TRUTH AND JUDGMENT

~ I ~

Crystal Air Defense Command (CADC)

18:48 Celestial Time, Lunar Date 05.24

"Sir?"

The grizzled old veteran, General Firefly, looked over his shoulder at the recently enlisted young earth pony radio operator who had called him, then turned, trotting over to the operator's station.

"Scouts in section forty-eight report unidentified four-engine turboprop aircraft. Probably a Lockheed C-130 Hercules, flying with nav beacons turned off. Bearing zero five zero, speed three two zero knots, altitude five zero zero feet, one three five miles southwest of the town of Graypony." The operator rattled off the contact as if he were responding to a drill sergeant, his voice emotionless as if this were all routine.

General Firefly quickly scanned the meticulous white board on the wall where they recorded all expected flight operations for the day. As he had suspected, no human aircraft were supposed to be in the area today.

"Skimming the trees and flying dark, huh. Can they tell if it's a gunship? And can they identify the flag nation?"

"Negative on both questions, Sir. They are keeping their distance above and behind the bogey. They haven't been spotted and want to keep it that way."

"Try to make radio contact with the bogey."

"Yes, Sir."

The young operator pressed a button on the console, the bright orange LED display switching to show a different transmitter frequency than the one he'd been talking to the scouts on. He pressed a foot-pedal with his forehoof, activating the transmitter.

"Attention, C-130 Hercules. You are in Crystal Empire airspace. Identify your tail number, flag nation, service branch, and state your intention."

A minute, perhaps two, passed. There was no response. The operator turned towards General Firefly again.

"Sir, scouts report the humans dropped something from a side door in the aircraft. They aren't sure what it was, but it appeared to be two small boxes."

"They dropped something?" Skyfire asked, raising an eyelid.

"Yes, Sir."

The radio operator waited a few seconds, then tried the call again. Still, nothing. He looked at the General again.

"No response on either UHF or HF broadcast frequencies, Sir."

General Firefly nodded slightly and responded calmly. "Scramble Third Intercept Wing at Mustang Station with instructions to intercept and identify the bogey. They are not to engage unless they are fired upon first."

"Yes Sir." The operator turned to his console again, pressed another button. The glowing LED reflected the switch to another frequency, and he made his call to Mustang Station.

---

"Hey Storm Rider, are you joining us or what? Can't play Sheepshead with only two ponies." Captain Skyfire called from the old aluminum folding table, counting a well-used deck of cards with an image of Princess Cadance on the back of each card. Another Pegasus Guard sat across the table from him. After a few seconds with no response to his question, Skyfire looked over his shoulder to the old olive-drab upholstered couch that had seen better days. Storm Rider was sprawled on his back, all four legs in the air, his gaze focused on a poster hanging from the ceiling above the couch. The tape from one corner of it had come loose so that the edge was hanging down. Skyfire sighed and shook his head.

"Really? You're staring at that poster again?"

"A stallion can dream, can't he, Sir?" Storm Rider rolled off the couch in a dog-like fashion, landing on all four hooves and stretching himself from front to rear as he made his way over to the table.

"You and every other stallion who dreams of dating a supermodel. Besides, she's already married to her manager. That uh … Fanny Pack stallion or whatever his name is."

"Fancy Pants, Sir," Iron Star, the pegasus guard across the table corrected him as Storm Rider joined them with another stretch and a yawn, giving them the three they needed to play Sheepshead.

Skyfire watched six other Pegasus Guards outside the window who had been playing hoofball, but their game was currently at a standstill. The senior officer among them was holding the ball under his wing, pointing at the sky with a forehoof and flaring his other wing. He laid his ears back on his head and shook it, jawing at the pegasus standing across from him. Skyfire couldn't hear what was being said through the closed window, but based on the body language being used – the ruffled flight feathers, the scowling muzzles, the pinned ears – he suspected there was some kind of argument over the rules involving whether it was legal to fly in hoofball or not when there were no earth ponies or unicorns around to complain about it.

"Besides, she's a changeling," Iron Star said, drawing Skyfire's attention back to their own discussion.

