place, sleepers who didn't even know they were sleepers, bribed and blackmailed politicians who thought they were in the thrall of drug cartels or terrorists, and legitimate front corporations who's every operation ExCET dictated, were among the assets being brought into play.

Such an occurrence was so rare that it had in fact only taken place once before.  Silently, both men and their absent third compatriot, held out hope that the events of the present would be just as anticlimactic as those of 1947.

Krait straightened at a small tone from his panel, and raised his eyes to meet Asp's, "The Scientist has arrived on-station.  My calculations place him on-site at the anomaly within four hours. "

Asp nodded, and worked his keypad furiously by touch, "According to my predictions, he will have initial findings extensive enough to suit our needs, within twenty hours."

"I will inform Adder.  We should have at least two active components on-station if a termination order becomes necessary."

"Agreed."

Silently, the Asp and the Krait watched as the world caught slowly fire, waiting for the right time to strike.
> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
16:52 GMT
Port of Madalena
The Azores

Cal's mood had improved marginally on the flight from the Carrier to the Pico Island forward command center.   Thornton hadn't said a word the entire trip; a fact  to which the blond agent credited the majority of the responsibility for her improvement.

As the VTOL's engines ground to a halt, Cal quickly leapt from the side door and took a few steps out onto the synth-grass lawn.  She had, as far as she was concerned, spent more than enough time locked in tin cans with irritating people for one week.

As she scanned her surroundings, she immediately began to wish she could go back to the proverbial tin cans.

The view was a grim one; long snaking lines of tired, dirty, confused people snaking in and out of tents and temporary shelters.  A constant stream of departing  transport VTOLs filled the air with a droning hum, creating an oppressive sense of walls closing in around the agent.

In a few places, smoke rose above the towers of the city; a testament to ongoing riots, accidents, and failing machinery.

It didn't take Cal long to work past the noise just enough to  notice the overbearing smell; the stench of unwashed bodies, fuel, smoke, and barely-restrained panic.

"Oh my god..." Cal turned to see that the tone of abject horror had belonged to Thornton.  The scientist was standing, mouth agape, eyes swiftly  glassing over as he witnessed a side of the world so alien that its implicit horror was magnified for him a thousandfold.

For the first time, Cal felt sorry for the man.  Sorry enough that she didn't feel any satisfaction at seeing his smug, pampered, constantly entitled visage give way to shell shock; the horror unique to someone being shown the darker side of the human condition for the first time.

Konem silently trudged up to stand beside the pair, his visage only somewhat more stoic.

For a moment, the three simply did their best to adapt to their new surroundings.  No one spoke, no one moved, and nothing interrupted their shocked musings.

Finally, Cal broke the increasingly heavy silence, her tone firm, cold, and self-assured, "All right.  Lets get this done."

Konem nodded, Thornton shook himself before mimicking the gesture, "Ahhh right... yes... uhm... where are we going?"

Konem spoke up for the first time since leaving Yorktown, "We're supposed to be assigned a military escort."  He inclined his head toward a large tent with the Earthgov Military flag raised on a temporary pole outside the entrance.

Cal dipped her head sharply, once, in acknowledgement, "Fine.  Lets get this over with."





Puller was knee deep in mud when his radio put out the call for attention.  The Colonel was beginning to hate the distinctive tri-tone of incoming calls with a burning passion; they always seemed to arrive at the worst conceivable times.

The small side-road his team was struggling against lay close to the coast; a seldom traversed utility route for all-terrain vehicles to access a small geological research station.  The road had been drafted into service as a foot and vehicle path for evacuees from Santa Luzia; who were walking to the geological station across untamed terrain, then being ferried by transport to Madalena.

Puller, along with most of his team, had been conscripted off-hand to help free a trapped medical transport.  The six wheeled armored vehicle had become mired in the sandy mud created by the near constant passage of vehicles and people over a road meant to handle less than a thousand vehicles seasonally.

The ground-based, angular, white vehicles were a modification of existing APCs, with railguns and troop harnesses removed in favor of a red cross emblem, and enough medical supplies to start a small hospital.

As Puller strained against the rear hatch, buying himself enough space to reach out and key on his earpiece, he reflected that the APC was a good metaphor for the situation; stuck in over their heads, even with military assets.

He grunted, and resumed pushing,  his words turned more into groans akin to bending steel by the force of his effort, "Puller! What is it this damn time?!"

Lusis, who was busy rigging a pneumatic jack to one of the APC's real wheels, snickered, "We should call you pusher now..."

The Colonel gave him a glance that silenced him, before leaning into his earpiece, "Yep? Why is it my problem?"

He listened for several more seconds to the incoming stream of orders, while Koenig peeked around the back of the armored transport to see what the fuss was about.  Luis just shrugged, and shook his head.

When the call concluded, Puller groaned and slowly extricated himself from the APC, "Allright, pile out guys.  They said leave it.  We have a new problem."

Firebrand clambered out of the vehicles open hatch, and offered a shrug to the disgruntled looking medtechs, "Sorry guys, looks like you need new rims."  She turned to Puller, "Problem you say?"

The Colonel nodded and shrugged, "Babysitting."

Koenig groaned, "Political escort assignments are the most pointless..."

Puller interrupted, shaking his head, "Science geek actually.  Supposedly here to figure out how bad the rift is going to get."

Luis snorted, "If you ask me,  better to get the problem at hand solved before we go digging for the wrong kind of trouble."

Firebrand giggled, "Coming from you? That's like pearls of heavenly wisdom."

Luis smirked, "I can't help it if the chicas like a man with a little C4."

Puller put up a hand for silence, "Ours is not to ask 'why,' but to get done.  Koenig; take Luis and put together a full hazmat set for us plus three other bodies.  Firebrand; skids up in an hour, so be ready, they probably brought alot of scientific gear."

She nodded, "Hop skip and a jump for six, and assorted geekazoid boxes.  Coming right up."

Luis glanced back over his shoulder as he and Koenig set off down the muddy road, "Got a date boss?"

Puller exhaled, "Yeah.  I guess that  does make me public relations."  He stared down the road for a moment, pensively, "Well crap."





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 7th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Three Hours After Nightfall
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
A Day and four hours' Journey South South-West of Canterlot

Flux entered the dining room with a sense of impending dread.  He knew he was early, but his worst fears were confirmed when he discovered that only the Captain and two members of the kitchen staff were present.  To Flux, it seemed a breach of etiquette to arrive before royalty, or for that matter diplomats.

He knew Luna, and to an even greater extent the Gryphons, would not be standing on ceremony; but that was a reprieve only in the technical sense as far as the Unicorn was concerned.

Before he could quietly excuse himself, however, the Captain noticed him and beckoned him over to the porthole, "Welcome! Come in, come in! 'S my ship, so its my dining hall; I don't mind early-comers.  Its the late ones I can't abide."

Flux stepped forward cautiously, as if the deck under his hooves had suddenly turned to hot coals.  He stammered weakly, "Th.. thank you.  I don't know if her Majesty will feel the same..."

The captain snorted, "She's a puzzler that's for sure.  But under all the glister, and the cold calculating surface, there is alotta empathy."

The Unicorn cocked his head, and gave the Captain a questioning glance, "You know the Princess?"

The Captain nodded, "You think the brass or the hobnobbers would want an old timer like me in charge of this boat?  They wanted some young spry Wonderbolt dropout with no brains to match his speed."

Flux's eyes widened, "So Luna got you this position?"

The Captain nodded, "More than that; she saved my career. "  He smiled at Flux and pointed a hoof at his rank orbs, "I nearly lost these for a decision I made.  I thought it was the moral course, and my superior thought it was politically damaging.  We were both right, and he wanted me stripped and discharged to cover his own tail.  Celestia wouldn't hear of it, of course; she knows her nephew and his hooliganry all too well... but the mark of scandal is harder to erase than a cutie mark.  I got pulled back to an 'administrative post.' "

The captain snorted and shook his head, "Wasn't until Luna was looking for a veteran officer for this position that the issue came to Royal notice again.  She got me out from behind a desk, and back behind a tiller again."

Flux stared out the porthole contemplating the tale.  Everything he heard and saw of Luna only increased his admiration, and curiosity, with regard to the night-ruler, "The ways of a goddess..."

The Captain chuckled, "Goddess? Hah! No... Powerful? Yes.  A Ruler and leader? yes.  Kind? Visibly and definitely.  A divine being?  Not even close."

Flux gaped in horror; the words seemed brazen to the point of blasphemy in his eyes.
The Captain, noting his expression, laughed all the louder, "Well don't take *my* word for it if you're so surprised; ask her yourself.  Ask either of their highnesses; they'll tell you from their own mouths.  Alicorns are just folk like the rest of us... only more powerful by a bit.   You don't worship them Gryphons just 'cause they can move faster than you can think a thought do ya?"

Flux shook his head, "But an Alicorn is a different story..."

The Captain cocked his head and glared, "Why?  Just 'cause they have more magic and longer lives than the rest of us?  Lemme tell you something you should already know from your high-intellect studies; a Dragon's got more magic in their littlest scale than Celestia and Luna do in their entire bodies.  Seen it myself enough times to know its true."

Flux stared in continued horror, "Then... what do you..?"

"Believe?"  The captain shrugged, "As far as I'm concerned, if there's a god, or goddess, or more 'n one of em,' I'll be happy to accord 'em due respect the moment they ask for it to my face.  'S far as I know, its still our right, each of us, to choose what we believe.  Whether its right or wrong?  Don't s'pose we're likely to know till the end of life's voyage.  Gryphons have their one Allmighty God, some of us four-hoofed folk like you  believe in Celestia and Luna, 'few worship Discord, and still more believe in the older 'Pantheons.'  The Buffalo think the world itself lives and breathes... and Dragons?  Well... that's one o' life's mysteries I never did pin down.  Their beliefs are a shade too messy for my simple thoughts."

Flux inclined his head in agreement with the latter statement; his interest in Draconic culture had largely stagnated when he reached their religious beliefs; they were too strange and complicated for even the scientist to fully grasp, and it didn't help that there wasn't a single written codice of their faith.  The Gryphons at least had that much, even if it seemed utterly alien to Flux's eyes.

Almost as if in synchronization with his thoughts, Brelik and Sildinar arrived.  The tawny Gryphon jerked his head at the table jovially, "You treat your guests well captain!"

Flux followed the Gryphons' gaze to note that the servers had thoughtfully placed a few well cooked meat dishes at the avian beings' places.  The gesture was minimal, but very thoughtful.  Most Pony chefs balked at even discussing the concept of meat preparation.  It was a wonder the cook had been able to deep fry even a few small shrimp.

The Captain smiled, "Least I could do.  I've worked a bit with you and yours before, and I sorta got used to the sight of meat eating, 'long as its downed civilly and decently."

Brelik chuckled, "Not to worry.  We are a practical culture, but not an uncourteous one."

Sildinar chuckled, "Most of the time, at any rate.  Its hard to account for all the differences sometimes.  We don't stand on ceremony and procedure very often."

Flux couldn't help himself, "From what I've studied most of your ceremonies and rituals are limited to highly significant occasions, and bear some sort of correlation to historical practice as well as a level of practicality..."  The Unicorn cut himself off, blushing at his interruption.

Sildinar, however, smiled, "I see you are possessed of a fine memory, and broad tastes."

Brelik chuckled, "Not quite broad enough for the shrimp, I suspect."

Flux shook his head meekly.  The black Gryphon laughed, his booming voice shaking the room, "Oh don't fret.  I don't think any among my kind could hold it against you.  Your stomachs and hearts simply weren't made for meat."

Flux nodded, regaining some of his courage, "And we're content with that."

The Captain smirked, "Admit it; you Gryphons have even developed a taste for our apples."'

Sildinar nodded, "Oh I'm not ashamed to admit it; and my father has picked up the habit from me to say the least.  Proof that the rumors are just that.  We do buy and sell something besides strong blades."

Brelik raised an eyebrow, "Given the choice, I prefer the blades."

The Captain's raucous laughter was cut short by the arrival of Luna herself.  Her very presence seemed to create a greater contrast of light and shadow in the room, as she silently and gracefully stepped into the space without making so much as a hoof-tap of a noise.

The Captain bowed slightly; a formal gesture of respect.  Flux nearly went into a complete prostration, before realizing that he was caught in an embarrassing contrast to the more pragmatic gesture of the captain, and the still more spartan inclined heads of the Gryphons.

As he scrambled to rise, Flux tensed; it still didn't sit well with him that two of the beings in the room wouldn't even bow to the moon goddess, and a third thought here nothing more than a long-lived mortal of unusual wisdom and power.

Luna seemed completely unaffected by the contrast of the various displays, merely tilting her head slightly in acknowledgement of their occurrence before speaking, "Shall we dine?"

Inwardly Flux groaned; a loose-cannon Captain, two carnivorous predatory Diplomats, and a Goddess who had once played host to the ultimate evil; around the same dinner table.

What could possibly go wrong?





Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
17:28 GMT
Port of Madalena
The Azores

Hutch allowed himself a final moment of relative comfort and simplicity, took a deep breath, and strode purposefully over to the three most out-of-place people in the tent.  Everyone else was busy with their assigned tasks, but the three figures, garbed neither in military nor bedraggled civilian clothing, but clean street clothes, were seated idly on a crate. 

As their eyes turned to fix on him he noted, with a tentative sense of relief, that the two agents had possessed the foresight to equip themselves with light body armor.

The sensation of hope that the three guests might show some tactical competency was cut brutally short by the realization that the third figure, doubtless the scientist, was wearing a casual suit.  And formal shoes.

Puller stopped short and stared, his shocked mental pause only interrupted by the arrival of a gloved feminine hand in his field of vision, and a voice to accompany it, "You must be our escort."

The colonel shook himself, and took another moment to size up the woman in front of him; blond, lithe, tall, no nonsense expression.  Small but powerful military grade rail-pistol sidearm, an unusual and militaristic choice for a bodyguard.  Light combat armor, cinched tight and properly seated.

As George reached out to shake the proffered hand, he decided he liked the woman; she seemed possessed of some true experience in the field.  That was going to make his job significantly easier.

She gestured to herself, her partner, and their charge in sequence, "I'm Agent Calton, this is Agent Konem, and Doctor Thornton."

Puller nodded, and reached forward to shake Agent Konem's hand; the man looked slightly 'green' to Puller, but his bearing indicated he had a good working relationship with Calton, which meant he knew how to do his job, and learn his lessons as he went.  Puller could admire and appreciate that.

As for Doctor Thornton, he barely spared time for a handshake before the incessant stream of technical jargon Puller had hoped to avoid started up, "Can you tell me anything about the fracture zone?  Has the anomaly manifested visually yet?  What do the..."

Calton, much to Puller's everlasting gratitude and amusement, simply placed a hand on Thornton's head, and forced him back to a seated position on the crate, cutting off his stream of words, "Sit.  Stay.  Good Brit."

Puller chuckled, "Agent Calton, I appreciate the down-to-business attitude.  We're strapped for time and resources here, so I'm gonna toss you guys right in; you need to get him,"  The colonel jerked a thumb at the sullen scientist, "into light armor and combat boots.  We're going to go by VTOL, and the people on the ground here are telling me that we'll need radiation suits, so you need to get qualified with those."

Konem shook his head, "They give us a yearly crash course in hazmat gear.  Part of the job."

Puller was impressed, and he let it show in his expression and tone, "Good! One less thing on the todo list. "  He glanced back at Calton, "Calton... You think you can squeeze Doctor fracture-zone over there into a suit?"

Calton's devilish grin gave Puller slight pause, "You can call me Cal.  And It'd be a pleasure."  
She smirked at Thornton, "Emphasis on the squeeze."





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 7th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Five Hours After Nightfall
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
A Day and four hours' Journey South South-West of Canterlot

"...Oh it didn't take long after he got behind the upper skull plates.  Brelik here has been known to break granite slabs, I've never met a stronger member of our kind.  He pried up the scales behind the ears, and rammed four javelins in so far they disappeared.  The beast didn't even get to scream."  Sildinar grinned as he finished the tale, stopping to take a sip of hot apple cider.

Brelik chuckled and shook his head, "He makes it sound a greater feat than it truly was.  It was only a small Wyrm, not even fully grown.  They are, at the end of the day, only monsters; no true combat intelligence, even in the beastly instinctive sense.  They tend to merely flail about."

The Captain snorted, "But even the young 'uns get to be as big as Dragons, twice as fast, and easily as strong.  And that fiery goo they can belch out... I seen one a long time back, and the stuff stuck to armor, skin, fur, and feathers and just burned until it ate you up.  Killing one single-clawed is somethin' for the story-books."

Luna nodded her agreement, "Indeed, such a feat is not to be underestimated."

Brelik shrugged, "Well, in that case, I won't argue."

Flux struggled to swallow his haycakes.  The violence of the tale actually perturbed him less than the fact that Luna was at-home with such macabre conversation.  The behavior was, to him, unseemly for a ruler.  He had always imagined the living avatar of the moon would be as serene and beautiful as the silver orb in the sky.  Somehow her deadlier edge seemed to dull that beauty in Flux's eyes.

He certainly understood why Celestia had sent her sister, and not traveled on the expedition herself; Luna was perhaps as much a warrior at heart as the Gryphons seated across from her.  

Flux didn't wish to become a part of the conversation, but his desire to escape the gruesome warrior tales outshone his desire to remain silent, so he did his best to steer the conversation down a more palatable path, "Speaking of the history books... Is not this gathering in itself historic?  When was the last time our kinds embarked on a joint venture?"

Sildinar nodded, "Far too long ago."

Luna sighed, and cast a wistful glance at the two Gryphons "My sister appreciates all that you do to defend us... more even, I expect, than she is willing to let on.  But she has no stomach for war and strife.  I do, and so it always fell to me to maintain the closer kinship between our races.  My.... absence made that impossible for a time, and I see the relationship has suffered."

Brelik shook his head, "Not so much suffered actively, as atrophied from disuse.  We are not unwelcome among your kind, most of the time... but we are certainly not welcome anymore either."

Sildinar speared a shrimp neatly, and devoured it swiftly before contributing his own thoughts again,  inclining his head in Luna's direction, "Your sister is wise, and kind... but she has failed to teach your little Ponies that peace does not breed peace on its own.  There are always new and powerful evils in the world, and while we don't condemn the peaceful nature of Ponies there are many in the Kingdoms, my father and I included, who dearly wish you taught your kind that peace must be paid for in the currency of war and warriors."

Flux paled; the turn in the conversation had not at all sent it in the direction he intended; now the Gryphons were treading on ground Flux viewed as thin ice at best.

Brelik nodded rapidly in agreement with Sildinar, "Ponykind need not like, or engage in, our violent ways to *appreciate* that those ways keep their farms and cities safe on cold winter nights while we gladly do what is in our nature,"  he slammed his mug down on the table, "find the monsters, the ghosts, and the banshees of the world and put them to the sword without mercy."

Flux winced, expecting Luna to rise and strike the Gryphon down for his insolence.  But as the moment of silence stretched on, he came to a shattering realization, glancing quickly back and forth from the Gryphon to the Princess; she couldn't.  Even more surprising, judging by her expression, she wouldn't if she could.

To Flux's amazement, Luna merely nodded as well, her expression melancholy, "I do wish they understood.  I fear rebuilding the understanding we had will take quite some time; our culture changes very slowly.  It took a thousand years for my sister to convince those under us to engage in more self-governance rather than relying solely on us. "

The Captain nodded, "Changing minds won't be easy,"  He jabbed a hoof at Brelik, "Your kind has a certain... awe and fear about you."

Luna smiled, "It is true, but certainly no excuse for us to leave things as they are.  Perhaps this will serve as a prelude to a new beginning."

The Gryphons both smiled, and Flux felt a certain inward relief; it was the first time all night that both the princess, and the warrior-ambassadors, had all truly genuinely smiled.

Perhaps they were right on some level.  Flux steeled himself, and forced a meek grin onto his own muzzle, "Perhaps all we have to do is meet halfway?"

The Captain nodded and raised his mug, "I'll drink ta' that."

Brelik thumped a fisted claw on the table in assent, and raised his own mug.  Sildinar did likewise.
Without hesitation, Luna raised her own glass, "As shall I."





Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
18:28 GMT
Evacuation Zone Airspace
The Azores

"OW!" Thorntons protest elicited a chuckle from Koenig, who had already finished with his radiation suit, and was helping Luis to secure his helmet.

Cal glared up at the whining scientist, and yanked down even harder on the thigh cinch, "Man up.  Unless you'd rather go out there in your slacks and guccis.  I'm sure your grandkids would appreciate *that.*"

It was true, the process of putting on a combat hazardous environment suit was tricky in the back of a moving VTOL, but even Cal, who was fairly out of practice compared to fireteam Sigma, had managed to do it mostly on her own.

The suits looked much like medium combat armor, but were an off-shade of light gray, with orange hazard stripes.  The helmets sported extra bulk around the mouth where the rebreather apparatus sat, and the material under the plates was much thicker and possessed less range of motion than even the jumpsuits on heavy armor.

In exchange for the bulk, decreased combat rating, and high visibility, the suits had a massive margin for environmental hazard; they could survive immersion for up to ten minutes in liquid or gaseous acids, and temperatures up to and including those experienced inside lava flows.  The joints were sealed so tight even the smallest synthetic nanoparticles couldn't enter.

To top it all off, every single surface, both inside and outside the suit, including the visor of the helmet, was coated in a 'biophobic' material.  The ceramic/nanofiber alloy overlay gave the fabric and plating alike a pearlescent sheen, and prevented any biological material from resting on, or adhering to the surface, including even so much as dead skin cells or dust mites.