"She is not!" Storm Rider protested, flicking his short blue tail and giving a very horse-like snort.

"Of course she is," the other responded.

"Fleur Dis Lee is not a changeling! What ever gave you that idea?"

"Look at her body. Nopony 'cept maybe the Princesses could maintain a body like that. Not unless they were a changeling."

Storm Rider opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped short as a piercing klaxon siren split the air. A beacon on the ceiling lit up, casting a rotating red light on the walls like some kind of angry disco ball. All three pegasi immediately jumped to their hooves, galloping towards the exit. Skyfire threw the door open with a bang and the three pegasi rushed out. The six pegasi who had been playing hoofball joined them, their argument over the rules immediately forgotten, the ball bouncing a few times on the ground, then rolling away to Celestia knows where. They hurried to the armory, where the nine of them quickly strapped on armor equipped with dual Hellfire magic cannons and radio equipped helms. Then, Skyfire spread his wings, taking to the clear, cerulean-blue sky that nearly matched his coat, the wind whipping at his short-cut ash-gray mane and tail as he gained altitude like a rocket. He glanced over his shoulder. The other eight members of his wing were in delta formation, just as he'd trained them to be. He looked forward again and made a radio call.

"Brass Helm, this is Mustang, climbing through one five zero zero feet, bearing three zero zero."

"Mustang, Brass Helm. Scouts report single unidentified four-engine turboprop one two eight miles southwest of Graypony. Bearing zero four two, altitude five zero zero feet. Flying dark, ignoring radio calls. Probably C-130 Hercules of unknown type and unknown flag. Intercept and report. Do not engage unless fired upon. Make your bearing two six four to intercept."

"Brass Helm, Mustang. Bearing two six four. Intercept and report, do not engage unless fired upon."

"Affirmative, Mustang."

Skyfire banked his wings, the horizon flipping on its side as he made a knife-edge turn to the left, leveling out on the intercept course he'd been given. The rest of his team followed with the precision of a single organism, as if they were all limbs connected to the same body. He leveled off at two thousand feet, scanning the sky in front of him. The thrill of the hunt – the old cat and mouse game – pumped through his veins like gasoline fueling a fire in his soul. This was what every Pegasus Guard interceptor lived for. The ground sped by underneath him at a blur as he picked up speed, his team matching his pace as they flirted with the sound barrier. As they flew closer to their intercept point, another thrill arose in him: The thrill of possibly making another kill. He forced that one away, refusing to let it inside of him. For it was like sugar of lead: Sweet to the taste, but deadly poisonous if you allowed yourself to take it in. He activated his radio transmitter again.

"Brass Helm, Mustang. We're on intercept course, airspeed six four zero knots. We'll be there in two minutes."

"Acknowledged, Mustang. Report bogey in sight."

"Will do, Brass Helm."

He addressed his team now, using the intercom frequency.

"Alright team, you all heard the orders. We are to intercept and report. We are not to engage unless we are fired upon. The bogey will be below us, so keep your eyes downward. We'll come in high and give her a wide berth, then slip in behind her. Scouts think she's a C-130 so she's a pretty big bird, and heavy. Remember, large birds like her produce strong wake turbulence, so when we're behind her, make sure to stay above her."

"Yes, Sir!" his team acknowledged as they continued rushing towards their intercept point, the wind plastering Skyfire's fur and close-cropped mane to his body and causing his tail to stand straight out behind him.

He flared his wings like a speed brake, the air pressing against the front of his wings with a painful ache in his muscles as he reduced his speed, nearing the intercept point, scanning the sky. Not as young as I used to be, he thought in passing, pushing the ache from his mind and focusing on the task at hoof.

"Bogey at two o'clock, Sir. Range, ten miles and closing," Storm Rider called out on the intercom. Skyfire turned his head, looking down slightly and into the distance, where he spotted a storm-gray bird on the horizon. From this distance, it was impossible to tell what it was, other than it was a transport-size mechanical aircraft.

"Lets go left, and climb to five thousand feet. When we get behind him, we'll make a one-eighty and trail him."

The team did as instructed, rapidly climbing to five thousand feet and approaching the aircraft from above. Skyfire made another radio call.

"Brass Helm, Mustang. Positive contact with bogey. We're climbing to five thousand feet to approach from behind."

"Acknowledged Mustang. Report positive identification."

"Will do, Brass Helm."

As they approached the aircraft, the bottle-nose design, the high, straight wings, and the four turboprop engine nacelles showed the scouts had been right. It was a C-130 Hercules. The aircraft was flying at the same altitude and had only changed direction slightly. They passed over the top of it, apparently unnoticed. Skyfire turned and began a rapid descent, his ears popping from the increasing pressure, until they were only a hundred feet above the aircraft, trailing it in their delta formation. The whine and rumble of the four turboprop engines hammered his senses like impact wrenches, and the burning jet fuel filled his nostrils with the putrid stink of flaming kerosene. He looked over his shoulder, addressing his eight team members through the intercom.

"You three go right and pull alongside of her, I'll go left with you two. The gunships have thirty millimeter cannons mounted in the sides, so make sure you look for them before dropping in alongside. Those cannons can fire four thousands rounds a minute and will make short work of you if any of their shells hit you. You two stay behind, and remember to stay out of her wake. You get caught in there, you might as well get caught in a tornado."

"Yes, Sir," his team acknowledged, then broke formation, each slowly moving into their assigned positions. As they moved closer, Skyfire scanned along the entire length of the gun-metal gray aircraft. There were no cannons or other weapons mounted anywhere. The logo and stenciling on the side of the aircraft identified it as U.S. Marine. The aircraft continued to maintain its course, not deviating in heading, speed, or altitude. That suggested the aircraft was probably on autopilot, even though by now the crew had to know that they'd been intercepted. But so far, they hadn't attempted to take any evasive action. That either meant the aircraft's captain was a very cool customer, or …

"I'm gonna pull up to the cockpit glass," Skyfire announced to his team. "Make sure the crew isn't unconscious or injured or something."

He slowly inched his way forward. It was safe to fly at the same level as the aircraft now since he was in front of the wings and didn't have to worry about wake turbulence. He pulled up alongside the cockpit window, making sure to stay a safe distance away from the leading edge of the wings and the engine nacelles. He definitely didn't want to tangle with those spinning propeller blades. The loud drone of the engines made it difficult to hear anything else as he turned his head, peering inside the large cockpit windows. The vibration from the propellers tickled his fur and rattled his bones like one of those vibrating beds you sometimes found at old, cheap human motels. The pilot turned his head, looking at him, although Skyfire couldn't get close enough to see the details of his expression, making it impossible to judge if the pilot had been aware of their presence before now. His face appeared somewhat aged, lines of experience painted on it like the yellowing of an old photograph. But with his flight helmet on, it was impossible to get an accurate idea of his age. The pilot turned his head to the right appearing to be say something to his copilot. Well, so much for the idea of the crew being incapacitated, Skyfire thought to himself with confusion. He made a radio call over the broadcast frequency.

"U.S. Marine one eight two four four, please acknowledge."

If the pilot had heard the radio call, he gave no indication of such. His head was still turned to the right and he appeared to be conversing with his copilot; perhaps discussing what action they should take. A few seconds later, he turned his head to the left again, looking at Skyfire. He pointed to his headphones, shook his head from side to side, a signal that Skyfire took to mean that their radio wasn't working. Skyfire waved a forehoof in acknowledgment. Perhaps the radio failure, combined with the fact that their nav lights were turned off meant they had suffered some kind of catastrophic electrical system failure? He didn't think that was likely. The aircraft had backup electrical systems, and a complete electrical failure would have also affected flight control systems. And besides, the pilot had not signaled an emergency. Only indicated that their radio was inoperative.

Another more sinister possibility entered his mind: The aircraft could be on a reconnaissance flight. That would also explain why the nav lights were turned off. But they were flying so low that a camera's field of view would be very limited. That made reconnaissance almost as dubious an explanation as electrical failure. This was growing more peculiar by the minute. Skyfire made another radio call on the control frequency.