The material was often used in surgical instruments, operating room surfaces, and in the construction of biohazard storage facilities.

As Cal finished attaching the final straps on Thornton's gear, Puller quietly slid into the rear compartment from his previous position in the cockpit, sliding the connecting door shut and latching it firmly.

The Colonel  gestured over his shoulder, "We're down in ten.  Staging ground commander says its a nightmare, but keep in mind; we're here on other business."

Luis shook his head, "Man.. boos.. I don't like this.  We gotta babysit some guy with more degrees than combat hours, when there's people down there dying from the radiation?"

Thornton glared, his voice coming out louder than he expected due to the magnification afforded by his helmet speakers, "You're babysitting this four degree PHD scientist so he can do everything you couldn't possibly understand, or conceive of, to ensure that the majority of those people live.  Oh yes, and to ensure that the entire *planet* doesn't go up with this little island chain."

Koenig raised an eyebrow, a genuinely curious tinge underpinning his question, "You really think this is *that* serious?"

Thornton shook his head rapidly, "No, no I don't 'think...' I *know.*"

Cal sighed and offered Luis a sympathetic glance, "It's nothing personal; he's like this all the time.  In case you were wondering."





Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102
18:40 GMT
Terceira Island, 14 Kliks N-NW of Staging Camp
The Azores

The term 'nightmare' had not been an exaggeration.  

Firebrand brought the VTOL to a cautious stop on a flat shelf of rock part way up the mountain.  
Puller was the first off the rear-ramp.  

Even nearly fourteen kilometers away from the closest major settlement, streams of radiation burned victims were being hurried down the nearby twisting craggy paths paths by hazmat-clad relief workers.  The rescuers had wrapped the victims in rad-resistant emergency blankets, but many were already nearly to the lethal stages of radiation poisoning.

Puller winced, and tried to disengage from the moment; most of the people he could see would probably survive.  If they could receive anti-radiation nano-chamber treatments in time.
And the journey would be an exercise in pain endurance.  

Some victims had even lost the flesh on their arms; doubtless outlying Kelp farmers, tending homemade growing tanks in the mountains... close to the anomaly epicenter.

Puller glanced over his shoulder to see that of the team, only Konem seemed to have any remaining resolve.  The rest, including Cal and Luis, were gaping in horror.  Thornton looked as if he would quite literally throw up in his helmet.

The scientist held up a small device, which promptly began clicking atonally so loudly that it was nearly a single continuous drone.  Thornton winced, "Eleven thousand rads."  Once such a dosage would have been assuredly lethal, but specially programmed nanoparticles could soak up the radiation in a person's cells, then return to a nanocylinder and discharge the rels non harmful.

The concept of a nano-chamber for treating radiation poisoning incorporated such nanites, along with billions of cellular repair and genetic recoding nanties to heal the body and prevent cancer.  The final component was a solution of synthetic aloe and lubricant, mixed with hyper-analgesic, designed to eliminate pain in the skin, and aid it in repairing more quickly.

Unfortunately, by Puller's estimation, Yorktown wouldn't have nearly enough tanks to treat even half the victims he could see, much less the total count of poisoned and burned refugees.

Earthgov would surely have more tanks flown in... but it still almost certainly wouldn't be enough to save every single victim.  Not in time.

Cal coughed, clearly on the verge of being sick herself, "Eleven thousand rads... total?"

Thornton shook his head, "Eleven thousand *here.*  I'd surmise it goes up logarithmically as we approach the pre-rift.  Best guess?"  He paused and knit his eyebrows, "A hundred and thirty five thousand at the epicenter.  We need to get in and set up the equipment as soon as possible."

Luis raised an eyebrow, "Why?  We still have a little time..."

Thornton shook his head, "No.  We don't.  Its much worse than I expected."

Puller turned swiftly on the scientist, "How long do we have before worse-case scenario..."

Koenig's eyes widened, "What *is* worst case? if this isn't?"

Thornton gulped, "Outside chances?  Optimistically?  We have a day and three hours before the ground you're standing on gets pushed out of local space-time in an event that will produce more energy than a solar coronal mass ejection."

Konem snorted, and hefted the first crate from the back of the VTOL, 
"Then we're wasting time.  I refuse to be standing here when 'here' gets chewed up by some scientific Cthulhu.  Lets make tracks."
> Chapter 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 8th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Three Hours Before Sunset
Royal Palace Gardens
Canterlot

Celestia had long since dismissed her courtiers, visitors, and even the majority of her guards.  The only remaining souls within the gardens were two of her most trusted personal guards, station at the entrance.

As she strode the lush, well tended paths, an internal struggle raged.  She and Luna had spent hours and hours upon end discussing the possible reasons for the situation at hoof.  Worlds could no more move on their own than any other physical object without internal locomotive force.

After an extensive study of The Octant, the two sisters had independently reached the same inevitable conclusion; there was no sound explanation for Equestria's newfound momentum in the astral plane.

No other world, not even so much as a loose strand of energy, had been near their relatively isolated pocket of existence in centuries,  much less anything large enough to impart the momentum they now possessed.

The implications bothered Celestia and Luna alike, but the elder sister had convinced the younger to drop the issue.  She had argued that nothing would be served by learning the cause of the event, only by learning the outcome as swiftly as possible.

It was not the first time in her life Celestia had lied to her sister.  Hopefully it would be the last.

Celestia was old, and wise, even by the standards of her long-lived and rare sub-species.  She had seen enough of the workings of the worlds to know that if hers collided with another, at its present momentum, it would mean a permanent end to the way of life cherished by millions, or even billions of innocents.

She knew that the actions she was about to take brought a certain degree of risk with them, but in her mind it was worth it for even the outside chance that she might be able to avert the coming cataclysm.

Celestia's final objections were put to rest as she suddenly found herself standing before her objective.  The wall of hedge looked like any other in the garden; just tall enough so that even she could not see over it.  Unlike the other carefully laid out leafy structures, however, this one resonated with untold quantities of magic, to those who were properly attuned.

For a moment, the Princess stood still, gaining control over her concerns, and strife.  The lock she had placed on the hedge was effectively unsolvable to any with even the slightest disharmony, within or without.

When she was sure the lock would respond favorably, she allowed a tiny spark of magic to illuminate the tip of her horn.

In response, a single solitary leaf began to glow; pinpricks of light running through its veins like so much static charge from the passing of a storm.  Gradually, the paths of bluish-white light spread to the veins of other leaves, and then began to curl out into the air.

Within seconds, Celestia was surrounded by what could only be described as an intricate knot puzzle of luminescent magical leaves and vines.

She turned slowly in a circle, patiently and carefully searching for the best starting point.  Sometimes working out the solution to the lock could take an hour or more.  

It was always best to choose the first move carefully; aside from the wasted time caused by an impatient move,  introducing too much disharmony into the pattern would cause it to eventually form into a tightly-bound cage of energy, spells, and physical bonds, capable of entrapping even an Alicorn.

"Ah.  There you are."  She smiled slightly, and at the behest of a small tug from her horn, the pattern began to move.  Slowly, but steadily, she stood that way for the better part of half an hour; the leaves and vines moving, and bending at her beck and call until finally the space she was standing in had changed altogether.

What had once been a roughly spherical tangle of chaotic twists and turns was now a perfectly symmetrical dome of intricate patterns, culminating in an arched entryway that bisected the hedge itself.

Celestia stepped cautiously, but purposefully through.

The space within looked like nothing so much as an ordinary garden bower; gravel for bedding, a circular hedge with the entryway she had just traversed, four small benches...

And in the center; a statue.

Celestia circled the stone sculpture, an expression of stern criticism twisting her usually pleasant visage into something more frightening.

Even had it sat in the garden proper, most would not have appreciated the sculpture, even from an artistic standpoint.  A Mish-mash of biological heritages, it seemed as if some artist had tried, and failed miserably, to draw tribute to the many races of Equestria, instead ending up with a satirization in marble.

Celestia knew better.

Even if the Draconequus wasn't a popular image in art, there were other reasons that the particular statute before her was not fit for public viewing, despite the absolutely life-like detail it presented.

She plodded back around to the front of the statue, and stared angrily into the stone eyes, which seemed to eerily follow her every action.

Finally, she spoke, "I know you are here.  Show yourself.... Discord."





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
15:18 GMT
Terceira Island, 18 Kliks N-NW of Staging Camp
The Azores

Puller sat with his rifle across his legs, staring at a spot in empty space.  He had been staring at the same spot for almost an hour; intrigued.

According to Thornton, the point in mid-air was the event horizon of the anomaly.  The only thing Puller or anyone else could see to back up that assertion was a slight shimmer now and again.

The unseen spoke volumes more; radiation levels were approaching those found in certain types of White Dwarf stars, and the gravitational distortion was so severe that Thornton had been forced to set up a makeshift barricade of crates to prevent anyone from accidentally walking into the space and being shredded like an old document.

Puller had nearly been unnerved himself; the first probe the scientist tried to move near the event horizon had warped, visibly bending as if it were being liquefied, before shattering into pieces no bigger than paint flecks.

The giblets had hung there, their relative timeline affected by the enormous gravitational shear.
Thornton had compared it to a small black hole.

Radio and satellite communications wouldn't function anywhere near the rift, so periodically Thornton had journeyed back down the slope with either Konem, or Cal, to report progress.

According to Thornton, their understanding of the rift had increased exponentially, but with that the chances of finding a solution to the underlying problem had dimmed from slight to non-existent.

Puller gestured to the shimmering column of air, then rapped on the scientist's shoulder, "Explain it again."

Thornton's attention remained on the DaTab clutched in his gloved hands, but he spoke with surprising clarity, and an even more surprising lack of frustration, "The problem is that what we are seeing here is akin to the wind being pushed down an underground maglev tunnel.  Its only a symptom of the oncoming train."

The scientist tapped the screen before him with a thumb, then began filling in an equation as he continued, "When the train arrives, we will experience a threshold event; a barrier will form between us and the train to act as a consumptive mediator.  Matter from our universe will be repurposed by the momentum of the oncoming one, similar to the way paint is traded in a car collision, only at higher retention factors."

Puller shrugged, "And?"

"And considering we are approximately the size of a tin soda can by comparison to the train, our chances of arresting its momentum are absolutely nonexistent."

Firebrand strode up from behind, clad in a suit of her own hazmat gear, "Then why are you guys still here?"

Thornton glanced up briefly, "Because the data we collect here is something we will never have another chance to acquire, and down the road... assuming we survive the threshold event, we may need it to explore other solutions."

Firebrand glanced down at her chronometer, "Yeah?  Well you guys need to keep a better eye to the time.  You missed check-in by over three hours... so they sent me in."

Puller raised an eyebrow, "It's been fifteen minutes since last check-in.  What the hell are you..."

Thornton roughly grabbed Puller's arm, and Firebrand's alike, placing their chronometers side-by-side.

The Colonel and the Pilot alike were at a loss for words; Firebrand's device read '18:18,' Puller's read '15:18.'

Firebrand balked, pulling back and staring at her watch, "That.... that's not *possible.*"

Thornton slammed his glove against the side of his helmet, "IDIOT! Stupid stupid stupid... how could I have missed this....?"

Cal and Konem, attracted by the noise, came jogging into the campsite, the blond Agent spoke first, "What's going on here?"

Thornton rounded on her, "I *missed* something critical that's what! Time is affected by gravity... the shear has been increasing over the past twenty four hours, and it should have *occurred* to me that the temporal variance would follow."

Konem held up a hand, "Wait wait wait... are you saying....?"

Thornton nodded, "Time is passing differently for us."

Cal shrugged, "Ok... so doesn't that mean we have *more* time for you to poke at this thing?"

Thornton shook his head adamantly, "No no NO! As the variance increases, it will create a particle vacuum effect..."

At the group's hesitant glances, Thornton's temper finally snapped, "It will ACCELERATE THE BLOODY THRESHOLD EVENT, ALL RIGHT?!  As of NOW? We are *COMPLETELY OUT* OF TIME."

It took everyone a moment to adjust to the gravity of the situation.  Puller was the first to speak,  "Firebrand, go around the corner and pick up Luis and Koenig.  They went to set up a remote observation post about three hundred yards west.  Cal, Konem... help your friend pack it in.  We're out of here."

Thornton held up a hand, "No. We can't.  You don't understand... I still have three tachyonic probe experiments running..."

Cal cut him off aggressively, "So run them as a simulation back home!"

"NO! Without this specific data-set, we may run out of time.  For the PLANET."

Konem squinted, "I thought you said we had no chance of stopping this?"

"We *don't,* but think of it like using BB's to stop an oncoming train...  With one person and one dinky gun its not gonna make much difference is it?  But if we knew where to put the people, and what kind of guns to use..."

Cal, to everyone's surprise, nodded, "You could slow the train long enough to get off the tracks."

Puller glanced from his Pilot, to Konem, to Thornton, then back to Cal, "You vouch for him?  You think his idea has merit?"

Cal nodded, "Not that I'm much of the science type, but I know when someone is actually onto something, versus when they're bull--"

"Good enough for me,"  Puller waved to Firebrand, and Konem, "Get the rest of the team, get out.  I'll stay behind."

Cal glared, "He's my problem not yours..."

Puller smirked, "Can you fly a VTOL?"

Konem snorted, "Um.. excuse me? Bad idea! You should see the way she *drives*...."

The colonel nodded, "That's what I thought,"  he turned to Firebrand, "Make sure they leave us an evac ship on-station at the LZ."

Firebrand grinned, "Even if I have to strike a superior officer."  She paused, then clasped Puller in an abrupt and brief hug, "Take care boss."

Puller nodded, and smiled, "You too.  Save me some dinner, and leave a landing light on."

"You got it."

The colonel turned back to Thornton as the rest of the group took off down the mountainside, "I want to know now, how long do we have?"

Thornton chuckled wryly, "Accounting for the temporal variance?  An hour."

"Make it your finest."





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 8th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Two and a Half Hours Before Sunset
Inner Sanctum, Royal Palace Gardens
Canterlot

Celestia glared at the statue for several minutes, before the voice finally rang out, "Oh Celly... You never *were* very much fun with party games.  It was such a good staring contest... I'm sure I would have won, considering I can't blink.  At all."

The Princess shook her head, "I don't have time for *games* Discord."  As she spoke, her horn flared slightly with tension.

"Tsk tsk tsk... Careful now.  You don't want to feed my vices *too* much.  It doesn't seem conducive to your agenda."

"Enough! I want an answer; are you responsible for this?"

Celestia tensed slightly as she felt a presence over her shoulder, she turned to see a ghostly image of the imprisoned Draconequus lounging in a hammock suspended from itself; the cord wrapping around in an infinite moebius loop.

"Tut tut now.  Antecedents are so tricky.  And I *am* responsible for *so* many of the fun moments in our relationship... Although it seems like you don't appreciate them as much anymore."

Discord turned and gave her a sad puppy-eyes expression, "Do you think we should get counseling dear?  I hear Cadence is a marvelous therapist.... then again, I also hear that princess is in another castle now..."

Celestia glowered, "You know very well what I mean.  You can't have failed to sense it, and you surely worked it out before we did."

Discord chuckled, the mirthful sound tainted with a deeper ominous current, "I find it amusing how your kind is loathe to use specific terms to describe distasteful things.  You always seem to like to call them by pronouns...."

The Draconequus snapped his claws, and his image blinked to the opposite side of the sun Princess. he leaned into one ear, "Is this why you almost never call me by my name to others?  Or are you just afraid to admit that you don't entirely hate me?"

Celestia maintained her stoic expression, until Discord finally sighed, and blinked over to a bench, "Oh very well.  I'll give you an answer... the best I have... but first *you* have to give *me* something.  You scratch my flank, and I'll ask to take you out to dinner first, then I'll..."

"*What* precisely do you want?"

Discord smirked, "Its getting harder for me to see the world beyond, the more wards you put on this prison.  I want to know one tiny teensy little insignificant thing."

The Draconequus blinked to Celestia's side again, and wrapped his insubstantial illusion lazily around her wings and forelegs, bringing his head up to face hers, "All I want to know, is how it ends."

To her credit, Celestia remained calm, "How it ends?"

In a blur of motion, Discord extricated himself to stand upright before Celestia, "Of *course!*  I love a good *mess* Celly dearest.  I want you to come back, once its over... and tell me how it ends!"

Celestia took a moment to consider Discord's offer.  Even knowledge could be dangerous, hence why she had begun re-enforcing the wards on the chaos avatar's prison every time she had excess time and strength to spare.  Then again, if she was the one delivering the information, she had control over what particulars he was allowed to know.  An acceptable risk.

She took a deep breath, "Very well.  We have... a deal."

"*Maaaaaaarvelous!* dear, simply marvelous!"  With a snap of his claws, Discord conjured pale illusions of two sombrero clad Diamond Dogs with trumpets, and a similar hat with matching  festive scarf of black, gold, and red for himself.

"So," he snapped again, and the trumpets became marching drums, "Drum Roll please."

The two mindless images obediently set to tapping their instruments.

Discord smirked, "The best I can tell you, dearest Celestia, is to look to the lady in black."

Celestia glowered, "What do you mean? Is she responsible for this?"

Discord laughed, stepping backwards as his illusions faded, "Nooo... but she has a very... very... *very* long..."  

The Draconequus continued to step backwards, grinning, until his ghostly projection merged with the statue and vanished, leaving only the echo of words behind, "memory."





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
18:22 GMT
Long Island Refugee Staging Camp
New York City

"All inbound civilians, please check in at medical central for DNA logging.  Repeat; all civilians must check in, or you will not be allowed to proceed to housing or treatment wards. Baker team, re-deploy to sector C-15 to process incoming tanker Sierra-Alpha-258."

The loudspeaker continued to blare a stream of instructions and orders, struggling to make itself heard over the cacophony of APC engines, spinning gantries, sirens, moving freight elevators, boat engines, and aircraft turbines.

Further contributing to the nightmarish din was the ever-present sound of coughs, cries, shouts, whimpers, and invectives as a constant stream of refugees were offloaded from cruise liners, flying boats, hydrofoils, Destroyers, VTOLs, jet-liners, and even containers strapped to the decks of mega-tankers.

Lighting came from thousands of overhead arc-lamps, normally used to light the way for loading and unloading crews processing freight from hydrofoil transports, or tankers.  Warning lights flashed constantly, casting the whole scene in epileptic shades of amber at various intervals.

The view of the water was jammed solid with a morasse of water traffic, and the skies above buzzed with VTOLs.

The Earthgov Navy had even been forced to move a command and control vessel into the harbor just to mediate the sheer stream of traffic, which had overwhelmed even Manhattan's considerable communications suites.

The nightmare was alleviated somewhat once the stream of humanity had passed through decontamination, and medical central.  Once their DNA was cross-checked with the system to ensure no serious criminal record, they were released if they so desired, or taken to a much more spacious temporary housing bloc, or finally to nearby hospitals, as necessary.

The temporary housing was incredibly spartan, and only those who had no other alternative were taking up residence there.  Unfortunately, this was a significant portion of the population of the entire Azores.

The space was clean, well protected, warm, and food was being provided; but in the end it was simply large survival tents with electrodynamic heaters, small cots, and military rations.  Residents weren't even being allowed to access the majority of their possessions, if they had managed to secure passage for anything more than the bags on their person.  There simply wasn't enough space for anyone to bring more than the clothing on their backs into the camp.

The only alleviating factor was the decision to erect camps in several other locations on the Atlantic, preventing the entire population of the islands from being dumped onto New York's infrastructure.

But the word had come down; the evacuation was in its final stages.  Lives were depending on the alacrity with which the faster ships and aircraft could be unloaded, so that they could make a final return trip.  

The best statistical AI at Earthgov's disposal were saying that it was going to be down to a matter of minutes with the last evacuees.  A domino effect at such a late stage would be disastrous beyond comprehension.

So the call had gone out; every news outlet in the entire greater-New York area had run the story; 'Volunteers needed!'

Hordes of off-duty soldiers, doctors, and military Police, hourly-wage workers, and even a steady stream of Manhattan's homeless element had inundated the central command post of the camp, offering to lift and shift materials, help process and treat the injured, and distribute rations. All without the expectation of compensation or thanks.

As the terrified, cold, radiation burned, starving mass of newly homeless humanity broke on New York like a tidal wave, the city answered with open arms.  Other concerns were laid aside in the interest of saving lives; and so began the final push as the world began to end.





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 8th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
The Hour of Sunset
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
The Port Village of Pineapple Glen

Flux hadn't realized how much he needed to put his hooves back on solid ground until he actually felt grass and solidity again.

The Ascendant was a massive ship, but it still had a subtle pitch and sway in the breeze, and the Unicorn appreciated the chance to feel something under-hoof that was perfectly still.
It was also nice to have more space to walk about in, and to taste the bracing sea air.

It had been years since Flux had been near the coast, and he suddenly remembered why he loved it so much; the tang of the salt, the cry of gulls, the wind in the reeds mixed with the crash of waves...

Pineapple Glen was a quaint settlement, its only major attraction being the large titular Pineapple plantation is boasted.  Few ships arrived at its small docks, and even then only to trade northland and Gryphic spices for the coastal tropical Pineapples.

The arrival of the expedition had more than doubled the small village's population, but no one was complaining.  Many had chosen to eat and lodge for the night in the village rather than on the ships, bringing the town a revenue stream that, in one night, capped the amount it usually managed to net in an entire year.

As Flux continued to stroll along casually, he found himself instinctively drawn to the shore.  The docks themselves were built in a natural harbor, with rocky  protrusions that fell off straight into deep water.  A little beyond, however, white sandy beaches and reedy dunes stretched away into the sea on one side, and light forests interspersed with marshes on the other.

Flux began idly trotting down the beach.  He stopped every so often to look at the sunset, and during one of these pauses he was surprised to hear a voice over his shoulder.

"I don't often get to watch my sister's sunset from this kind of vantage."

Flux jumped, whirled, and bowed as quickly as he could force his forelegs to bend.
Luna shook her head, and walked past in an almost disinterested fashion, seating herself on her haunches just short of the tideline,  "Come.  Sit with me.  I see you are troubled."

Flux's mouth worked its way open and shut, but no words came out.  Luna spoke again, without looking over her shoulder, "Sit; I shall tell you what ails you."

With no other options left in his mind, Flux sat down hard, and nervously, in the sand next to the co-ruler of Equestria.

For several minutes Luna did not speak, she merely stared at the sun as it slowly dipped to the horizon.  Finally, she stood.  Flux hastily imitated the motion.

The ruler offered the scientist a glance, "What do you suppose I am, Flux?  You are a studier of bodies and form are you not?  In your professional estimation... what am I?"

Flux stammered, and eventually fell silent.  If he provided a clinical answer, it would seem blasphemous.  But if he provided the answer he wished to, he suspected Luna would decry it as incorrect.  So he remained silent.

Luna walked slowly, demurely, to the top of the nearest dune, beckoning with a hoof for Flux to follow.  The view to the East was no less spectacular than the view to the west; flat marshlands teeming with bullfrogs and dragonflies stretched away to forests in the distance.

"Have you ever seen this done in a ceremony?"

The words brought Flux up short.  He barely managed to shake his head silently.
Luna nodded, "Good.  My sister has a taste for theatricality that sometimes ends up self-defeating where her more subtle hopes and plans are concerned.  You think us goddesses, as so many unfortunately do...?  Then watch."

Luna fixed her eyes on the eastern horizon, pale blue orbs searching for just the right stars, presumably as a method of timing her actions.

All at once, her horn lit with an ethereal, piercing blue beam.  At the same time, the moon began to break over the horizon, swiftly ascending to begin its nightly trek across the vast velvet expanse of stars.

As soon as the orb had cleared the horizon, Luna's horn faded.  She turned to her charge and fixed him with her gaze, "What am I?  Do you think such a task truly requires a goddess? It is true; the moon and I are connected... in a way we are one.  But such it is with Earth Ponies, and the land beneath their hooves, or the Pegasi and Gryphons with the air they rule, or Dragons and the fire they can summon.  Do we worship them for their unity with, and mastery of, these elements?"

Flux meekly shook his head.

Luna sighed, "Flux... We... *I* understand that you wish to accord myself, and my sister, respect.  That we do not fault you for, all should learn to respect their leaders as well as you... but when respect turns to worship... Flux it *pains* us.  Every time someone bows to me, and I see in their eyes the awe and worship that should be reserved for a deity accorded to me..."  

Luna paused, and Flux, to his astonishment, noted a tear in the corner of her eye, "We wouldst rather thou look upon us as the Nightmare we once were, in honesty."

The Alicorn's broken slip into Classical speech patterns betrayed the roiling emotions present beneath her artificially calm tone.

"Think on what I've said."  With that, Luna turned and strode away down the beach, leaving behind crescent shaped hoofprints that mirrored her moon above, and a torrent of confused emotions in her loyal subject.





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
18:30 GMT
ACV-10 UES Yorktown
1 NM West of The Azores

Technically, the man knew he was designated 'Active Component 93501-A.'  Most of the time, however, he preferred his pseudonym, 'Mr. Sarac.'  The thoroughly backstopped alias placed him as a level-7 agent within Earthgov Intelligence, and afforded him the chance to collect many important secrets on behalf of the Triumvirate.

As he stepped off the VTOL onto the Carrier's flight deck, he was promptly 'greeted,' by an angry looking man in his late fifties, dressed in the typical black double-breasted, navy trimmed uniform of the Navy.  His shoulder bars and hat identified him as the Admiral in charge.

Sarac sighed inwardly.  His brief had warned him that Admiral Thomas Laren was aggressive, no-nonsense, and effectively incorruptible.  He was not an ideal component in the situation, and Mr. Sarac was hoping to bypass him as swiftly as possible.

The admiral beckoned, and took off down the deck towards the island without warning, forcing Sarac to make an undignified and somewhat dangerous dash to keep up, "I'm Admiral Laren.  Welcome to Yorktown... now tell me why the hell they sent a spook into an active disaster zone.  We don't have time for you, or your questions, or your fiddle-faddle concerns."

Sarac shook his head, "It's not a question of time Admiral.  Central Intelligence merely wishes to ensure that certain vital security concerns are being respected aboard the ships of the fleet given the high concentrations of un-vetted civilians you're allowing onboard."

"Bull."  At the Admiral's response, Sarac winced, "You dandified knife wielding jackanapes tell the truth about as often as I forget to flush the john in my sea-cabin.  You brief me on your assignment or I will nail-gun your ass to the side of your little black helicopter and send you home with your drawers down."

Sarac snorted as the pair stepped into the safety of the island, "You don't have jurisdiction where I am concerned.  I'm an independent component with government authorization to act autonomously."

Laren shrugged, "Fine by me.  As long as you understand that on my ship, it's my rules, and your autonomy would do best to play by them... because we still keelhaul insubordinates, and this boat can stay under alot longer than one of you girls can hold your breath in your prissy little suits."

As the admiral strode away down the corridor he tossed off parting words, "I'll send someone to escort you.  You get pissy? They'll toss you over the side.  You need a ride anywhere? Has to be your bird, and your fuel, on your dime."

Sarac snorted and mumbled under his breath, "By your *leave.* 'Sir.' "
> Chapter-8
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
18:30 GMT [External Time-Frame, Greenwich Mean]
16:09 RTF [Relative Time-Frame, Anomaly Horizon]
Terceira Island, 18 Kliks N-NW of Staging Camp
The Azores

Puller couldn't take his eyes off the shimmer.  If he focused on the horizon, it appeared as if the sun had just set.  But if he pulled focus, the sun was somewhere above the horizon, invisibly casting its rays through the permanent opacity of the sky.

He glanced momentarily over his shoulder, to see Thornton frantically scrambling back and forth between pieces of equipment, "Hey... is this time difference gonna give us problems on the way out?"

Thornton returned the glance; a singular expression of disdain, panic, and frustration warping his features, "*I* don't *know!*  Incase you were curious, no ones ever *been* in this sort of position so far, in all the annals of science.  Would you like to know who's going to win the World Series next year too perhaps?"

Puller growled, gritting his teeth harshly "I ask because if we're going to have problems then we need to beat it out of here early to make sure we beat the big bang."

Thornton tapped out a staccato rhythm of commands on his DaTab, "*Out* of the question.  I still have one more probes' worth of data..."

His words were cut short as the ground rumbled ominously.  Equipment fell from the portable tables, loose stones vibrated on the ground, and the shimmer of the vortex abruptly vanished.  All at once, the world was preternaturally still.

Thornton stiffened, "Or... we could leave now.  Now actually sounds really GOOD!"
His last word came out like shout as Puller snagged him by his collar and began dragging him down the path at breakneck pace.  

It was all Thornton could do to get his legs under him, and somehow miraculously slip the DaTab into a secure pouch on his suit.

Behind the sprinting pair, the anomaly reappeared.  No longer an innocent shimmer, the vortex re-manifested as an ominous jet-black tear in the world, with glowing edges that arced blue tendrils of menacing energy.

As the two men practically galloped down the slope, without care for rocks or crevices, Thornton cast a glance backwards and nearly stumbled in shock.  He realized the time differential was flipping, from his perspective, and thus events within were traveling faster than events without by their new vantage point.

The anomaly was now an immense void, a surprisingly straight-edged and regular rift that was devouring the mountain methodically, and ruthlessly.

Puller, seeing his companion's fevered glances, looked over his own shoulder, and blanched, "Can we outrun it?!"

Thornton shook his head, "Not the problem!"

"What do you MEAN not the problem? I'd call that a *problem!*"

Thornton stumbled on a loose pile of gravel, but Puller nabbed the collar of his suit, and arrested his downward momentum long enough for the scientist to scramble and right himself.

Thornton wheezed, not used to the physical exertion, "Its like the Coulomb barrier!"

"What?!"

"Once the anomaly overcomes the gravitic differential of our universe, its going to erupt and grow to thousands of times that size.  Violently.  Instantly."

Puller's stream of invectives was lost to a sudden draft of wind, which began to pick up exponentially as the two pressed on.  The Colonel had to bellow to make himself heard, "The HELL did this come from?!"

Thornton leaned into the sixty mile an hour stream of air, and trudged on, "The temporal variance has caused a massive pressure and temperature differential between here and there.  Its creating a vacuum effect, and the rift isn't helping!"

Puller stumbled to a stop, and pointed.  Far down in the valley below, Thornton could just make out the angles and lines of a standard military VTOL.  Puller shouted again, "That's it! We just have to make that before this place blows its stack, with enough time leftover to start the engines.  Whatever you do? DO! NOT! STOP!"

The pair plunged on, as the universe came undone in their wake, desperate to outrun the end.





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 8th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
An Hour After Sunset
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
The Port Village of Pineapple Glen

Flux was just preparing for bed when the commotion began.  It started with the sound of heavy hoofbeats on the hallways outside his room.  He had opted, like most of the crew, to spend the night in a steady grounded bed with a warm hearth, and the plantation's tavern had offered a good rate.

All hope of a restful night was shattered, however, when the distinctive sound of a metal hoof-guard against oak rang out from his own door, followed by the words, "To stations! All crew are being recalled to the ships!"

Flux tumbled out of bed as a Night Guard burst into his room abruptly, a severe expression on his demeanor, "What goods did you bring with you?"

"Nnn.. Not much... a small trunk..."

The guard abruptly seized the offending item in his muzzle, and took off down the hall on his disquieting bat-like wings, leaving Flux to wonder just what had motivated such an alarming change in plans.

As Flux forced his way through the stream of returning crewmembers and the gaggles of nervous townsfolk, he began to feel a sense of disquiet.  He noted, with a rising sense of fear, that the other Unicorns on the crew, and among the villagers, seemed more on edge than anyone else.

When he finally made it up the makeshift mooring mast to the deck of the Ascendant, he was shocked to see Princess Luna, standing on the foredeck, eyes closed, horn ablaze, lips moving as if reciting something in a forgotten and forbidden tongue.

By the time he reached her, the fleet had prepared to cast-off, and the Captain had joined him in awaiting the conclusion of the monarch's trance-like state.

For almost a full minute, the entire crew of the fleet stood at-the-ready, in absolute silence.
Ropes shifted softly, and planking creaked under the weight of crew and provisions, lending an eerie aural backdrop to the moment.

At last, Luna's eyes snapped open, and she spoke, "It has begun."

She turned to the captain without preamble, " Make ready to depart.  With all haste."
Next, the lunar Princess locked eyes with Flux, "I shall have need of you within the hour.  You shall soon have your answers."





18:35 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
50 NM West of The Azores

"General Quarters! General Quarters!  This is not a drill, all crew to action stations, all passengers to berths.  Standby for submersion operations.  Flight crews; secure the deck."

The captain replaced the PA microphone, and turned to Admiral Laren, "We're still inside the danger radius according to the latest numbers... but we should be able to make it out by zero hour."

The Yorktown bridge was a hive of activity set to the backdrop of gray floors, low ceilings with recessed lights, and a bevy of screens and holographic interfaces coating nearly every available surface.

The center of the room was dominated by a massive holotank, the counterpoint to which was the large four-person steering, throttle, and flight-ops command quadrant at the front of the room facing an enormous plexiglass bank of windows.

The admiral tapped the central holotank, his fingers creating an echoing thud against the plastic of the surface, "The rest of the ships?"

The navigator piped up, gesturing to icons suspended above the table in mid-air, "The destroyers and frigates got out long before we did, they make good time.  Most civilian traffic got the head-start it needed, but there's a foundered container-foil in grid seve..."

The admiral cut him off sharply, "Divert the Saratoga. Evacuate it. Leave the hulk, any corpses, and the provisions, along with any civilian possessions.  We don't have time for repairs or shipping out anything but the warm bodies."

"Yes sir."

Laren strode to the forward bank of windows, where Firebrand was busy nervously tapping the sealant around the hardened tactical plexiglass, "Where's your CO?  You told me he had a grasp of the situation and was going to be off that rock before it went critical."

The pilot glanced over her shoulder, "Sir... to be honest? I don't know.  If I can talk freely?"

The admiral nodded, so Firebrand continued, "He has a habit of... close shaves."

Laren ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head, betraying only a microcosm of the frustration he was feeling within, "Lieutenant... I want to bring him in.  I'd like this to be a zero-body count operation... but he chose to stay behind, and I have thousands of crewmembers and civilians on this ship depending on us to be out, and deep, when disaster hits."

Sorden sighed, and fidgeted with her military-cut trademark red hair, "I know.  I just... He's always come back before."

The Captain stepped up to join the group, and nodded sagely, "Lets hope his luck holds.  I've never known the man to break a good streak yet."





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 8th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
An Hour and a Half After Sunset
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
Two Miles Offshore of the Equestrian Coast

When Flux arrived in the Captain's cabin, Luna and the Gryphons were already present.  The tension was instantly palpable, but it was clear that it stemmed from an external source, and was shared by all the room's occupants.

Luna dipped her head sharply in acknowledgement, "Good.  Now that all concerned are here.. I wanted to explain the full nature of what is about to transpire, before I have the captains break the news to the entire fleet's crew."

Flux gulped in anticipation.  Now that the moment had come, it was about more than simply proving his hypothesis.  The question of their mission had taken on a significance that lent it a life of its own.

Luna inhaled deeply, and launched into the long awaited explanation with her usual clarity and gravity, "Some years ago, my sister became aware of a disquieting shift in our world.  Over the course of several months, she finally managed to procure an artifact that allowed her to fully confirm her suppositions, and grasp the full nature of forthcoming event."

Flux was on the verge of interrupting to pose a question, when the captain did it for him, "This.. 'event...' 's what's got all you folks with horns spooked i'nt it?"

Luna nodded, "A peculiar... but apt turn of phrase.  The collision has begun, and it is sending ripples through the very vein of magic that underlies the world as we know it."

Flux prodded eagerly unable to help himself, "Collision... of?"

"Worlds."

The gravity of the statement cloaked the room in a blanket of seemingly unbreakable solemn silence.  Flux had expected something along the lines of contact with a new race, but the advent of a new world?  Such an event was one of the rarest imaginable turning points in the annals of history.

Luna was the first to resume speaking, The nature of our mission, and your reasons for being here, should be eminently clear to you now.  I tell you this because, as you," she nodded to Flux, "can no doubt sense on some level; events have begun slightly sooner than we expected.  Within a day's time, we will arrive at the place where we expect the barrier between the worlds to appear."

Flux finally found his voice, "Is there any... ah.. any danger to our world?"

The Lunar ruler shook her head, "Rather to theirs.  The collision will damage them most grievously, if not destroy them outright, over the span of a relatively short time.  In the eyes of history.  Part of our mission is to bring a warning, and lend an offer of help, if they will have it."

The Captain raised an eyebrow, "And if they will not?"

Sildinar snorted, "Then that's where we earn our keep."

Luna paused again to allow the gravity of the situation time to sink in.  She turned to face the porthole, "Very well.. we have only a short time left, and much of it shall be spent in preparing.  So this is your last opportunity.  Have you any questions?"





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
18:37 GMT
Terceira Island, Staging Camp
The Azores

By the time Puller and Thornton had reached the VTOL, the rift had all but consumed the center of the mountain behind them, splitting it in two; the division a gaping maw into infinity.

Above, storm clouds were gathering in an ominous vortex pattern, goaded on by the increasing pressure differential and the haywire electromagnetic effects of the anomaly.

The VTOL was, to Puller's relief, still vertical and intact.  The wind was gusting, according to Thornton's suit instruments, at upwards of one hundred miles an hour, and lightning was striking everywhere the pair could see, several times a second.

The sea roiled in the distance like a cauldron over a fire, molten rock poured from fissures exacerbated by the geologic instability the anomaly was producing, and everywhere debris flew through the air in the clutches of the wind, moving inexorably in the direction of the gaping lovecraftian maw.

It truly did look like the end of the world.

Puller yanked open the side hatch at practically forced Thornton into the co-pilot's seat, "STRAP IN!"
He dashed around the front of the craft, and hurriedly made his own ingress, yanking hard on the door to force it shut in the face of the gruelling wind.

With the noise level vastly decreased, Puller's bellowed words nearly deafened him inside his own helmet, "Keep your lid ON geek-boy.  If the cockpit is compromised, you will cook in your seat from the radiation."

Thornton hurriedly removed his hands from the sides of his helmet, "Ah.  I hadn't thought of that."

Puller shook his head as he began flicking switches as fast as his gloved hands would allow, "How did someone as dumb as you ever get all those degrees?  They don't grade for common sense in chem lab anymore?"

Puller returned his attention to the panel, as an alarm sounded and the AI put up a bevy of warnings.
The colonel grunted, "Override all safeties, go to abbreviated startup sequence.  I authenticate, code 1717, Victor Mike."

A two-tone alarm sounded, but the other warnings disappeared, and Puller continued flicking switches, until he finally had the power configuration ready for engine-start.  He reached up to the central strut console that divided the main canopy, and pulled down the switch-cover marked "MES."

With his other hand, he began flicking the two large red "APU-STRT" switches.  When the whine of the electrical system reached proper pitch, and the panel indicated the system was ready, he jammed his thumb into the master engine start button as hard as he could.

To the relief of the beleaguered men, the engines roared to life on the first try, despite the increased danger of misfire in the abbreviated startup sequence.

Puller grinned maniacally, "Cinch those straps nugget.  You will*not* enjoy this."

With that, the colonel rammed all four engine throttles to maximum with no prelude, or warm-up.
The whine of the turbojets went from needing, to ear splitting as the powerplant struggled to keep up with the insane request of the pilot.

Fortunately for the two hopeful escapees, the VTOL's engines were fairly overpowered for its mass, especially empty of cargo.  The craft leapt into the wind, juking awkwardly as Puller spotted a particularly large piece of debris hurtling towards them in the wind.

As soon as he had the altitude he needed, he rammed the configuration levers all the way to 'forward flight' and leaned back in his seat as the engines kicked the VTOL ruthlessly into the wind.

Puller muttered as he struggled with the control sticks, trying to keep the vehicle level, "So far so good.  Hope ya'll left the lights on for us."





18:37 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
79 NM West of The Azores

"Bridge, Airstream in CIC.  You asked to know if we saw anything that looked like an airborne bird in the NFZ?  Well thermal just pulled a reading that looked like a hot-burn engine start."

Firebrand physically cut the ship's captain off, snagging the comm mic off its wall stand and adjacent touchscreen before anyone could stop her, "Where *exactly?*"

"Uhh... Terceira staging ground ma'am.  Right where you parked..."

"His evac bird!"  Firebrand rammed the microphone back onto its stanchion, and whirled on the Captain and Admiral Laren, "He's up! In that ship it ought to only take him a few minutes to get here...."

The Captain shook his head, and jerked a thumb at the deck, where the final fighters were being pulled below by a service elevator, "We are bottom-side in three minutes.  There is no *way* your CO is making deck in that time, and there is no chance we can stay up here to keep the deck dry.  We're out there in the open this close? We cook everyone alive even through the armor plating."

Admiral Laren sighed, as Firebrand shot him a look that was at once accusing, and pleading, "I'm sorry.  The captain is right.  We'll hold until exactly 40 past the hour.  Then we're done.  I will not kill half the people on this ship for one man's close shave, no matter how much I want to risk it."





18:40 GMT
VTOL 217-Delta
78 NM West of The Azores

As a new alarm sounded amongst the bevy of already tripped warnings in the cockpit, Thornton tensed yet again, "What does THAT one mean?"

Puller, finally at the end of his rope, smashed his fist into the master speaker cut off, "Its the SHUT THE HELL UP AND LET THE PILOT *THINK* alarm.  Now CAN IT!  Or I will eject you!"

Thornton glanced down at the main panel clock, and visibly paled, "Colonel!?"

"*WHAT?!*"

"Uhm... we're out of time."

Puller glanced first at Thornton, then at the clock, and finally at the rear-view cameras.  The anomaly was now glowing so brightly that the lens was completely washed out.

Puller slammed his fist into the panel, "Son of a..."

Before he could finish, the shockwave hit. 

The VTOL crumpled like paper in the first of a vengeful giant.  Puller and Thornton were yanked free in the cataclysmic release of energy, air, and matter.  In his last seconds of consciousness, falling towards the roiling ocean, the Colonel could have sworn he glimpsed first the gaping maw, consuming the Azores in hellfire and cataclysm.

Then the image abruptly shifted, for the tiniest fraction of a moment, to shades of luxuriant green and blue...

Then finally, absolute darkness.





18:40 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
81 NM West of The Azores

The flash was so bright, that the bridge windows automatically tinted to compensate.  The bridge AI appeared as a column of green light in the central holotank and intoned, "Warning! Critical radiation discharge."

Admiral Laren shook his head and sighed, "Alright.  That's it."

The Captain nodded, and snagged the PA mic deftly, "Rig ship for dive!  All hands brace for sharp inclination."  He turned to the command and nav quadrant, replacing the device as he did so, "Helmsman, make your depth four hundred feet, down angle on the bow planes at maximum safe ratios.  Fill all ballast tanks to maximum, pumps to emergency-max."

All over the ship, small blue lights recessed into the walls began to insistently blink, as the bridge AI intoned over the open PA frequency, "Diving.  Brace for Inclination.  Diving.  Brace for inclination."

The helmsman flipped the ship's wheel down into the console, triggering the release of several levers, and a secondary plane control disc from the console in front of him.  He spun the latter as fast as the operational limits would safely allow.

At the back of the bridge, officers scrambled to ensure that all hatches were secure, and any appropriate blast shields were closed.

The Yorktown's forward deck suddenly plunged beneath the sea, and the momentum imparted by her engines swiftly immersed the ship, treating those on the bridge to a starburst of bubbles as the water flew past at breakneck speed.

When the shockwave arrived, the ship was already so far down that there was little indication she had ever existed in the world above.





18:45 GMT
38.726300, -27.211081
The Azores

At 18:45, Greenwich Mean time, the Quantum Situation Awareness facility logged an event of such magnitude that the computing AI assigned to the task were unable to find a proper classification for it.

Even as the Earthgov Council prepared to convene an emergency session, the physics driving the most cataclysmic event in the history of the planet since the last extinction cycle, were already in motion.

The rift, now engorged on mass gathered from Terceira, split the very fabric of space, time, and existence; releasing so much excess energy that it caused a flash of light ten times more luminous than the brightness of the sun as seen from orbit.

Satellites on nearby trajectories were instantly fried down to the circuit boards from the massive influx of Cherenkov radiation, and the ocean within a forty mile radius of the vortex flash-boiled under the intensity of the particle bombardment.

A moment later, all the matter within an eighty mile radius of coordinates 38.726300, by -27.211081, was simply displaced from existence, breaking down into pure energy that dispersed into the aether between universes, like so much cosmic dust scattered by a breeze.

Satellites viewing the event from an oblique angle were momentarily blinded as the levels of every known portion of the electromagnetic spectrum skyrocketed beyond the capacity for their instruments to record.

The airburst from the event shattered windows on ships as far away as two hundred and thirty miles.

The EMP discharge created a visible aurora for most of the Atlantic, and darkened New York, London, and Johannesburg for nearly twelve seconds.

Earthquakes approaching magnitude 2.1 were felt on every major fault-line bordering the Atlantic ocean.

In the center of the ocean, time and space warped well beyond their usual tolerances.  The two universes collided in spectacular fashion, and the un-resolvable difference in the fundamental structuring of their quantum base-patterns instantly caused a Threshold event.

A barrier sprang into existence, stretching the entire diameter of the eighty mile danger zone, and nearly into orbit vertically.  By the time the nearest satellites managed to regain telemetry, The Azores were consigned to the history books.  Not so much as a solitary pebble remained.

In place of the island chain, and surrounding ocean, stood a vast and enigmatic field of interplaying light and shimmers that would frequently be described by eyewitnesses as a 'bubble.'

The end of the world had officially begun.
> Chapter 9
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
18:47 GMT
Tactical Bunker, Earthgov Council Facility
Harrisburg Pennsylvania

Councilor Sulerahmen glanced around the room and decided she was the only truly calm person in the bunker.  To be sure, the other Councilors looked unfazed; putting years of political experience and crisis-mode training to work in order to erect a calm, well mannered mask.  But Innara knew better.

Subtle tells in the men and womens' steps, and gestures, and the undertones in their voices bespoke a gripping inner fear.  Councilor Sulerahmen was afraid herself, but she knew the secret to calm in a crisis; to acknowledge the fear.

It was, she reflected, only right to fear; the very fact that an evacuation order had been given, the Councilors' very presence in the hardened bunker deep below Harrisburg, was testament to the gravity of the situation.

The facility was a mirror image of the bunkers beneath the other Council facilities, and the buried warrens of titanium reinforced halls and rooms were themselves based on the tactical redoubts ensconced under the major military command posts everywhere around the globe.

Aside from the amenities, including a warehouses' worth of foodstuffs, a water filtration pump, and air recycler, there was a central Council chamber, similar to the formal one nearly a mile above on the surface.   Spartan quarters for the Counselors, staff, and a small military contingent, and a situation room rounded out the facility.  

The latter chamber was where Innara had taken up residence, eyes often fixed on the wall-sized screens that dominated the space, awaiting the first reports from the crisis zone.  She occasionally graced Councilor Korvan with a knowing look; alone in the room they understood the true gravity of the situation on a scientific level.

The bunker they were sheltered in had been constructed to resist a multi-gigaton nuclear event.  Lawrence Thornton's worst case estimates had painted a picture of a planet-rending event several orders of magnitude larger.  Councilor Sulerahmen knew that either reports would appear on the screens, and the world, however damaged, would go on spinning, or the end would come before anyone even had a chance to process it.

Sulerahmen's grim musings were cut short by a soft tone, and the words "Signal Acquired. Rebooting..." displayed in basic white type in the center of each wall screen.

All eyes instantly fixed on the glowing vertical slabs, and Innara thought she detected a communal intake of worried breaths.  When the satellite feed finally appeared, the reactions were far more audible.  

Korvan stepped up to the monitor and whistled, "That falls just a bit outside the good Doctor's predictions if you ask me."





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
18:47 GMT
Tactical Bunker, Earthgov  Military CENTCOM
Central Greenland

"This is direct feed?"

"Piped straight out of satvision four.  Everything geosynchronous for this grid is, as far as we know, completely gone."

The general shifted position to get a better angle on both the holotank before him, and the technician beside him, "How soon can you realign something for a closer look?"

The soft clicks and whistles from the technician's keystrokes would have echoed in the space, but they were mostly drowned out by the subdued murmur of activity tainted at once by relief and panic.
The personnel crammed into the dark, clean, spartan space accented only by floor lights and glowing interfaces, knew all too well that the worst of the crisis was likely yet to come.

The technician paused and winced, the hiss of his inward breath echoing slightly against the gunmetal gray vaulted ceiling, "At least ten hours.  Possibly twelve.  We would have to adjust the orbit of the nearest capsule, and its not setup for transfer into that orbit."

The general shifted and sighed, "Set it up. Meanwhile, see if you can get a hardline to Yorktown.  They should be able to put eyes in there sooner, assuming they're still in one piece..."





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
18:53 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown, Submerged -300m Sea Level
5 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

"Understood.  What's our minimum safe distance...? Acknowledged."  Admiral Laren replaced the handset, removed his hat, and slowly ran a hand through his slightly graying hair, "Bring up the data packet that accompanied that call.  Display all cartographic data."

Admiral Laren, Lieutenant Sorden, and the ship's captain gathered around the bridge holotank.  
A map of the Atlantic swiftly filled the air, casting an eerie blue glow across the dim space; no natural illumination filtered in through the windows thanks to the thousands of feet of seawater above, and the bridge lights were always kept on low settings for the sake of the crew's concentration.

The captain tapped the large bubble filling the center of the flat projection and whistled, "That's what came of all this?"

Laren nodded and crossed his arms, "No one can even begin to take a stab at telling us what it is, so we've been asked to do low-pass recon.  We'll pop a floater, and test ambient radiation levels.  If its safe, command wants a drone on station within the hour."

Sorden looked ready to cut in, but the Captain raised a hand before she finished forming the words, "I'm sure the admiral will want full spectrographic analysis packets deployed once the drone pass is complete."  The captain shot Laren a knowing look, "and I'm sure the Admiral and I won't need to directly supervise the flight plans of the reconnaissance VTOLs.  I'm sure you're more than capable of filing an... autonomous flight plan.  Aren't you lieutenant."

Sorden smiled, and tossed her hair, "They don't call me firebrand for nothing.  Sir."

Admiral Laren sighed and shook his head, a slight smile twisting the edge of his lips, "Indeed they don't Lieutenant."





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
18:56 GMT
Sea Level, Exclusion Zone A
5 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

The buoy was an easy thing to miss; a mere half-meter in diameter, the donut shaped metallic construct rose and fell with the waves, held up only by a quartet of disposable gas bags anchored inside its ribbed construction.

In the darkness of the planet's early evenings, brought on by the atmospheric occlusion above, the probe was nearly invisible amongst the troughs and crests of the ocean.  But that did not prevent it from doing its job.

[[-<==>-]]
// SYS_Root _> Boot
// ...Booting Primary Systems...
// -Initializing stabilizer gyro
// -Initializing communication dish
// -Initializing sampling array
// Boot Complete
// SYS_Root _> |

With a slight hiss and a whirr, the buoy deployed a series of antennae and dishes.  Within seconds it was transmitting a wealth of atmospheric and tactical data to its parent receiver, thousands of feet below.

// SYS_Root _> Scan all
// ...Initiating comprehensive scan...
// -Running Temperature Scan
//    |-Water Temperature: 6.5 C
//    |-Air Temperature: 12.77 C
// -Running Atmospheric Scan
//   |-Contaminants: Negative
//   |-Organisms: Negative
//   |-Pressure: 1013.25 mbar
//   |-Wind Speed: 12 kph
// -Running Radiological Scan
//   |- Water: 0.29 msvrt
//   |- Air: 1.2 msvrt
//   |- Results: Nominal
// -Running LADAR Scan
|- 0 Contacts
// Scan Complete
// SYS_Root _> |
[[-<==>-]]





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
18:58 GMT
Earthgov Council Facility
Harrisburg Pennsylvania

Once it had been established that the world was not going to immediately self-immolate, the Council had returned to the surface with as much alacrity as the shaken politicians could muster in order to immediately convene an emergency session.

The leadership and logistical instincts that so many of the men and women had spent decades honing had finally overridden their fear, and the primary concern had become the press.  The 'event,' as it was being referred to, had triggered enough global seismic activity and other tertiary fallout that it had  instantly gotten the attention of the media.

In conjunction with the mass evacuation of the Azores, and footage from the final escaping civilian ships that had leaked onto the internet, the evidence was damning enough that the Council was more or less obligated to respond.

Councilor Korvan shook his head pensively as his fellow statesmen filed into their seats.  On some level he was grateful that the task of handling the media circus would fall to more experienced Counselors; he had no desire to walk the political tightrope of explaining what might be an apocalypse to the planet.

Korvan surreptitiously checked his DaTab, as he sat, and winced: perhaps it wasn't his responsibility to explain to the public, but very soon the Council would be depending on his gamble with Innara.
A gamble that, so far, had not paid out.  According to the latest update scrolling by on the wafer thin piece of plexiglass clutched in his hand, the Yorktown had regained contact with central command, but there was no word on Dr. Thornton whatsoever.

Matthas glanced up at his bodyguard, a suited agent in his late sixties, and nodded.  He had previously instructed the man to step out and place a call on his authority should such an eventuality arise.

Korvan's gaze swept back across the chamber, and caught Councilor Sulerahmen's eyes.  In response to a questioning twitch of her eyebrow, Korvan shrugged nearly-imperceptibly, then refocused his attention to the speaker.  The Councilor grimaced; if they were lucky they might only be in damage control mode for a few months.  Or if they were not lucky: years.





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
19:02 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

Before the full bulk of the rising supercarrier had even breached the surface, flight deck technicians were already in motion.  The moment the inky black waves parted before the duracrete expanse, every topside hatch opened and the orange-suited men flooded out into the cold, clear night air to ready the ship for aviation operations.

Massive arc-lamps snapped on to illuminate the space as if the invisible sun were still shining, and after several moments of preparation, the center-deck elevator shaft doors began to slide apart.

The lift slowly rose to fill the space, the light from the overhead structures gradually falling across a series of sleek gray curves.  Finally the elevator came to rest, and the technicians swarmed the Avicor ALR-64 reconnaissance drone, detaching the cables holding it to the metal slab, attaching fuel lines, and removing covers from the engine and sensor ports.

Once the craft was fueled, its relatively light mass was hauled forward to catapult one.  Two flight technicians hurriedly latched the magnetic shuttle to the forward wheel, and then darted back to a safe distance.

"Combat Information, this is Island; initiate boot sequence for Recon-1, and advise when ready for launch."

After a brief pause, the Drone's single pusher turboprop began to spin, and each control surface tilted or swiveled briefly to verify operation status.  As the pitch of the engine reached deafening levels for the flight deck crew, Combat Information responded.

"Island, CIC, pre-flight complete; Recon-1 is primed, proceed with launch."

A horn sounded on deck, and with a slight whine and a loud hiss of displaced air, the maglev driven shuttle snapped forward at tremendous speed, yanking the drone with it.  When the small metal device reached the end of its track, the latch automatically flipped over, releasing Recon-1.

Buoyed by the air rushing over its wings, the drone soared above the deck; the catapult was rated for far heavier craft, and the lighter vehicle could eschew the trademark dip of a fighter or transport, and simply climb instantly in a nearly vertical push for altitude.

"Island, CIC; Recon-1 is away and we have control.  Telemetry feeds are on socket AA-22-Z2."





On the bridge, holoscopic three dimensional feed from the drone resolved in the holotank as the communications tech input the requisite socket information.

Admiral Laren and the Captain stood on opposing sides of the table, staring into the projection; looking like nothing so much as two grand masters engaged in a chess tournament.   A set of small dim icons in one corner of the illusion indicated that the signal was also being piped directly to several other viewers at Central Command.

For several minutes the only sound on the bridge was the thrum of the engines far below, the odd tone from a console, and the occasional mumbled word between the helm and navigation.

As the drone approached its target, the flight technicians in CIC reduced the throttle in preparation for a sensor pass.  The barrier manifested on the bridge holotank as the abrupt appearance of a vertical surface perpendicular to the, previously unbroken, rumpled horizontal plane of the sea.

As the drone approached the glimmering wall of light, a call came in from the CIC, "Bridge, CIC, it looks like the barrier is impenetrable to thermal and holo imaging scans.  We're switching the display to visible light, and coming around for high resolution video capture and a spectral analysis."

As the wall of light swung away in the viewport, the three dimensional projection smoothly morphed into a suspended stereoscopic display window, viewable from both sides.  The color abruptly tinted the image, augmented by a series of filter passes to account for low light levels.

The starless sky and churning ocean slowly revolved as the craft made a wide arc to line up the proper approach, guided by the expert hands of a technician at a joystick several decks below.

As the craft made its revolution, the Captain and the Admiral were distracted from the projection by a scuffle in the companionway.

"No, sailor, you do not have the authorization to deny me access to this compartment.  I am here on behalf of the Intelligence sector and..."

The Admiral peered around the bulkhead, and snorted, "Well well.  Mr. Sarac.  I thought we had already been over the consequences for breaking the rules on this ship..."

Sarac shrugged off the arresting hand of the sailor who had impeded his progress at the hatch, and strode into the room, "And I thought we had been over the power my position affords me Admiral.  If you and your crew continue to display such an uncooperative attitude, I can and will charge you with impeding an active investigation."

The Captain rolled his eyes and thumped the holotank, "What do you want spook? You get some lubricant on the suit? Dry-cleaning is done in drydock."

Sarac glared, then gestured to the video feed, "I want a patch to this feed delivered to my specified server port.  The... gentlemen in CIC were unwilling to obey direct orders and referred me here."

Laren stepped back to the holo-table, and crossed his arms, staring into the video feed.  His tone was collected, but no one on the bridge mistook his intent for anything but pure unbridled aggression, "Mr. Sarac... If you want something on Yorktown, you ask me.  If you go behind my back, if you harass the crew, if you so much as think about breathing a countermand to any of my orders, standing or otherwise, I will flush you out the aft mine launcher, and I mean that in all seriousness."

Laren nodded abruptly to the Captain, then refocused on the holo-image, intentionally ignoring Sarac.  The Captain offered the suited agent a withering glare, "What do you want the feed for?"

Sarac raised an eyebrow, "That is, firstly none of your concern, and second above your pay-grade.  I am an intelligence agent, this is a world altering event.  I'm sure someone of your mental caliber can extrapolate from there."

The Captain pursed his lips, then shrugged, "Alright.  Video feed only.  No data, one way conduit," he gestured to a technician and then to Sarac, "Ensign, see to it that CIC establishes the link as specified.  No more, no less."

The Captain returned to the table, standing opposite Admiral Laren and leaving  no good close viewing angles for Sarac.  The agent eschewed further verbal complaints, opting to stand several paces behind Laren near the far bridge wall.

For several more moments, the drone swept in a circular arc.  Finally, the shimmering wall of the barrier reappeared.  Laren and the Captain both leaned forward, Sarac merely stiffened, his intake of breath audible and sharp.

The wall of light was no longer opaque; visible light was passing through, and the cameras of Recon-1 were relaying clear images of an ocean, and a sky.  But an ocean and a sky unlike anything seen on earth in decades.

The water was a vibrant shade of living blue, cresting in caps of pure white foam.  The sky a velvet expanse, filled with splotches of color, billions of pinpricks of light, and an immense glittering crescent of silver.

The only distortion came from tendrils and eddies of translucent light slowly ebbing and flowing back and forth across the surface of the barrier.  In Laren's estimation it made the entire anomaly look like nothing so much as a giant bubble of soap resting on the water.

The Captain spoke first, "My God.  Its... What are we seeing here?"

In response, the Admiral quietly tapped the nearest communications panel, "CIC, bridge; what are the preliminary results of your spectral analysis?"

After an unusually long pause, a stammering reply came over the speaker, "Bridge... aah... our analysis is showing trace energies that we don't have the expertise or facilities to classify.  We've exhausted our scanning pallets down here; we won't know more until someone on-shore gets a good look at it.  Orders?"

The Captain leaned towards the comm panel and interjected, "Is there anything to indicate whether its solid or permeable?"

"Well our tomographic imagers can't penetrate it, but Ladar and Sonar both send back return pings."

The Admiral nodded, intuiting the Captain's line of reasoning, "Alright.  Send the drone in."

"Yes sir, standby."

As the drone rolled over, the barrier filled the lens.  The discrepancy between ashen and starlit sky diminished, until only a view of the strange new anomaly world was visible in the camera.  The imager had enough resolution to pick up the swirls and eddies of the barrier, which grew until it seemed as if they were part of the lens itself rather than the world outside.  The small distance readout at the bottom of the holo-window swiftly wound down to zero.

The instant the nose of the craft hit the barrier there was a flash, followed by static.  The words 'signal lost' blinked insistently in the center of the snowed-out holoscreen.

Sarac stepped forward and squinted, "What just happened?"

"Bridge, CIC... we just lost contact with the drone.  Sensors registered an explosion of some kind."

The Admiral stared into the static for a moment, then sighed, "Dump the contents of the remote black box back to Centcom.  Restart the CAP with a set minimum safe distance, and prepare for VTOL scouting runs."

As Laren switched off the comm, the Captain reset the holotable to its standard LADAR-based area display, shaking his head, "I don't see much point in a combat air patrol... what interest could terrorists have in the barrier?"

The Admiral stepped slowly towards the main bank of windows, and stared off into the distance; eyes fixed on the barrier, which was visible even from the Yorktown's relatively safe eight mile distant position.  

When Laren finally spoke, there was an undertone in his voice that concerned even Sarac, though the man was unlikely to admit it, "If what we have just seen is indeed another world, then I see no reason why we should assume that just because we can't go in... that nothing can come out."





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 8th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Two and Three Quarter Hours After Sunset
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
2 NM East of The Barrier (Equestrian Side)

Flux darted through the busy corridors of the ship with abandon; most of the crew seemed too focused on their own tasks to care about the scientist's presence in the first place.  The Princess had sent a summons, and that could mean only one thing; they had arrived.

When the Unicorn's head finally passed through a hatch and into the light of the moon, the sight was so riveting that he paused on the stairwell.  Flux would have likely stood for several more minutes in shock, had his position not been blocking a major hatchway.  A gruff pegasus shook him from his musings, and he finally made his way fully onto the deck.

Spread out before the ship was the blue of the ocean, lacquered in liquid silver by the moon above.
But the familiar and ethereally beautiful sight came to an abrupt end two miles off the bow.  Where there ought to have been a horizon there was instead a shimmering wall.

The barrier was so tall and wide that it appeared flat, and Flux spent several moments trying to mentally decide whether it was more logical for it to be curved or truly horizontal.

His internal debate was silenced, however, the moment he realized that the wall was mostly transparent.  He refocused his eyes, and shivered.  Beyond the wall lay an ocean, but one unlike any he had ever seen or heard tell of.  The waves were rendered in shades of teal and gray, as if tossed by a storm.

The sky was black, without stars or moon.  A pale half-light seemed to shine on everything, as if the lunar face were obscured by clouds.  The only other illumination came from a slight fall-off produced by Equestria's moon as it shone across the wall in the fabric of everything.

Flux's introspection was finally put to an end entirely by the arrival of Luna and the Gryphons from the upper deck.

Luna spoke first, gesturing towards the barrier with one silver-clad hoof, "What can you observe?"

Flux stammered and shook his head, "Well... I... I wouldn't know where to begin! Its massive... I'm not quite sure if it has curvature..."

Sildinar interrupted in a flat monotone, "It has a slight concave curve."

Flux tilted his head and sighed, "Well I could only hazard a guess, but if we can compare the angle of the curvature on this side, and on the other, we may be able to determine the size difference between the two worlds.  Other than that I have little to note save for the strange light patterns on the surface itself."

Luna turned her attention to the Gryphons, "And of the world beyond? What can your eyes see?"

Brelik answered with his usual deep, curt, deadpan manner, "The sea is dead; there is no life to be seen as far as my vision extends.  The sky is shrouded, not by clouds but by some sort of veil... as if the expanse itself were opaque."

Luna stood for several moments, the wind tossing her mane just enough for the deck lanterns to add a golden cast to the sparkling silver pinpricks that matched the stars above.  She spoke slowly at first, but with surety, "We will hold here until morning.  I would suggest that you all do your best to sleep for the remainder of the night.  Tomorrow will require much... of us all."





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
19:13 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

Firebrand was usually not one to rush; she had witnessed far too many pilots inflict injury on themselves thanks to a rushed pre-flight.  But had she been asked to describe her activity, she would have used the word 'rushing.'

As she scrambled to finish the checklist, a team of medics were busy loading a crash cart, stretchers, and harnesses into the back of the VTOL.  The men were trained in rescue swimming and every potentially useful life-saving technique.   If Puller and Thornton were still alive, Lieutenant Sorden was positive the med techs would be equipped to care for them.

Firebrand's primary concern was finding her CO and his charge.  Should they still be alive.  FLIR, tomographic imaging, LADAR, and even subsurface sonar could only have so much range, and the ocean was vast.  Even using the final known co-ordinates of the downed VTOL as a starting point, the search was very nearly an exercise in futility.

She shook her head and concentrated even harder on the checklist; it wouldn't do to make a mistake thanks to emotional distraction.

As she tallied off the final box, Sorden was surprised to hear a voice from the open door of the cockpit, "I hope you have room for a couple more."

The lieutenant turned to see Agents Calton and Konem standing expectantly near the door, bundled in gray digital camouflage jackets and sporting pairs of high powered binoculars.  Before she could answer, Konem spoke, "Before you answer, you should know that Cal is physically incapable of hearing the word 'no' with regards to her suggestions."

Firebrand shrugged and chuckled, "I'm ok with it, but I don't know why you think another two pairs of eyes are going to be any use."

Cal marched around to the other side of the cockpit, opened the door, and began deftly strapping herself in, "As much as I hate Thornton's sorry stuck-up ass, its mine to protect until further notice.  We're coming."

As Konem climbed into the rear compartment with the med-techs, Firebrand shook her head and began the engine start sequence, "Suit yourself.  Boss would probably say the same thing in your place.  Just... make sure you fasten that harness tight.  I don't do luxury chauffeuring."





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
19:14 GMT
Government Facility A52-S429
Location Classified

"It is a full scale collision event."

Asp nodded at Krait's words, gazing into the hologram above the Keep's main table, "The observations of Component 93501-A verify the projections we initiated after The Scientist's research became known to us."

Adder tilted his head slightly, "Nero contingency is in full effect.  We are prepared."

Krait raised an eyebrow, "What of the Scientist?"

Asp shook his head, and twisted the selector control in the center of his panel, displaying a report who's heading and timestamp identified it as an intra-department communique from the UES Yorktown, "He is considered missing in action.  The projections list a ninety seven point six eight percent probability that he was consumed when the anomaly expanded into the barrier."

Krait summoned newsfeeds to the three screens facing each man, "What of the media?  The situation is beyond even our ability to fully contain.  Information on the nature of the barrier will shortly become public."

Adder sighed and straightened his lapels, "There is, as you said, nothing we can do to prevent this from transpiring.  Our best course of action is to temper any optimism or enthusiasm in the media as much as possible to instill concern in the public."

Asp raised an eyebrow, "And if this is a beachhead scenario?"

Krait responded flatly, "Then we will take more agressive steps to ensure the media places the spin we require on any information they disseminate.  Our concern should be Component 93501-A; he has reported difficulty in securing the cooperation of military assets."

Adder nodded and rose, "Component 93501-A must remain on-station to deliver information as the scenario unfolds.  A-level status grants him the clearance to act from within the field to prevent or stave off a beachhead scenario.  We must transmit verification orders to authorize autonomous Nero Contingency actions."

Asp nodded and rose, "Agreed."

After a pause, Krait followed suit, "Agreed."





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
20:55 GMT
VTOL SAR-1
1 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

"It makes you wonder..." Konem's voice trailed off reverently as he stared out the open portside door, binoculars pressed to his eyes and fixed on the barrier.

Cal glanced backwards from his position in the co-pilot seat, "Hm?"

Konem shrugged and re-trained his field glasses on the ocean below, "I mean... its an ocean.  And stars... There are less than a thousand people alive today who have seen Earth's stars Cal.  I dunno... Wouldn't you think something could be alive over there?  I thought I saw a school of fish..."

Firebrand spoke without taking her eyes off the controls and the view out the canopy, her words slightly mangled by the wind and the low quality of the radio channel resulting from barrier interference, "Does it matter?  If we can't get in we have no way of knowing anything else until a satellite comes into range.  Scuttlebut below decks says that ain't gonna happen for another nine hours or more."

Konem sighed and shook his head, "What do you think is in there?"

Cal snorted, "Nothing important enough that you should be thinking about *it*, instead of finding our lost men."

"Sorry."  Konem went back to scanning the sea.  Cal laid her binoculars on the center console, and began fiddling with the FLIR controls.  Firebrand offered her a curious glance, "You know how to run a flir package?"

Cal nodded and stuck out her tongue in concentration, "Part of our training for diplomatic security forces is quadrotor drone operation, and part of that is learning to run a flir suite."

Konem grunted, and steadied himself on a ceiling mounted handgrip as Firebrand put to VTOL into a steep turn, "I thought the guys in CIC were supposed to run all the sensing packages remotely."

Cal shrugged, "I just need something to do besides stare into those lenses."

For the space of a half-hour, the VTOL continued laying down a grid pattern under Sorden's guidance, mimicking the actions of dozens of other craft in its vicinity, each stocked with a medical team and sensor packages trained on both the barrier, and the sea below.

The constant thrum of the engines  underscored the seemingly futile exercise.  The dull sound was punctuated only by brief bursts of communication traffic from Yorktown, the gusts of wind through the open side doors, and tones from the center console whenever something of potential interest passed through the sensor pallets.

Lieutenant Sorden even tried pinging the downed VTOL's locator beacon, but received no response.  Her best guess was that the transceiver had been fried by the EMP from the anomaly, along with the short range emergency beacon's on the missing mens' suits.

After several more minutes, Cal was beginning to loose hope.  She hadn't realized it fully until she had said it to Firebrand, but she felt partly responsible for Thornton's fate, and her inability to contribute to the situation was driving her mad from within.

Cal sighed and reached for her binoculars, inadvertently nudging the flir control stick as she did so.  The sensitive stick was responsive to even the slightest input, and the camera panned wildly, coming to rest on the barrier itself for a moment at a peculiar angle.

The blond agent was prepared to reset the system, when something made her stop and stiffen.  Lieutenant Sorden noted the motion, and glanced over at her co-pilot, "Something wrong?"

For an answer, Cal gestured at the screen, "What does that look like to you?"

Sorden's eyes widened, "I'll be.  Get CIC on the channel, ask them to see if they can pinpoint that!"
The lieutenant yanked back on the throttle, and rammed the stick controlling the engine tilt back, bringing the VTOL to an abrupt hover.

Konem winced, "Watch it! Some of us don't have seatbelts!"

Cal tapped her mic, "CIC, this is VOTL SAR-1; can you locate the two warm body signatures on our flir for us?"

There was a long, tense pause, interrupted only by a two-tone from the console indicating that the AI and operators in CIC had taken over control.  Finally, a voice responded, "SAR-1; I don't know how you managed this, but you are picking up a radiant angular deflection of the signature.  We're running a plot to the location now."

Konem moved to the entry frame of the cockpit, glanced at the screen, and whistled, "Cal... you have one hell of a lucky streak."

Agent Calton tossed her head and smirked, "Don't thank me yet.  We still don't have warm bodies aboard."

The CIC interrupted the conversation, "SAR-1; we are feeding coordinate data to you now.  SAR-4 is enroute as well.  Bring 'em home safe."

Firebrand grinned, and pulled the throttle back with gusto, "Roger."





Earth Calendar: 1/20/2102
20:57 GMT
Atlantic Ocean; Grid 11-26-A57
1.6 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

Colonel Puller groaned.  His head hurt, his ribs hurt, and his knees hurt more than the rest combined.
The veteran soldier winced, and forced one eye open.  For a long moment he was unable to parse what he was seeing.  Finally, it occurred to him that his view was being distorted by spit and fog on the faceplate of his hazard suit.

Puller tried to move, and was met with mild resistance.  He pulled hard on his left arm, and with a splash it came free of the ocean.  The systems in his suit seemed to have been damaged or taken permanently offline, which meant no oxygen recycling.  

The only thing that had saved him from death by drowning had been the suit's mechanically driven inflation devices, which  were setup to activate on hard impact, even if the suit's electrical system had been completely compromised.

Puller rotated his head, and to his eternal relief glimpsed another suited form several dozen yards off.  The relief swiftly turned to concern, however, when he realized that Thornton was not moving of his own accord, merely being buoyed and tossed by the waves.

Before Puller could move to deflate some of his airbags and begin to swim to his companion, a loud whine began to fill his helmet.

Puller knew the sound well.  He turned his eyes skyward just in time to make out the subtle glow of a VTOL's engines, before unconsciousness began to creep back into the corners of his mind.  As he slipped back into trauma induced slumber, Puller mumbled drearily, "That's my girl..."

> Chapter 10
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

"--Sources from within the Council *have* confirmed that the event has rendered an area of the central Atlantic ocean inaccessible; destroying the entire Azores island chain.  Thanks to well planned evacuation efforts, casualties have been incredibly sparse considering the mag--"

"--Here in Manhattan the scene is one of both nervous relief, and exhaustion as the city struggles to support a crushing mass of refugees.  While some have NorthAm provincial citizenship, or were able to secure emergency entry papers, most are temporarily stranded in what is swiftly becoming the largest refugee camp in recent history--"

"--And we have some of that footage here for you this morning; again, this was acquired from an anonymous source within the Military, and was taken by a drone reconnaissance craft as it approached the 'Barrier.'  Much speculation has ensued based on the images of a seemingly life-filled sea, and a starry clear sky.  Astronomers at the Earthgov Planetary Science and Space Agency have confirmed that the constellations match no known stars in the universe as we understand it; however one EPSSA astronomer was quoted as saying that 'the universe is a great deal larger than our observations.'  Unfortunately internal sources claim that the drone was destroyed before it penetrated the Barrier, raising questions as to the fundamental nature of the phenomenon."





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
07:15 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

The first sound was a consistent, annoying, atonal beep.  Thornton hated it.  It reminded him of the alarm clock he had owned while in University.  Most of his Physics classes had started before dawn, so the small insistent device had become a fixed antagonist of his early mornings.  

Thornton had come to hate the clock, to the point that on graduation day he threw it from the fifth floor dormitory balcony during a goodbye party.

"MMMMMPH! Stoppit!" The words came out more as a groan than articulated phonetic sounds.  Thornton shifted uncomfortably, but despite his insistence the maddening tone continued to work its way into his ears and pound on his brain, like a small but sharp chiseling hammer.

Lawrence finally resigned himself to the coming pain, and forced an eye open.  Mercifully someone had configured the lighting in the room to its dimmest possible setting, and with some effort the beleaguered scientist was able to pry both his eyes open and force them to focus on the ceiling above.

The moment the steel plates, rivets, and fluorescent illumi-bars resolved into a coherent image, Thornton realized he was not in his dormitory at all.  Nor his apartment.  This realization opened the floodgates, and his memory swiftly caught up to the present, culminating in the shocking realization that his last cogent thought had been in the middle of a sizeable explosion.

He stiffened, and tried to sit up.  While the beeping of what must have been a heart rate monitor faded to a more manageable level, the chisel hammer swiftly morphed into a giant sledgehammer.  Thornton was instantly forced to lie back and slam his eyes shut.

"Easy.  You're not exactly seaworthy on your best day, and your head has a lump the size of my fist sticking out of it.  Actually it's an improvement.  Marginally."

Thornton tried, and failed, to roll his closed eyes, "Nice to see you too Agent Calton."  The words sounded slightly more cogent than his first attempt at waking speech, and they elicited a snicker from somewhere to his left.

Thornton rolled over slowly, and opened his eyes enough to see Colonel Puller resting on the medical bio-bed next to his.  The devices were part chair, part bed, and the upper surface was entirely made of a re-shapeable form-fitting biophobic gel.  The internals were crammed full of medical sensors, including a complete sonar-based imaging system.

Puller was halfway to vertical, and busy tapping out something onto a thick militarized DATab; the standard design used in the Navy.   He glanced at Thornton briefly with a grin, "She is not only the reason we're still alive, but she insisted on keeping twenty-four-seven watch on you until you woke up."

Her voice came from the foot of the bed, and the scientist twisted again to see Cal reclining in a small steel chair.  "Don't let it go to your head.  You're my responsibility.  And if you ever pull a stunt like that again *I* will kill you, and save nature the trouble."  

The Agent stood, and stretched.  Behind her several med-techs moved to and fro tending to other patients.  Thornton realized that the medical bay, one of several aboard, was full nearly to capacity.  Most of the other patients looked to be victims of severe radiation burns; they were totally encased in cellular regeneration nano-chambers.

As Cal finished her brief exercise, the monitor on the opposite wall caught Thornton's attention.  It was tuned to a news service, and while it was on mute the images it displayed told most of the story on their own.

Thornton began preparing himself for another effort to sit up, "What *have* I missed?"
He already knew that, whatever the answer, he had work to do.





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 9th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Two Hours After Sunrise
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
0.1 NM East of The Barrier (Equestrian Side)

The fleet had begun to move again with the rising of the Sun.  The moment Luna's duty in lowering the Moon had been completed, the Cloudspray, Thunderhead, and Azimuth had taken up rear-guard positions as the Ascendant moved to within a stone's throw of the glittering semi-transparent wall between worlds.

An unearthly silence had fallen over the crew as the vessel came to within half of its own length of the barrier.  Flux stood uncomfortably between Brelik and Sildinar.  Just ahead of them Luna and the Captain were quietly conversing amongst themselves.

Sildinar finally cleared his throat softly, "With respect Princess; Brelik and I have decided we should be the first to cross, for safety reasons.  Our immunity to magic and other forms of... meddling gives us a distinct advantage should this new world prove immediately hostile."

Luna shook her head, and turned to fix the Gryphon with her gaze, "I am grateful for your offer, and your logic is sound, but the danger is more likely to be something that you can not account for; such as unbreathable air or untenable temperatures.  If that should be the case, then my magic equips me to fend off such hazards better than your feathers and fur do."

Flux nodded meekly, "Her Majesty has a point; what if the air *were* unbreathable?"

Brelik grunted, "We can hold our breaths longer than any of you, and under worse conditions."

Flux shook his head and stammered, "But what of diseases? Or Temperature differences beyond your tolerance?  Or something perhaps caustic in the air--"

Sildinar cut him off with a wave of one claw, "As much as it ruffles my feathers I have to agree; there *are* potentially unforeseen circumstances... So her Highness and myself shall make the foray together."

Luna looked ready to protest, but Sildinar continued swiftly before she could interject, "We each have unique advantages.  Should one of us fall victim to some undetectable malice, we stand a better chance of escaping back to this side if we have someone to aid us who is potentially immune to the threat."

Luna stood perfectly still, evaluation the Gryphon's words, before nodding calmly, "As you wish; your judgement is sound, and the risk is yours to take as much as mine."

Luna walked gracefully, and purposefully to the bow-most part of the deck, Sildinar at her side.  She turned and offered final words to the Captain, "Should we deem it safe, make ready to follow us.  The Azimuth shall stay here to act as a relay post on this side.  If we signal; send the Thunderhead, then follow with the Ascendant, and guard the rear with the Cloudspray."

As Luna took to the air on her azure wings, Sildinar offered final instructions to Brelik, "Look after Flux, and keep a sharp eye to the horizon.  Instinct tells me that we will not be alone once we've crossed.  Make ready in your usual way."

As Sildinar followed Luna with a pair of powerful wingbeats, Brelik murmured to himself, "I already have."

Flux was too busy watching the Princess and Sildinar to parse Brelik's words fully, but they left him with a sense of unease beyond the nervousness already twisting his stomach.





Luna and Sildinar were silent until they reached the glimmering shimmering curtain that separated them from the wonders and dangers of an alien reality.  For several moments the pair hovered, taking in the sight of the unpleasant looking teal sky, further occluded by banks of clouds and fog, and the wind-tossed dead sea beneath.

Sildinar was first to break the silence, "Shall we cross?"

Luna nodded once wordlessly.  The pair exhaled in tandem, and angled their wings to glide forward slowly.  And all at once; everything changed.





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:30 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

No one in the ready-room spoke until the footage from the drone had cycled through twice, the second time in slow-motion with overlayed analytics transmitted from the Earthgov Academy of Sciences.

The large, circular, vaulted room was dominated by wall-screens, a window that had been considerately set to opaque for footage viewing, and a variety of wall placed chairs for those attending briefings.   The center of the room sported a holotank recessed at floor level, around which the occupants had assembled in a semi-circle facing one wall screen.

While Admiral Laren had technically called the meeting, it had been Thornton's insistence that made it happen.  Colonel Puller and his team, Agents Calton and Konem, as well as the Captain, and Mr. Sarac, were present.

The latter had more or less invited himself, as far as Thornton could tell.  The scientist was resolved firmly to ignore the man until he went away; in Lawrence's experience that was the best way to be rid of bureaucrats, and his position put him into contact with several a year.

Joining the group via the holotank in the center were Councilors Sulerahmen and Korvan.  They had been momentarily perturbed at Sarac's presence, but otherwise remained silent.

Korvan was the first to speak, addressing himself to Thornton, "Doctor... As grateful as we are that you are in relatively good condition, I think I speak for everyone when I say I'd like your professional estimation on the ramifications of the footage we've just seen."

Thornton sighed, and hobbled to the screen.  His leg was still slightly sore for having several bones set, and the surrounding tendons repaired with nanoparticles.  Thornton raised his hand to the screen, and gestured in a circular motion, reversing the video to the frames he needed to make his point.

"You're looking at stars, a moon, and an ocean with verifiable marine life.  That indicates a likely breathable atmosphere.  From what I can see here, the gentlemen at the Academy tried to do a spectral analysis on the light from the moon to determine atmospheric composition, and the results look promising for an Oxygen/Nitrogen atmosphere with unique trace inert gasses."

Councilor Sulerahmen crossed her arms and shifted slightly, "Would it be scientifically feasible to posit that there could be intelligent life there?"

Thornton nodded, "Although it is just as feasible a proposition that this world is habitable to us, but empty of intelligent life."

The implications of his words brought the room to a dead standstill and absolute silence.  After several seconds of pause, Admiral Laren raised a hand and squinted, "Am I to understand that we're all thinking of this place as a potential new apartment for the human race... and we can't even *get* there?"

Sarac stepped towards the holo-plate and interjected bluntly, "My department has a vested interest in knowing *why* we can not cross the barrier, and if we will ever be able to."

Thornton sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, speaking in a manner so patronizing that Cal physically rolled her eyes, "Imagine you are a giant set of lego-bricks, and the color patterns in three dimensional space define *you.*  That is quantum state theory.  Now the rules of 'over there,' from what I've seen thus far, require different brick combinations for something to exist.  This 'barrier' is not so much a physical obstacle as a discontinuity.  When you cross over, the world over there tries to re-arrange your quantum state pattern to be compatible... but if there is no good easy way to do this, then you fall apart to energy and basic carbons.  Like the drone."

Thornton pantomimed a poofing explosive motion with his hands, and sank into one of the chairs nearest the screen, massaging his leg with one hand and his head with the other.

Sarac pressed his line of questions before anyone else could respond, "And can we somehow help this process along?  Prevent the worst from happening?"

Thornton guffawed; a sound filled more with snark than humor, "At this stage I can't even tell you about the quantum state rules of that place, much less tell you if we can 'port' our equipment and ourselves to those rules safely.  Quantum science is centuries behind thanks to *your* government's irrational psychotic paranoias!  It could take me a decade to even understand what happens when an object strikes the barrier, let alone work outwards from that to a solution."

Once more Thornton's words garnered silence, thanks in no small part to the fact that they had swiftly turned from patronizing to nearly-enraged.

Konem shifted, and stood, "Well I know I don't have anything else to contribute, so I'm going for some breakfast."

The Captain nodded and seized the opportunity, "We could all do with food and rest."  He turned to Thornton, "Doctor; thank you for your analysis, I assume your benefactors will wish to speak with you so you may have the use of this holotank.  Admiral, if I may, I submit that we need to pass on what we've learned to Centcom."

Laren nodded and stepped towards the door, tossing over his shoulder, "Colonel Puller, consider yourself availed of as much leave time as you need to recover.  As soon as the med-bay clears you, we'll slot you back to the active roster...  Mr. Sarac; In future you are *not* invited to my meetings."





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:32 GMT
Exclusion Zone
0.05 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

The air was wrong in so many ways that Sildinar felt as if he would choke on it.  The familiar tang of salt from the sea was there, but the air lacked freshness or a sense of life.  It was cold in the most barren sense imaginable.  Not stale, but somehow lifeless.

The weather too felt somehow shifted; as if the gray and teal occlusion of the sun were permanent, and the resulting weather patterns eternally locked in clouds, fog, rain, and winds.

After several moments of hovering, Sildinar sighed, "It has a strange desolate beauty."

Luna nodded, her eyes fixed on the sky, "I am... imminently familiar with the impression."  She turned and shivered reflexively, "I feel... cut off.  When we are in Equestria I can sense the position and disposition of the moon... now it is veiled from me.  All magic is somehow veiled from me.  I feel the spark... but it is as dim as a candle, if Equestria were bright as the sun."

Sildinar raised a concerned eyebrow, "Could this be harmful to you?"

Luna shook her head, "Not immediately... but my powers are severely diminished.  We should not tarry alone for long,"  her horn flared with a pale light that pulsed for several seconds, before going out, "I have tested the air for dark spells, disease, and any poison.  There is nothing.  It is safe."

The Gryphon snorted and sighed, "I wouldn't use the word 'safe' to describe this world.  I believe there is more here than a simple dead ocean."





The three Equestrian airships crossed the barrier in a nervous silence, punctuated only by the creak of wood and ropes.  Some of the crew faced the wall of light directly as it washed over them, while others turned away, winced, or covered their eyes with forehooves.

Once the ships had cleared the barrier completely, the Captain surveyed the still-mortified crew, and snorted, "GET YOUR SORRY FLANKS TO STATION!  I WILL NOT ASK TWICE!! COME TO PORT AND RACK STARBOARD SAILS," The stallion glanced down at the compass in the binnacle before him, and noted with some relief that it seemed to have latched onto a definable north.

He extracted parchment and a quill from a water-proof drawer below the wheel, and by the time Luna and sildinar had landed on the aft deck, he had sketched a rough map of the visible area.

Brelik and Flux were quick to join him, and before he could mention his first observation Flux did it for him, "The barrier is curved convexly on this side! And considerably more visibly!"

Brelik shrugged his wings, "Which means?"

Flux paced in excitement, "I can't be entirely sure, but I would posit that means our world is larger than theirs by several orders of magnitude.  I could work out the mathematics with a sextant, a drawing compass, and a little time."

Luna nodded and offered him what nearly amounted to a smile, "Go to work then. Captain, prepare to take us directly away from Equestria.  We have four more days of supplies before we reach a point where we must turn back.  We will hold a steady course until then, and hope to discover land."

Brelik jerked his head down at the fore-deck, "You should have all who can carry a weapon stand to arms, and have the ship made ready for combat.  If we are taken by surprise here we are at a severe disadvantage."

Sildinar nodded, "Doubly so, as all the mages amongst the crews are no doubt already becoming aware."

Flux squinted in concern, and dug deep into himself, testing his connection to his magical tap.  To his horror, he discovered that the familiar nearly endless flow of magic he could feel in Equestria was here little more than a tiny choked trickle.

He gasped, "A world almost without magic?!"

Luna nodded once, "Indeed.  We must be cautious, yet swift.  Other Equestrian eyes will quickly turn to this world... and if anyone lives here whom we can befriend it is better that *we* make the first impression."





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:45 GMT
CAP Escort 03, Patrol Grid 7-A 
2 NM West of the Barrier (Earth Side)

Lieutenant Alvarez, callsign Splashdown, had enough flight hours to put him on the shortlist for the next round of promotions.  While it might seem odd to a civilian observer that he would be assigned to combat air patrol on a carrier, given the circumstances only the best and most experienced were being trusted to pilot craft that could cross miles in moments, so close to a deadly hazard.

He could see fleeting glimpses of the barrier to the right; the 'all-glass' bubble canopy of his FA-26 Scythe affording him a view that would be unobstructed but for a thick fog that had sprung up several hours before.

A holographic overlay that covered the entire surface of the canopy painted the sea beneath as a plain, small diamonds with tags for other craft and ships, and the bubble shape of the barrier, in tones of blue and teal.

Airspeed, LADAR, IFF, Missile control, subsystem displays, and AI readouts were all holographic or touch-screen based interfaces on the console before him.  Two physical sticks existed to control the craft's independently vectored gimbaling engines, and central hover fan.

The only other fully tactile controls in the cockpit were the master arm, the ejection toggle between his legs,and the throttle quadrant.

Alvarez spared the occasional glance for his LADAR readout, but mostly he kept his eyes on the view outside.  Much of the coordinate data he needed to fly his flight plan was painted in digital hues on the inside of the transparent aluminum 'glass' canopy, and Alvarez was a born VFR pilot.  He hated being limited to staring into a panel.

His reminiscence on the excellent design features of the Scythe was cut startlingly short by a series of nagging beeps and the words, "New Thermal Contacts," delivered in the disconcertingly inflectionless female voice of the craft's AI.

Alvarez straightened, and swept his thumb through the holographic toggle marked, 'TO-SHP' on the radio panel, "CIC; Escort 03 Splashdown; I have two... make that three, *three* inbound new thermal contacts.  LADAR cross-check confirms large objects have appeared in Barrier-vicinity within the exclusion zone."

"Splashdown, CIC; Bulwark, we have confirmation from onboard sensor packets.  Air Group is now in defense condition two, and the Bridge is requesting direct patch.  Open secondary comm squawk 126.2"

Alvarez gestured inside a holographic circle to set the frequency, then pressed a button on the central touchscreen, "Bridge, Splashdown; go ahead sir."

A voice the pilot recognized as the Admiral himself came over the line, "Lieutenant.  Give me your read on the situation."

Alvarez sighed and shook his head, his eyes widening as he glanced at the LADAR panel again, "Objects are large, slow moving, but consistent and symmetrical.  I'd say they were large VTOLs except that there are no engine signatures on scope.  Please advise."

There was a pause, then Laren's voice returned, "Special dispensation; danger safe limits lifted.  Proceed supersonic to waypoint Charlie-Five-Two, drop to sub-sonic, and do low-pass reconnaissance."

"Escort 03 acknowledges; going Dispy Doodle to Mach one-point-six."

Alvarez pulled back on the throttle, and with a roar the Scythe leapt effortlessly across the sound barrier, aided by a slight dive.  As the craft descended, Alvarez pushed the stick right and the barrier began to loom.





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:46 GMT
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
0.05 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

"Autumn Zephyr.. you feel you are up to this task?"  The young female Pegasus offered Luna a salute with one hoof, "I feel the magic drain, same as all of us... but I can still move faster than anyone else in the fleet.  I'll do as you say; go ahead, scout, return within the hour."

Luna nodded and gestured with a wing, "Proceed."

Zephyr grinned mischievously, "Yes your highness!"  with gusto the young Pegasus took to the air, the downdraft from her wings so strong that it nearly knocked Flux backwards.

Sildinar sighed, "Is this wise?"

The Captain nodded, "She may not be as much a warrior as you fellows with claws and talons and beaks... but she's so fast I doubt if anything malicious could catch her."

Brelik inclined his head, "I hope you are right on that count."





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:47 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

The Alarm caused some of the more inexperienced seamen and technicians to visibly jump.  Laren and the Captain were used to the klaxon, but given the situation it was the most nervous either man had felt in a potential combat situation in years.

The LADAR operator turned and shouted, "INCOMING! Subsonic smart tracking ordinance towards port-side from heading nine-one degrees, tac four-two elevation, tac five-zero-four knots.  Range zero-four and closing!"

The Captain strode to the holotank, addressing the bridge AI and the crew simultaneously,"Bring the ship up to combat alert Alpha; defcon 1.  Launch alert fighters, and prep spar-hawk batteries to shoot down incoming ordinance."

Laren was already leaning over the LADAR operator's booth, "Time?"

"Twenty Sec."

"Origin?"

The operator tapped his screen with a finger, "Splashdown's mysterious contacts."

Laren stepped over to the radio operator and picked up the spare headset, "Splashdown, Yorktown Bridge; inbound ordinance is off your contacts.  At 08:47 I authenticate change in mission directives to combat recon and an attack pass; authorization Tango Whiskey one one Zulu.  Switch to CIC; Airstream for specific directives and vectors."





Sparhawk HIHV anti-missile ordinance; High Impact High Velocity rail-rounds designed to ignite a small phosphor charge upon contact to force-detonate incoming warheads.  Each individual launcher aboard a naval vessel could spray six hundred rounds per second non-stop for five minutes.  The Yorktown had thirty five launchers.  Each could propel a round at mach 17, target within 0.08 seconds, and release within another 0.95.

The moment the order came from the bridge to unshackle the defense AI's anti-missile protocols, every launcher on the port side of the ship instantly flicked out from its protective housing.  Within 0.07982 seconds the AI had independently acquired the target in seventeen different ways.  

Another 0.62 seconds later every active battery had articulated to a firing solution, and begun to cycle rounds.

0.21 seconds later, those rounds arrived.





"The BUCK?!?!"

Zephyr wasn't sure what to make of the grey blotch on the horizon, but when her preternaturally fast Pegasus reflexes told her something was amiss, she flared her wings and slashed her speed to a hover.

Before the words had even left her muzzle, streaks of light filled the space she had nearly flown into, and passed mere feet above her head with a terrifying whistle and screech.

Zephyr carefully, slowly, dived to the ocean below, leveling off at such a low altitude that she could fly amongst the troughs and crests of the waves.  Whatever she had seen, it was clear to her that it was unfriendly, and it was shooting at her.





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:48 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

"Scratch missile.  No additional contacts.  AI reports no explosion, but target has dropped off scopes.  Classifying as a fragmentation."

The Captain nodded at the LADAR operator, and returned to the holotank, "Pull up telemetry and guncam from Escort 03."

The radio chatter that accompanied the images filled the bridge speaker, "Escort 03 proceed to killbox and engage targets; close-strafe subsonic pattern.  Visual verification requested before attack run.  Snap to heading zero-eight-one tac negative zero-one-zero dive angle.  Set speed for two-zero-zero knots."

"Splashdown proceeding Killbox one-alpha.  Angels two off the deck, track east.  Speed two-zero-zero.  Switching master arm."





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:45 GMT
CAP Escort 03, Patrol Grid 6-C 
0.5 NM West of the Barrier (Earth Side)

Alvarez throttled back to the requisite speed, and peered through the fog.  The thermal images had, instead of resolving, become more distorted along with LADAR due to barrier proximity. 

"Yorktown; Splashdown, I can't see anything in this fog and I'm flying instrument-blind beyond zero-point-one NM."

"Roger, switch hover-configuration and adjust for a down-angle pass."

Alvarez swiftly reconfigured the throttle quadrant, "Switching."  At his behest massive panels slid back in the rear of the craft, revealing a giant hover fan.  The onboard AI automatically compensated for the new control scheme, smoothly adjusting the interaction between the sticks and the engines.

"Yorktown; 03, bogeys in range in three sec.  Standby."

The Scythe moved vertically, having bled ninety nine percent of its horizontal momentum.  When the craft finally pierced the last layer of fog, Alvarez moved his finger to the trigger, but suddenly stopped, nearly jerking the stick itself back in sheer dumbfounded shock.

The lieutenant took one gloved hand off the throttle quadrant, flipped up his protection visor, and rubbed his eyes.  "Uhhh... Tower?  Are you *seeing* this?"

"Negative 03; video feed is down due to interference.  Describe the situation."

Alvarez shook his head and exhaled, "I.. uhhh... I'm looking at three.... blimp... ship... 'things'.... crewed by.... "

"Say again?"

Alvarez cleared his throat, winced, and spoke louder, "I have three airships.  Crewed by... little pastel... Ponies."

"I'm sorry 03... did you say... Airships? Ponies?  Please clarify."

Alvarez gestured to his canopy glass, even though no one on Yorktown could see him, shouting into his mic as much to dispel his own disbelief as the Admiral's, "I'm LOOKING *right* at three AIRSHIPS crewed by bloody PONIES!"

Before the conversation could continue, and before Alvarez could steal another glance at the shocked equine faces below and ahead of him, a loud 'THUNK' sounded behind him.  He whipped his head around to behold an impossible situation unfolding.

Before he could report on the new turn of events, the tip of a spear thicker than his entire head rammed into his canopy, slicing directly through the supposedly bullet-proof transparent-aluminum as if it were tissue-paper.

The leaf-blade stopped inches from his helmet, and retracted; Alvarez suddenly got a better look at the being behind the enormous weapon, and blanched.

He had to shout to make himself heard over the comm against the depressurization alarm and the howl of the wind mixed with engine-whine, "TOWER! JUST HAD MY CANOPY PUNCTURED! BY AN ANGRY BIRD-LION!  WITH A SPEAR!"

"Son of a..."
> Chapter 11
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:48 GMT
CAP Escort 03, Patrol Grid 6-C
0.3 NM West of the Barrier (Earth Side)

Alvarez tensed.  The pilot had no good options that he could see; the creature could easily misinterpret any attempt to reach the ejection switch.  If he fired, it would surely kill him before he could damage more than one ship.  He could try to juke the stick and knock the being off, but another glance at its massive wings and the way its sharp claws had dug into the skin of his aircraft, quickly rendered that idea unappealing.

"Escort 03, CIC, respond! Are you under attack?!"

Alvarez swallowed hard and once more spoke loudly enough to be heard over the hole in his canopy, "I'm not sure!  There is a.... creature.  With the body of a lion and an eagle's head and claws.  Its dug in tight on my aft fuselage and it has a spear that put a hole in my canopy."

There was a lengthy pause, during which time Alvarez re-evaluated the creature.  He, for it was obviously a male, was jet black with green flecking in his feathers.  His eyes were immense golden orbs that seemed at once both still, and molten with a rage known only to the deadliest of warriors.

His spear, clutched in what looked to be dextrous, chitinous claws ending in vicious looking black talons, was easily as long as Alvarez was tall.  The blade was engraved with artful patterns that reminded the lieutenant of an art exhibit he had seen in a Celtic museum as a child.

"Escort 03; if possible withdraw and return to Yorktown.  Do not provoke the creature."

"Understood bridge; you don't have to tell me twice.  Standby."

Alvarez glanced over his shoulder at the creature one final time, then slowly tapped his right stick, moving the nose of the craft away from the three impossible airships.  When no piercing pain or loud screech or fury was forthcoming, Alvarez increased the speed of the turn until he had revolved to face the return path to the carrier.

The creature's expression seemed almost approving, so Alvarez carefully increased the throttle until finally, without even a sound, the being released his craft and turned to rejoin the airships.  Alvarez breathed deeply, and switched from hover configuration to flight configuration, shaking his head.

"Bridge, I am safely clear and headed home.  Canopy busted, but visibility clear.  Request landing clearance."

No one in the air group was going to believe him.





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:48 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of The Barrier (Earth Side)

"No! Captain you MUST use discretion in this matter!"

Admiral Laren looked up to see Doctor Thornton hobbling onto the bridge, with the seaman in charge of guarding the hatch in hot pursuit.  The Captain grimaced and moved to cut the scientist off at the entryway, "Doctor, the ship is at combat alert.  You can't be up here, and if you cause problems I will have you *removed*--"

Thornton shook his head and managed to interject, panting with the exertion of climbing stairs and jumping over knee-knockers with his partially incapacitated leg, "No no no... you don't understand!  You're facing a first contact situation!  Your first impulse must not... CAN not be to engage in unnecessary warfare!  It is likely that we have all been victim to a misunderstanding, and if you--"

Laren cut Thornton off with a snort, "We were fired upon first.  A verified subsonic missile strike."

The scientist shook his head all the more emphatically, "Admiral, if you were under attack would there not be other indications?  A single subsonic missile, if it was indeed such an antiquated object, hardly constitutes warfare.  Was the ship painted with targeting lasers?  Have we taken gunfire?  "

Thornton's assertions brought the admiral up short.  The Captain sighed and gestured to the forward window, "And what gives you the impression that we are dealing with a potential peaceful first contact as opposed to a surprise *invasion?*"

"I have no proof.  But surely you must agree that you have tenuous indications of hostility.  At best.  Your pilot's exact words, according to the rumors, were 'Pastel Ponies.' "

The admiral looked as if he were prepared to offer rebuttal, but a voice over the bridge speakers instantly drew everyone's attention, "TOWER! JUST HAD MY CANOPY PUNCTURED! BY AN ANGRY BIRD-LION!  WITH A SPEAR!"

The Captain stiffened, "Son of a..."  He strode to the nearest headset, snapped it up, and held the mic to his mouth, "Escort 03, CIC, respond! Are you under attack?!"

 "I'm not sure!  There is a.... creature.  With the body of a lion and an eagle's head and claws.  Its dug in tight on my aft fuselage and it has a spear that put a hole in my canopy."

For several seconds, all in attendance on the bridge paused and simply attempted to process the pilot's life-altering words.  Thornton was the first to speak, his expression one of transfixed wonder, "Captain, Admiral... you must order the pilot to withdraw!"

The Captain glared and looked prepared to lay into Lawrence, but the scientist continued before the angry storm of criticism could erupt, "Hear me out!  The lieutenant has just described a Gryphon.  A creature, supposedly, of myth and legend.  If nothing else scientific curiosity mandates that we make every effort at peaceful contact.  In any case, if the creature could puncture a bullet proof canopy with nothing but a spear, it could have easily killed your pilot and downed your craft.  But it hasn't."

The Captain grunted, and looked to the Admiral.  The final decision rested with Laren.  The man stepped to the window, and stared out at the barrier, momentarily lost in thought.  Finally, he turned to the LADAR operator, "any sign of continued attack?"

The man shook his head, "Negative on additional contacts or known weapon signatures." 

Laren sighed and turned to glance at thornton, "Very well doctor.  But at the first sign of danger to the ship, or the crew, I will order escorts one and two to attack with a long-range missile spread, and you can do your science on the bloody shredded leftovers."

Laren picked up the nearest open communications headset and keyed the mic, "Escort 03; if possible withdraw and return to Yorktown.  Do not provoke the creature."

"Understood bridge; you don't have to tell me twice.  Standby."

There was a tense moment of pause.  Thornton drummed his fingers on the holotank, Laren stood stock still, and the captain paced.

"Bridge, I am safely clear and headed home.  Canopy busted, but visibility clear.  Request landing clearance."

A moment of celebration engulfed the bridge; the crew clapped and whooped at their stations, and the Captain allowed them a brief moment of relief before raising his hands for silence, "Prepare the deck to receive damaged craft.  Launch alert VTOLs for close-range scouting, and bring an attack drone to ready condition; missile configuration."

The Captain turned to Laren and Thornton, "I'm not ready to be overly trusting just yet."





Zephyr dodged and weaved, sometimes cutting between swells with so little room to spare that the spray of the frigid water deflected off her wings and into her face.  She knew she was close to the gray blotch, and she didn't want to appear until she was too close to track with whatever weapons had nearly shredded her the first go round.

While the magic deprivation in the environment meant that she had to use more of her metabolism to fuel her swift flight, she had eaten a solid breakfast and slept well the previous night.  She knew she had enough energy for her task, if little else besides.

Zephyr grinned, and tensed.  She knew she was close.  She breathed a final directionless prayer for protection, and poured extra power into her downstrokes.  The sight that greeted her as she came over the tops of the waves nearly brought her to a stop.

Before the pegasus lay a massive gray, blue, and black shape that seemed at first to be a small island.  It took Zephyr's eyes several seconds to understand the scope of the construct, and after that it took her brain even longer to grasp and accept the inevitable conclusion; it was a ship.

An immense, metal, flat-topped ship without sails.

"Well buck!"  The words emerged as a murmur of pure shock more than an expletive.  Zephyr slowed and watched, intrigued, as a peculiar swooping metal craft descended from the sky.  Her keen eyes could see some sort of armor clad figure inside, and she guessed he was somehow controlling the craft.

The vehicle's speed and gleaming exterior were quite impressive to the Pegasus, and she nodded appreciatively when a large set of doors opened on its back, and it landed vertically using what seemed to be a massive fan.

Zephyr shook herself and re-focused on her task.  Whoever these ape-like beings were, they had tried to kill her.  Misunderstanding, or intentional, it didn't behoove her to linger.  She smiled, and began pumping her wings again, gaining speed.

While she was there, she reflected, she might as well get a good look around.





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
08:52 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of the Barrier (Earth Side)

"Thornton!  I have had it up to my rank bars with you!  We have tried radio, right down to the media's frequencies.  We've tried IR, and light-signals, for which I might add, they are out of range, but you insisted.  I am not building a fire on my flight deck so you can send 'smoke signals.' "

Thornton threw up his hands and hobbled angrily across the bridge, "Then HOW do you propose, Captain, that we give them our location!?"

As if in answer to the query, the floor began to vibrate, and the blast-proof windows rattled in their framing.  A tan and auburn blur zipped past the windows, moving just slowly enough to give those watching the fleeting impression of wings, tail, and mane.

The figure dipped over the side of the ship and vanished between the troughs and crests of the waves before the targeting AI could even begin to lock on.

Thornton inhaled deeply, and chuckled, "Well I suppose they can find us for *themselves* now."





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
09:01 GMT
RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force
3 NM West of the Barrier (Earth Side)

Flux felt useless.  Luna, the Captain, and the Gryphons were quietly discussing Brelik's encounter with the strange flying machine, and his input seemed utterly unnecessary.  The debate seemed to mostly revolve around what the ape-like pilot's intentions had been, and whether the encounter was a good sign, or bad.

Before Flux could work up the chutzpah to work his way into the discussion, everyone's attention was commandeered by the abrupt and noisy return of Autumn Zephyr.  The aptly named Pegasus was drenched in sweat, and panting loudly, but seemed otherwise none the worse for wear.  She came skidding to a halt on the aft deck, throwing off a hasty salute to Luna before hanging her head and breathing deeply for several seconds.

The Lunar Monarch stood stock still and waited patiently for the scout to recover her breath.  Flux noted a slight nod delivered to the Captain, who picked up on the unspoken request and went aft to a weatherpoof chest to ration out a flask of water.

When he returned, Zephyr all but tore the flagon from his grasp and began to take long, slow, shallow sips in the manner of a professionally trained survivalist.  One the mare's breathing had returned to something borderline-normal, she straightened to attention, "M'lady; I return with a report."

Luna inclined her head, "Stand at ease and speak freely.  Tell us what you have seen."

Zephyr relaxed slightly and began to tell the tale of her short, but explosive adventure in an almost reverent tone, "On flying east for a short distance, I came upon sight of a ship in the distance.  I was forced to approach from close to the waves;  I think they mistook me for an enemy and fired on me."

Brelik grunted, but otherwise there was no interruption.  Zephyr continued, "I came close enough to see the ship in all its detail... It was immense... were you to take all the steel and iron from the kingdom of Equestria, and the paving stones too, it would not be enough to build this vessel.  It was a vast gray island.  It is so large that they use it as a moving landing field for their strange flying contraptions..."

At this Brelik interjected, "...One of which I became intimately acquainted with.  They are admittedly... impressive."

Zephyr nodded and finished her statement,"...It seems to be crewed by upright walking apes... but they seem far different to the animals we know."

Flux stamped a hoof eagerly, "Intelligent apes!  This is a find indeed!  Who *knows* what they could teach us about mammalian biology..."

sildinar interrupted before the magician could continue his enraptured rambling, "How many would you say were aboard this ship?  What was its disposition?  Armament?  Defense?"

Zephyr shook her head and took another draught of water from her flask, "How many?  *Thousands* could be accommodated with ease.  Disposition?  Defense?  Arms?  It seems a ship built solely for war; armor as thick as dragon scales, bristling with blackgrit guns, and I saw many of their flying machines going to and fro..."

Sildinar murmured, half to himself, "An army... living and moving and supported by a single ship of war... That would *truly* be an accomplishment of combat engineering."

Brelik nodded, "Their main weakness seems to be their form.  It is weak.  Easily destroyed and slow to react.  Doubtless this is why they have become such great craftsmen of machines; to extend the body into the weapon it fails to be on its own."

Flux's ears drooped,  "You speak as if we intend to go to war with them."

Sildinar turned to the unicorn and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, "It certainly may come to that.  I fail to see the source disappointment in well laid battle plans."

Flux took a reflexive step back and forced his muzzle to remain closed.  He reminded himself that these were Gryphons, after all; the species who was disappointed if there was *not* a well laid battle plan for every occasion.

And of course, he reflected, they were right.  There was no proof the apes were friendly, and one had perhaps intended to attack the fleet.  The gleaming craft had looked menacing to Flux; like a great mechanical dragon eager to spill blood.  Ports on the front bore muzzles that reminded him of Gryphon 'blackgrit' guns in miniature;  the Gryphic weapons were mostly theoretical, but Flux had heard rumors of a few semi-functioning pre-prototypes in recent years.

Luna put an end to the debate with a startling finality, "We will make for their vessel then.  Captain, order our escorts to fall back."

The Captain looked ready to object, and even Flux could see the problem; the Ascendant seemed too great a risk for such a maneuver.  Luna beat them all to their words, "The time for half-measures and safer hoof-steps has passed.  If this was a misunderstanding we must rectify it at once.  If it was not, then we must show them that we are to be reckoned with."

Judging by the Gryphons' approving expressions, Flux decided there would be no objection from their quarter.  

Seeing Luna together with them, it struck him as no oddity at all that she had once been the lynchpin of the alliance between their peoples.  She was more tempered by her equine nature than the avian predators, but also more violent and assertive than Celestia, or any other Pony Flux had ever met.
She could be a creature of either world.

The Captain nodded his assent to the order,  "As you will.  Shall we stand ready for combat?"
Luna delivered a single curt nod.  The Captain seemed to have an unspoken agreement with the Gryphons, for Sildinar and Brelik immediately fell to organizing the arbalest crews, battle mages, archers, and defense troops

Flux was preparing to go below, so as to get out from undheroof, when Luna's voice arrested him mid-stride, "I would have you stay Fluxing Form.  You are the most knowledgeable scholar besides myself aboard, and your understanding of the bodies of species surpasses even mine.  You will be invaluable in the coming hours.  Should all go peacefully."

Flux took up a position between Luna and the Captain, feeling very small by comparison all the while.  He gulped quietly; embarrassment was far less a concern than Luna's final amendment to her statement.





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
09:16 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of the Barrier (Earth Side)

"Confirmed.  We are still tracking a single airship dead on course for our position."

Laren inhaled deeply, and shook his head, "This certainly wasn't one of the scenarios they taught in command school.  Is Thornton prepared down there?"

The Captain pulled a headset from his ear and nodded, "I don't pretend to understand all of what he's doing, but doc Wainwright does so that's good enough.  Range?"  The final word was directed at the LADAR operator, who swiveled in his chair to deliver the reply.

"Range is zero-point-nine Nautical miles, closing at seven-point-two knots on level flight path at cherubs six."

Laren nodded and exhaled, "Well that's it then.  Sound general quarters, initiate the required quarantine zones, and have the deck crew stand ready."

As the soft, but insistent alarm for general quarters without action stations sounded, the Captain moved the mic of the communication headset to his mouth, "Frames Delta, Gamma, Epsilon, tac compartments 55 thru 65; quarantine condition is now in effect.  Deck crews run out the support mast and light all landing beacons.  Secure elevators fore and aft."

As technicians, medics, airmen, and guards turned to their tasks the Captain offered Laren a wry smile, "I'll bet you never thought you'd use your dress blues for this."

"No indeed".





The desk of the Yorktown was unusually silent.  Normally a buzzing hive of engines, hoses, shouted commands, and hydraulics; the only sounds were the constant thrum of fans and the ship's engines, mixed with the faint ticking of giant landing lights going on and off in sequence.

As per Thornton's recommendation, every technicians was dressed in hazmat gear.  Even the accompanying guards had donned fully sealed versions of their combat armor.  The scientist's argument had been compelling; with a new world might well come new microbes and other unsavory ills of a tiny nature.  If these new life forms could cross the barrier, and humans could not, there were terrifying implications as to the differences in the durability of their biology.

The illustration of the Conquistadors was particularly poignant, and no one wanted the re-enact the part of the natives in the event that the newcomers brought what Colonel Puller had laughingly termed, "Ugly little ride-alongs."

When the great airship had risen into view above the horizon, the silence had deepened as all eyes fixed on the craft.  It was magnificent, and strangely anachronistic.  What it represented lent it even more significance; and no one aboard the Yorktown had any doubt that they were about to be party to a critical moment in history.

As the magnificent vessel approached, the operating technician engaged a large strobe at the tip of the mooring arm.  The large retractable protrusion stemmed from a recessed housing in the center of the deck; it was designed to allow super-large VTOLs to unload without landing, in rough seas or bad wind conditions.

The long, sturdy arm was connected to the deck via a hydraulic gimbal, and a movable latch assembly provided the capability to reel a connected craft down to the deck should a landing become necessary.

The crew of the airship seemed to understand the intentions of the deck-hands below, and carefully swung their craft around to face the arm; a feat made all the more impressive by the collective realization that the airship was sail-driven.

Several of the flight technicians cast worried glances at the LSO; the clamp at the end of the docking armature was designed to connect to the Earthgov Air Corps latch standard, not a lighter-than-air craft that had seemingly stepped out of a fantasy novel.

The LSO nodded up at the craft; the unspoken agreement had been that beings capable of constructing such a vehicle could surely intuit how to tie it off when such a large and obvious mooring point was presented.

The silence was broken by reflexive gasps and murmurs as two being who could only be described as Unicorns appeared at the bow of the craft.  A strange visual aura, like northern lights, enveloped their horns and the tips of the craft's mooring ropes.  Swiftly, and with great dexterity, the glowing ropes tied themselves into strong knots around the proffered latch.

The technician operating the boom was so transfixed by the display, that the LSO had to step over and tap him on his shoulder.  The woman shook herself and raised the ruggedized yellow remote control pad for the arm.

At the press of a button, the latch assembly began magnetically moving down the arm, slowly and smoothly drawing the attached vessel with it.  The whine of the invisible coils was usually inaudible, but the hush on the flight deck made it seem like a piercing shriek.

When ramps appeared over the sides of the ship, and connected with the flight deck, the boom technician released the reel-in-key, and the entire assembly gradually came to rest.

As the guard unit took up ranks on either side of the ramp, a maintenance cart whizzed out from its berth in the island, and the seamen aboard swiftly set to tying off the rear of the craft with cabling, lest the wind over-stress the bow mooring.

The tension reached palpable heights; if the newcomers intended to attack then the perfect moment had come.  Each of the soldiers in the honor guard lineup had been specifically selected for their steady fingers and calm manners.  A stray round fired in panic could easily put an end to any potential for peaceful scenarios.

When the first of the new visitors crested the gunwales of the airship, it became immediately apparent that the nature of the meeting would forever alter the course of the future.

The descriptions of Luna varied amongst the men, when they were later asked; some focused on her fearsome armor, others on her seemingly impossible mane.  Many were simply intrigued by her color, which proved hard to relay as words to those who had not beheld her.

The monarch was flanked by two beings that the more educated recognized as Gryphons.  These presented a far more predatory aspect, and several of the guards tensed involuntarily as the fight-or-flight portion of their instincts was forced inexorably into 'flight' mode.

Behind the warriors descended a train of smaller equine creatures in various pastel colors.  Those bearing armor seemed to have dyed themselves in more uniform tones, but the rest were unique.  Beyond the colors, the sharp-eyed on deck noticed that some of the smaller creatures had wings, some horns, and some neither.  Only the larger, regal being, had both a horn and wings.

The visiting party made their way slowly toward the island; their appointed path made obvious by the rows of guards.

The blast-hatch slid open to reveal that a large portion of the anteroom had been cordoned off with hastily erected plexiglass barriers, hermetically sealed with biophobic foam around the edges.

On the opposite side of this transparent barrier, Admiral Laren, the Captain, and Thornton stood in formal attire.  A sailor had generously donated a suit in Thornton's size at the last possible moment, in exchange for double mess rations for a week.

Once the entourage had come to a standstill, silence reigned for nearly half a minute.  Each side simply evaluated the other in fascination.  It was Luna who broke the tension at last, "We are Luna; Princess of the Nation of Equestria, and we come in peace to your world seeking friendship."

Thornton's jaw dropped, and he could not help but speak, "My *God*... they speak English."

Laren elbowed the scientist sharply, and muttered, "Not the time."

Thornton shook his head vehemently, "Sir I don't think you understand!  Linguistic similarities are not unheard of... I could have perhaps even translated if it were similar enough but an exact syntactic, grammatical, and lexical match?  That is not possible in terms of parallel development scenarios."

A voice pre-empted Laren's forthcoming interruption,  "Such... ahh.. well such a similarity could... could only be explained by diffusionism or distant origin theories."

Thornton nodded matter-of-factly, "Precisely..."  the man suddenly realized that the voice had come from the other side of the glass.  He turned abruptly to behold a white Unicorn, with a shock of deep purple mane.  The hue was so dark it appeared almost black in the dim light of the armored chamber.

Thornton noticed, with a sense of wonder, that the creature's flank was adorned with a clearly visible symbol; the twisting double helix of DNA and an unfamiliar sigil in its midst.

The Unicorn was cowering between and behind Luna and one of the creatures Thornton recognized as a Gryphon.  A living breathing Gryphon.

He stepped to the glass and stared at the Unicorn, "Yes... yes that's exactly right.  Are you a student of the sciences?"

Flux nodded meekly, "Of biology chiefly, and transformational magic also."

Thornton spoke in a barely audible whisper, "Transformational... magic?"  The scientist whirled abruptly, "Captain... Admiral... we must clear them through decontamination as swiftly as possible.  I feel there is more we can learn from them than could be easily quantified."

Laren sighed and stepped forward to face Luna, "I apologize for his... informal enthusiasm.  I am Admiral Laren, Earthgov Navy.  I want to clear something up before we continue; we were under the impression that you were attacking us with a missile.  Do you have an explanation for this event, or was it unrelated?"

Luna tilted her head, then stiffened with the realization, "You mistook our scout for some form of weapon?"

Laren nodded, "If it was your scout.  Our defenses identified it.."

From somewhere behind Luna, Zephyr cheekily interjected, drawing a glare from the monarch "Her."

"..Identified *her* as a missile threat."

Luna resumed her quizzical expression, "Miss-sile?"

The Captain explained, "A cylinder with steering fins and a powerful rocket motor that moves quickly to its target and carries explosives."

The answer seemed to satisfy the Alicorn, "Well then it is we who should apologize for the swiftness of our unannounced intrusion."

Laren offered her a half-smile,  "How about we count our blessings that no one was hurt, split the blame, and move on?"

Luna returned the expression, "Most agreeable,"  she turned to the Gryphons, "Allow us to introduce our companions; Sildinar and Brelik, envoys and warriors of the Gryphon Kingdoms.  They are here to offer protection to our voyage, and scout your world on behalf of their kind as we do for ours."

The Captain smiled wryly, "Which of you was the 'giant bird lion' who put a hole the size of my fist in one of my planes?"

Brelik raised an eyebrow.  The Captain chuckled, "Well lemme congratulate you; we dent-test those canopies with sledgehammers and we can't even put permanent scratches in them."

The Gryphon inclined his head in acknowledgement.  Laren sighed, "I apologize for the plating barricades, but we need to scan you all to ensure you're not bringing microbes here that could be harmful to us."

Luna offered Flux an approving look, "Flux warned us of similar dangers."

For another long moment there was silence, then Laren gestured to the medical technicians waiting in their hazard suits,  "If you'll permit; they can begin.  Its non-invasive, apart from needing a sample of blood from everyone.  We're sorry about that, but its the only way to be sure."

Luna shook her head,  "There is no call to apologize for caution where it is most appropriate.  If you will permit, Flux will assist them in ensuring no one suffers needless pain."

Laren nodded once at the med-techs, and they all looked to Flux, who shrank away slightly before offering the tip of his hoof and beginning an in depth explanation of the best way to draw blood from a Pony.  As he warmed to his lecture, Luna approached the glass and spoke softly to Laren, "I would be appreciative if you were to ensure my blood sample is eliminated, along with any knowledge or record you keep of what you learn from it.  My blood has... traits that I feel are mine to protect."

Laren appeared bemused, but nodded his agreement,  "You have my word."

As he and Luna continued to speak in low tones, Flux began escorting the med-techs to each member of the party in-turn.  Thornton turned his attention to the Gryphons, and waved awkwardly, "Hello!  Um... I was wondering... if its not too much trouble... if you might tell me more of your species?  I can see males and females of many of the... Equines... but there are only the two of you here.  Its not much of a basis for observation."

Brelik merely grunted, but Sildinar nodded,  "What questions do you have?"

Thornton crossed his arms and sighed, "Well for starters are your females gender dimorphic?  And do you reproduce via eggs or live birth?  since you seem to have mammalian and avian aspects..."

Sildinar nodded a second time, "Our females are visibly females.  We reproduce via Thaumatic-egg-birth."

Thornton squinted in confusion, "Thaumatic?"

Sildinar raised an eyebrow, as if Thornton's confusion were somehow perplexing in and of itself, "Yes; natural innate magic.  The parents' lifecode is passed into the egg along with the spark for life, by their auras.  If the egg was well cut.."

Thornton's eyes widened and he held out his hands, "Wait I'm sorry... did you say 'cut?' "

Brelik grumbled, a growl of frustration accompanying his words, "Do you not have kinds who nest with stone-eggs in your world?  Or do you simply not study your methods of birth?"

Thornton coughed and shook his head in shock, "We are the only kind on our world, and we are born in conventional mammalian fashion, thank you very much.  Sorry... did you say stone eggs?"

Sildinar nodded,  "It is a rare and prized form of Agate."

Thornton ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, "So your biology has some connection to our legend..."

Both Gryphons cocked their heads quizzically, in the manner of birds, and Thornton held up a hand, "Its just that... how could we have legends about you?  Much less legends that hit so near the mark?"

Brelik harrumphed, "Well *our* legends make no mention of *you* hairless apes."

Sildinar offered his companion a brief reprimanding glare before shaking his head at thornton, "Honestly I could not say.  That is a question better suited to a historian like Flux.  I believe you two shall have much to discuss."

Thornton turned to watch the mage, who was by then deeply involved in his task, "That we do.  That we *all* do."
> Chapter 12
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
11:25 GMT
Earthgov Council Facility
Harrisburg Pennsylvania

Councilor Sulerahmen was not a habitual worrier, but she found herself concerned for the third time in as many days.  The sensation stemmed more from the friction and tension the media was drumming up, than anything else.  If the pundits continued to spread rumors and panic, more people would stand to die from the riots and chaos than had actually perished in the inciting anomaly incident.

Innara tapped an area of her desk, and a blue-hued holographic keyboard appeared.  With practiced speed, she tapped out a message, fingers drumming against the surface as they passed through the hologram.  If it hadn't been for the Naval leak that allowed the drone footage to be aired, speculation might have been stemmed until damage control was in-place and explanations were lined up.

She knew the message was likely too little too late, but no other options presented themselves.

' >>TO: GNN-Newsroom@News.net
>>CC: Pressroom@Earth.gov
>>BCC: MKorvan@Earth.gov

//Subject: Drone Footage

]]With regard to the footage circulating that was pulled from an Earthgov Naval reconnaissance drone; at present the existence of a likely-habitable environ on the other side of the barrier has been confirmed.  It has also been confirmed that the barrier can not be crossed safely, in any way shape or form, at this time, due to environmental factors that have not been fully researched. '

Innara lingered for a moment, evaluating her words, before pressing the send key and dismissing the holographic window in favor of other pertinent work.

She was able to scrounge several unmolested minutes to peruse a brief on the status of the Azores refugee camps, before there was a two-tone and sharp rap at her door.

"Please enter."  The Councilor looked up to see a young courier enter the room breathlessly, his suit stained with enough sweat to inform her that he had been running, and his brow furrowed enough to indicate that his purpose was not merely time sensitive, but urgent.

"Madam Councilor, this just arrived by secure transmission from UES Yorktown.  Eyes only."
The young man passed Sulerahmen a ruggedized DaTab with a secondary blast-proof and tamper-proof gray casing.  The plastic bore a violently orange stripe stamped with white text; 'RESTRICTED_D-001.'

The designation marked the contents as confidential, diplomatic classification, level 001.  The highest level of secret classification for any department.  Such information, usually text communiques with accompanying data, was considered so important that it could not legally be transmitted wirelessly, except between military transmitters and receivers.

When such a communique or data needed to travel away from these channels, it had to be copied to a secure DaTab, and the case locked with biometric access denials.  Councilor Innara had received several-dozen such DaTabs over the course of her career, but only two other level 001 packages.

The courier inclined his head politely, then removed himself from the room as swiftly as he had arrived.  Despite their high clearance, and extensive training, such agents were never allowed to know anything about the contents of the packages they ferried from point-to-point, for the sake of compartmentalization.

Innara placed the secured device on her desk, then tilted her head up slightly and spoke to the computer, "Seal this room, and deactivate all data-recording internal security measures.  Sever all external information connections, and disengage communications reception.  Initiate electronic countermeasures."

The stringent opsec protocols surrounding a 001 package mandated a sealed chamber, and the blocking of all wireless data transmission via active jamming.

The Councilor stared at the tablet for a moment, before lifting it and depressing her thumb against a small, softly lit circle.  The pinprick sensation of nanotubular tissue extraction was but a small price to pay for a nearly unbreakable biometric access denial system.

With a soft trill and the hiss of maglocks, the case opened across a central seam.  Innara slid the two halves of the shell apart smoothly to reveal the screen of the device, blinking the words 'Standby mode, touch to begin' softly as blue-hued text.

She laid one finger softly on the device, and the words vanished; replaced by a numeric pinpad.  The Councilor swiftly entered her authorization, and after a moment a vast quantity of information filled the screen in overlapping windows.  At the heart of it was a single-paragraph text communique from Dr. Lawrence Thornton.

Sulerahmen read the message three times before the meaning finally sank in.  She sat back heavily and did her best to keep her heart-rate under control.  The information on the DaTab was not merely going to eclipse the drone leak.  It was going to eclipse most of Human history.





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
12:32 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of the Barrier (Earth Side)

"You want me to describe it to you in simple terms?"  Doctor Wainwright stepped around the holographic column; his face coming out from behind the entwined helixes of represented DNA, and into the light of the medical bay.

Admiral Laren inclined his head.  The Doctor sighed and gestured to the floating column of light, "If our DNA is equivalent to the Library Of The Council, then theirs?  Theirs is more like the sum total of every written word in history."

The group clustered around the holotank stood in awed silence.  Thornton looked positively exuberant, Laren was reserved, and the Captain seemed content to scowl in mild confusion.

Thornton broke the pause, gesturing animatedly at the shimmering twisting blue-shifted shape in the air before them, "The computer has found some correlating base pairs between us and them, which begs serious questions in conjunction with the fact that their language is nearly identical to ours."

The scientist shook his head and snorted in appreciation, "Six helical structures.  Three times the solidity of our genetic material.  I doubt if you could ever hope to infect them virally, much less alter their genome in any way without a very, very powerful delivery method.  They must have incredible radiation absorption capabilities."

The Captain raised his head at the mention of 'virus,' and turned to Wainwright, "So there is no risk of biological contamination?"

The doctor shook his head, "Not with these visitors, no... but I have found evidence in their bloodstream of antigens created in response to past bacterial infections.  They may not be susceptible to most viruses, but they have bacterial diseases and sickness wherever they come from.  Its likely these contaminants are very very dangerous to us at present."

Admiral Laren cocked his head and took a step closer to the tank, "Could this become a problem in the future?"

Wainwright signed and tapped one lip thoughtfully with his right index finger, "Mmm.. No I wouldn't say so.  Given a few months to study blood samples from a larger group of them, we could integrate immunities to their diseases into our standard medical packets, air filtration systems, and atmospheric detox towers.  But its a good thing we looked before leaping on this one; some of this stuff is nastier than bubonic plague, and twice as transmissible... their immune systems are just an order of magnitude stronger than ours, so they don't notice the difference."

Thornton nodded absently, then swiped at the hologram, which cycled to a another DNA readout, "I'm also quite interested in the... well for lack of a better term, the Gryphons.  Seven helices of DNA per strand..."

Wainwright pointed at the first base pair and raised an eyebrow, "You're looking at the first genetic material we've ever seen that we don't, and never will, have the technology to alter, or properly read."

Laren glanced at the Doctor, his lips twisted downward in concern, "Meaning, Doctor?"

Thornton interjected, "Meaning we should not exchange any bodily fluids with any of them if it can be at all avoided, most especially the Gryphons.  All of their immune systems are powerful enough to do fatal damage to our own bloodstream and organs if there is significant liquid bio-material crossover, via..."

The scientist coughed awkwardly, "Eh.. well via any method whatsoever.  A quarter-pint of even the Equine's blood is likely enough to kill someone in a matter of minutes."

Laren sighed in a mixture of concern, awe, and fascination.  "So noted, Doctor.  So noted."





Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 9th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment)
Two Hours After Noon
2 NM East of The Barrier (Equestrian Side)

The ship was best described as a 'Junk.'  Not merely because of its ribbed sails, and sharply curved body, but because the nomenclature was a humorously applicable double entendre; the craft was cobbled together from old decaying birch wood, badly maintained hemp rope, and rusty nails.

For all its faults, the vessel was seaworthy, and sported a pair of large ballistae.  The crew were an excellent match for their ship; shades of gray and rust color, bedraggled, ill-maintained, but unexpectedly dangerous.

Captain Drek was not merely the master of the nameless craft, but also the Alpha of the small pack of Diamond Dogs that served as its core crew.  The canine creatures under his sway were mostly the Troll subspecies; gray furred, large fanged, and evocative of nothing so much as a giant, ambipedal, maimed bulldog.

The minority remainder of the crew was a motley collection of disgraced Lupines and Vulpines who needed income sorely enough to be apathetic as to the manner, and legality, of its acquisition.

'Pirates' was not entirely an applicable term; the crew preferred smuggling and illegal fishing by far; what few warships were in the Equestrian navy were mostly tasked with stopping piracy outright rather than bothering with less violent offenses.

Illegal fishing, while the least profitable of potential endeavours, was also the safest; en masse fishing for gathering food was forbidden within Equestrian borders, but the sea was vast and the illegal sub-tropical fish found off the Nation's coast sold for a higher profit than the cold-water species which could be legally gathered further north.

In all his years as a Captain, Drek had never once run afoul of the authorities while fishing more than twenty miles from shore.

The Troll relaxed his grip on the tiller slightly, and took a deep breath of the salty air.  The morning had been clear, but around noon a massive bank of fog and rain clouds had rolled in.  The drizzle, combined with the thick gray murkiness, more or less guaranteed that his small craft would go unnoticed for the rest of the day.

The first indication that something was wrong turned out to be the compass.  

While Drek's ship skimped on many things, a compass was an absolute necessity for seafaring; the one Drex had purchased and maintained for the vessel was perhaps the most expensive item on board, its binnacle rimmed in gold with a ruby sheath for the north-pointing needle.

Said needle had begun to spin crazily, as if it had been smoking copious amounts of Poison Joke along with the dregs of the crew the evening before.

Drex reached out, an expression of confusion twisting his muzzle and revealing a snaggled fang;  he tapped the glass casing of the instrument once, then repeatedly and more fiercely with one dirty gray claw.

The device, rather than righting itself, only became more agitated, as if someone were trying to boil off the water on which the piece of magnetic metal floated within its housing.

Drex's attention was torn from the compass, abruptly, by a shout from the Crow's Nest.  The lookout, a crippled Vulpine with a ragged unkempt tail, was gesturing frantically and yelling, "CAPTAAAAIN!"

The Troll looked first to the lookout, and it took him a moment to come out of his stupor; he realized the Vulpine was trying to direct his attention to something else.  Drex peered intently into the fog.  Slowly but surely, a shimmering illusory form appeared, an obstacle he could only describe mentally as a 'wall.'

Drex's paws flew to the tiller, almost reflexively, his gnarled claws biting down hard into the already scratched and splintered birch.

Despite his feverish attempts to correct course, the ship's momentum was too great; the vessel plowed directly into the barrier, passing through it as if it were no more substantial than the fog bank that had masked it.

All at once, the murk was gone, replaced by the acrid scent of something new and disturbing.  The sky above was suddenly a shade of upsetting teal, and the waves below considerably choppier.  The Captain cast a furtive glance over one shoulder to behold the barrier, and beyond it the fog bank they had been sailing through.

For nearly a minute, no one aboard stirred; all were trying to make some sense of the events that had abruptly transpired.  The calm was shattered at last by the advent of the first mate from below decks.  The smaller Troll was obviously intoxicated to the point of immobility, a half-full beaker of strong Gryphon meade clasped firmly in one shaking paw.

He blinked in the almost-sunlight, then turned a dazed look on his Captain, "Whatever happen, we swears, it wasn't our fault."  He punctuated the sentance with a jarring hiccup.  Drex sighed in frustration.





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
14:18 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of the Barrier (Earth Side)

The large ovoid table was obviously a temporary fixture.  The Yorktown was a ship of enforcement and war, therefore it lacked most basic diplomatic amenities.  A stark cubic gunmetal compartment had been abruptly appropriated for use as an embassy while the visitors' blood tests were being processed.

Flags representing the carrier group's emblem, and the Yorktown crest, had been hurriedly affixed on either side of the door, and the Earthgov emblem had been hung on one of the back walls.

Chairs, some stools stolen from the mess-hall, and a large mobile computer cart complete with big screen, holo projector, and a full data-link rounded out the impromptu facility.

Admiral Laren, the Captain, Thornton, the XO, and a young lieutenant with a DaTab stood in full formal dress on one side of the table, waiting.  Laren's stony visage betrayed no real sentiment, and the Captain seemed genuinely relaxed; Thornton and the young female Lieutenant, however, were sweating with anticipation and doing their best, in their own quirky ways, to look more composed.

There was a clank and a hiss as the compartment door slid open, and Luna entered flanked by the Gryphons, Flux, and Zephyr.  The young Lieutenant stiffed to the point of comedic effect.  Thornton settled for nervously straightening his tie for the thousandth time.

Before the moment could become awkward, Admiral Laren stepped forward and offered a hand in greeting to the Princess, "I'd like to officially welcome you aboard again.  Talking through a piece of glass just seems overly impersonal."

Luna seemed slightly unsure what to do with the proffered hand, so she placed one hoof delicately into it.  For Laren, the contact was like an electric shock; the realization of the significance of his act, combined with the unexpectedly soft texture of the Equine ruler's hoof nearly caused him to forget himself.

He remembered his decorum, however, decades of Naval experience reasserting his composure forcefully.  He shook Luna's hoof once firmly, then stepped back and gestured to the empty spaces and stools on the visitors' side of the table, "Please, sit."

As Luna and Zephyr lowered two stools to their minimum height, and shuffled them into position. the Captain felt compelled to offer his own greeting to Sildinar, extending a hand, "I'm Captain Wallace.  Welcome aboard."

Sildinar shook the proffered hand first, followed by Brelik, who squeezed just enough to make the Captain slightly nervous; he hadn't been expecting the wickedly sharp ends of the beings' talons to come into direct contact, and he had to fight a strong impulse to shy back.

Brelik followed through with what Wallace assumed to be a small grin of appreciation for his fortitude, then fell to setting up his own stool.  After several seconds of fiddling and straightening and adjusting, everyone was at last seated around the table.

Laren cleared his throat, and leaned forward, "So, I'm sure we all have questions that need answering while we wait for an official Earthgov response.  Guests are, on this world, traditionally given the honor of being first so.."  Laren gestured expansively, "I'm sure between the four of us, we can answer most basic questions."

Luna inclined her head with a small smile, "Such is the custom with guests on our world as well.  We gladly accept your invitation.  My first question concerns your world; how many of you are there?"

Thornton raised his hand as if he were in school, then slowly dropped it.  His sheepish expression spoke to his embarrassment, and he quickly did his best to cover for the slip, "Ahhh... last census data placed the world population at almost exactly nine point five billion... How many live on your world?  And how many races are you for that matter?"

Flux spoke up, stammering at first but swiftly stabilizing, "There are.. ahh.. about six billion of us as near as we can guess, but that counts all races.  As for the known races with civilization, there are nine, if you think of their majesties, our monarchs, as a separate race.  In addition to the Ponies, Alicorns, and Gryphons; we know of, or have regular contact with Dragons, Minotaurs, Zebra, Changelings, Diamond Dogs, and Buffalo."

The awed moment of shock spoke to the impact the words had on the human envoys.  Laren shook himself abruptly, as if clearing his head, and glanced between Flux and Thornton, "If its amenable I'd like for you two to sit down after we're done here and compile reports for both governments on all applicable... species, involved in this."

The way Laren said 'species' gave the Equestrians a vague, but disquieting understanding of just how strange their advent was to human observers.

Sildinar interjected with the next question, "To my eyes, this seems to be a ship for war.  Is that true?"

Zephyr mumbled, with good-natured scorn, "Well of course, they *shot* at me..."

Captain Wallace was quick to respond, "An action we are sorry for.  Yes, this is a ship of war, and of keeping the peace. We use powerful AI to evaluate incoming threats, and automatically respond in order to ensure the safety of the crew."

Flux raised an eyebrow quizzically, "A-I ?"

Thornton nodded, "Artificial intelligence.  The logical and creative power of a human mind, within the construct of the positronic lattice of a quantum computing device...." He trailed off as he saw the Equestrians' expressions, which ranged from utterly confused on Luna's part, to indifference amongst the warriors, and curiosity plastered all over Flux's muzzle.

The lieutenant spoke up, "It's aahhh... a machine that simulates parts of a mind, but much faster."

Flux's curious expression swiftly morphed to one of abject awe, "How is such magic *possible?*"

Thornton half snorted, and half laughed, "Magic? No no no.  Science.  Machines.  Electrical circuits, silicon, and bioneural gel-packs, and positronic latticework.  Titanium, transparent aluminum, nanites, carbon nanotubes... Everything we have, we have created with machinery."

Luna looked genuinely disturbed by the revelation, "Then you know nothing at all of magic?"

Laren shifted uncomfortably, "I wouldn't say 'know.'  There are... ahhh..."

"Legends?"  The Captain offered helpfully.

"Myths."  The Lieutenant said without glancing up from her DaTab, where she was furiously typing to keep pace with the conversation.

Thornton interjected, "I think we had best use the term 'anecdotal history.'  After all, Gryphons were supposed to be a 'myth,' and yet there are two in this room."

Laren exhaled and shook his head slightly in wonderment, "I suppose we're going to be making a great many surprising discoveries soon enough."

Luna nodded her agreement, "The very fact, as Flux has point out, that we speak the same words, and use the same numbers, must mean that we shared some strong point of commonality once."

Thornton winced, "Finding it though?  That's going to be the rough part."

Wallace shook his head once, "Until the two eggheads have had time to sit down and hash things out, I think we should stick to questions we can answer in the here and now."

Sildinar and Brelik both nodded once sharply, smiling in appreciation of the officer's blunt manner.

The Captain continued, "Now what *I* want to know is; which of these other races you've listed are friendlies, and which are potential problems?  That's a *big* barrier out there,"  he gestured out beyond the opaque bulkhead in the general direction of the anomaly, "And I think Centcom is going to want to know what might come out on any given day."

Brelik's rumbling baritone surprised everyone, "As to our kind, and the Ponies, Zebras, and Buffalo you have nothing to fear so long as you act peaceably to us.  The Dragons vary by color and clan, but few enough should have interest in crossing.  For now.  Your real concern should be Diamond Dog Trolls, and Changelings.  They may well see your world as an exploitable opportunity."

Luna nodded, "Much of this depends on charting the barrier within Equestria as well.  If the sea cuts off most access, then you have considerably less cause for concern.  If not, then you should strongly consider guarding the barrier."

Laren grunted, "Given *that* response? I expect full scale patrols will be established within a matter of days."

Sildinar inclined his head slightly, "This begs a similar question from us; do we have anything to fear from your world?"

Thornton shook his head, "As far as we can tell, we can not cross the Barrier, nor can our materials.  Further experimentation is needed to determine how extensive that rule of physics is, but if indications are to be trusted, then we can not cross, but you can."

Flux sighed, "A sobering thought."

No one else seemed to notice, but Laren caught the tiniest flit of concern and sadness passing over Luna's muzzle.  He made a mental note to query her on the matter after the meeting.

Thornton filled the void with a redirecting question, "Magic...  Could you explain what you mean by that?  You keep mentioning it..."

In response Luna's horn flared with a blue, cyan, and silver luminosity.  A field of similar light encompassed one of the empty stools, and the object rose into the air, supported only by the field of magic and its tinkling wind-chime-like sound.

Thornton stood and gaped, "Incredible...."

Flux shook his head and chuckled, "Basic telekinesis.  As near as we can tell, your world has less magic to draw upon than ours... in Equestria, I can change a rat into a miniature approximation of a Dragon.  The Princess raises and lowers the moon every dusk and dawn.  Her sister, the sun."

The Captain shook his head, "Well... not here she doesn't.  Our sun and moon are celestial bodies, as is our world, floating in a vast vacuum with many others like them."

Zephyr snorted, "Well, now I've heard everything."

Luna spoke without regard to the audacious Pegasus' words, "In all the time we have been here, your sky has remained this ashen color.  Is this unseasonable weather?"

Thornton sighed and shook his head slowly, "We wish it were.  Once our people had polluted our sky terribly.  We sought a way to fix this, but the experiment failed.  In failing, it changed our sky permanently.  Plants died soon after, then the decay traveled through the food web at unprecedented speed.  Now we eat synthetic food, and aside from microbes we are the only life on this world."

Luna smiled in wan sympathy, "Mayhaps there will be a way for us to aid you in the days to come."

The Admiral grinned and sat back, "Who knows?  I've already seen more miracles today than in the rest of my life put together.  And it's only two hours after noon."

Flux tapped his hooves together nervously for a moment, before speaking up once more, "So what happens now?"

The Admiral nodded at the screen, "Once we receive instructions from our central military, and the ruling civilian Council, we will hopefully proceed with proper diplomatic protocol.  I expect they will want you to come ashore."

Luna cast a glance at Zephyr, "Ready yourself to courier a message back to the Azimuth, and have it relayed to Canterlot.  I shall compose it within the hour."

Laren stood and straightened his dress jacket, "I have to say... this has been something I won't soon forget.  I will assign you all a junior officer to escort you to any part of the ship you wish to see, that isn't off limits, as well as set you up with access to part of our database."

Thornton smiled at Flux, "As you suggested Admiral, I'd like to get started with my compatriot here."

The Captain gestured to the door, "Shall we?"





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
14:23 GMT
Bedraggled Junk
2 NM West, Northwest of the Barrier (Earth Side)

Drek's first mate, a smaller and wiry Troll who went by Bluestone, was finally beginning to sober.  Drex reflected that this was not much of an improvement, however, because 'sober' for Bluestone was 'three sheets to the wind' for most others.

Bluestone was bent over the the ship's compass, tapping it absently with his meade bottle, "You know, Captain, we have never noticed how unique pretty gems in compass were."

Drek rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation, "Unique?  Compass is *broken.* If we ever get back home, someone's head will roll, we promise that."

As Bluestone looked on in a stupor, Drek fell to pantomiming the salespony in a whiny pitchy voice, "'Compass is freedom!' He says, 'Compass can take you anywhere,'  'Compass always point to north..."
Drek rounded on the Binnacle and shouted at the top of his lungs, "WELL IT DOES NOT POINT NORTH *NOW* DOES IT?!"

Bluestone shrugged, "If Drek wants, we can always send Pony up the long river."  The phrase was a dark euphemism that spoke to Bluestone's inner sadist.  On first glance, the Troll seemed little more than a drunkard, but when roused to it he had a deep-running addiction to causing suffering in others and enjoying the fallout.

'Up the Long River,' was common smuggler-speak for the difficult but monetarily rewarding passage up a wide nameless tributary of some mountain stream, deep into the far North-East.  For those who could prepare a worthy vessel, and cargo, the chitinous inhabitants of the black crags paid handsomely for 'live goods.'

Even Drek shuddered to think what the dark-ones did to the Ponies they had delivered on and off over the years.  Bluestone just seemed to find it vaguely humorous.

The Captain was torn from his considerations by a peculiar sight on the horizon.  Diamond dog eyes were not well suited to ranged vision, instead having unparalleled ability to pick out closer details in the pitch black of darkness.

Drek shoved Bluestone aside roughly, and pulled a worn, cracked telescope from under the wheel.
He raised the rusting tube to one eye, and peered at the glint of metal that had caught his attention.
To his astonishment, the Troll beheld a small, gleaming steel craft rising from *beneath* the waves.

He stood and stared for a long moment; long enough that Bluestone finally leaned around to look into the end of the telescope; an expression of idiotic curiosity gracing his yellowed teeth and squinty eyes, "What Captain found?"

Drek slowly lowered the telescope, and continued to stare at the gleaming speck, "Bluestone?  If we had boat that could travel *under* waves..."

Bluestone looked confused for several seconds, then grinned manically, "Bluestone will roust the crew."  Drek's gaze followed his Beta as he fell to making attack preparations.  Sometimes Drek thought his fellow Troll enjoyed the killing more than the rewards.





ExCET had a variety of resources at its disposal.  One of the more peculiar cards in their vast deck were the geological research submarines of the Earthgov Science Academy.  Through a deep-cover plant, they had the ability to commandeer one of the small, swift, unarmed craft without the notice of higher powers.

The vessels were often useful for inserting teams of agents or soldiers into areas that would otherwise be restricted.

ExCET had gathered, and dispatched, one such team very shortly after they gained possession of the first footage from the barrier.  The vessel had arrived, surfaced, and the four scientists were standing on the flat, traction-coated fore-deck aiming a bevy of passive and active instruments at the barrier.

Below, a pilot, engineer, and two guards manned stations.  The operational window was a mere hour, but it was considered the only acceptable risk period where the gains stood to outweigh the costs.  Anything longer would pose too much chance of Yorktown's CAP accidentally spotting the tiny craft, anything shorter and no new data would be acquired.

The scientists were so focused on the barrier, that they failed to notice the arcane looking sailing ship approaching from behind, its dirty-white birch construction lending it a ghoulish aspect in the gray afternoon light.

The first warning came in the form of a six foot long javelin that buried itself in the scientist closest to the railing.

By the time the guards had taken notice of the chaos, it was too late.  The last thing the stunned troopers saw was the form of a furious canine, descending from above, with bloody teeth and claws.

No one even had a chance to fire a weapon in defense.





Earth Calendar: 1/21/2102
16:12 GMT
ACV-10  UES Yorktown
5 NM West of the Barrier (Earth Side)

Flux and Thornton had found in each other, kindred spirits.  Though some of the terminology was different, and their fields only had some slight overlap, both shared enough in common to provide a touchstone.

Both were lovers of science above all else, both raised in fairly sheltered environs, and both sponsored by great politicians.

Their fascination with, what to them was 'alien' biology, drove their conversation for hours before they began to notice a creeping hunger and thirst.  The pair exited the conference room laughing and snorting.

Thornton was wiping tears from his eyes, "So I said to him; 'no sir... that's a paramecium.' "

Flux cocked his head, and Thornton explained, which caused the Unicorn to burst into his own peals of laughter once more.

The pair walked slowly to the nearest mess-hall, talking animatedly as they went, of biology topics that would be foreign even to most graduate students.  After several minutes of wandering, and more than a few wrong turns, they managed to happen upon their destination.

Zephyr, the Ascendant's Captain, and a half-dozen Pony crew members were busy alternately poking at plates of synth-paste, and badgering the human crew with their curiosity-laden questions.  The human crew, in turn, seemed content to answer as long as they could also ask in turn.  Most were simply dumbstruck and fascinated at the chance to watch extraterrestrial life living and breathing in front of them.

Flux raised a hoof and waggled it towards the serving line, "You eat... that?"

Thornton shrugged, "You get used to the taste.  And the texture... mostly."

The pair were halfway to the tray stack, when the entire world dropped out from under them.





Laren had just reached the bridge, having set a later time for a private meeting with Luna, when the deck pitched violently beneath his boots.  Seconds later general quarters automatically sounded, interspersed with the chilling tone of a breach alarm.

The ship's hull and systems AI calmly announced over the PA, "Warning.  Internal detonation.  Breach and structural damage in compartment one-two, tac one-five-three-A, tac eight."

Laren gritted his teeth, and pulled himself back to a stable standing posture, "This is just one of *those* days..."