"Brass Helm, Mustang. Bogey is a C-130 Hercules, U.S. Marine Corps, no visible weapons. Tail number one eight two four four. Crew is responsive and has indicated radio failure. The aircraft is definitely not a gunship variant, but we can't completely rule out a recon flight."

"Acknowledged, Mustang. Stand by for further orders. "

"Mustang is standing by." There was no need for Skyfire to repeat the exchange to his team. They had heard it over the control frequency as well. There was nothing to do now except maintain formation around the large aircraft.

"Mustang, Brass Helm. Establish whiteboard communications with the bogey. Escort them to a landing at Commander Hurricane Field. Inform them that they will be fired upon if they break formation or otherwise refuse escort and landing instructions. Instruct them to stop as soon as possible on the runway, shut down their engines, and remain in the aircraft and await further instructions from Crystal Guards at the field.

"Understood, Brass Helm."

Skyfire reached into the flight bag strapped to his armor and removed a small whiteboard, which he began to write on using the English alphabet.

In violation of CE airspace. Escorting to landing at CHF. Do not break formation or you will be fired upon. Rock wings if understood. Fishtail rudder if not.

When he'd finished writing the message, he held it up, hoping the print was large enough for the pilot to read. The pilot looked out the left window for a few moments. Skyfire began to think the pilot couldn't read the message because of the distance. Then again, maybe he just can't read my horrible English hoofwriting, he thought. But then the cockpit rolled back and forth once as the pilot rocked the wings of the aircraft. Finally, we've at least established communication! he thought to himself. He erased the message from the whiteboard and wrote another one, holding it up again for the pilot to see:

When on ground, stop ASAP. Shutdown engines. Remain inside, wait for instructions from Crystal Guard.

Once again there was a pause of a few seconds, and the pilot rocked his wings. Skyfire slipped himself a bit further away from the aircraft for safety, then radioed his team.

"Alright team, let's get this bird turned towards a landing. And let's climb to a safer altitude."

Skyfire and his team banked slowly and pitched up, starting a gradual climbing turn and keeping the large aircraft boxed in the middle of the formation. The rumbling of the engines on the aircraft turned into a loud growl as the pilot throttled up. The aircraft pitched up and banked, the pilot skillfully matching the climb and turn rate of Skyfire and his team, leveling out of the turn when they did. Skyfire leveled off at one thousand feet and the aircraft followed suit.

They continued to fly for about twenty minutes. With the continuous droning noise of the engines pounding their ears like hundreds of buzzing changelings, it was difficult to hear well, so Skyfire and his team remained silent. Eventually, the runways at Commander Hurricane Field appeared on the horizon. Skyfire turned his head towards the cockpit, pointing at the runway with a forehoof. Again, the pilot rocked the wings of the large aircraft, indicating his acknowledgment that he saw the runway.

The formation made a few turns, lining the aircraft up with the runway. The growling of the engines became quieter as the pilot throttled back and began to descend, Skyfire and his team following the aircraft's lead, maintaining formation, letting the pilot of the aircraft determine the descent rate for the entire formation. The wind noise increased as the belly of the plane opened like the gaping maw of a whale. The landing gear descended, the flaps lowered.

"Remember team, her wake turbulence will be the worst when she is slow and dirty like she is now."

"Yes, Sir," they all responded, being careful to make sure they stayed above the glide path of the C-130.

When the aircraft was three hundred feet off the ground, Skyfire ordered his team to break off from it and circle above it. The incessant mechanical rumbling of the engines was replaced with the quiet spring-like hiss of wind from their own wings, giving his ears a much needed reprieve. He looked down, watching as the aircraft crossed the runway threshold. The runway itself was lined with Crystal Guard military police, as well as firefighter ponies and medical ponies in case the aircraft had some as yet unknown mechanical problem that had caused this situation and the landing were to go badly. But the fear of a bad landing was unfounded. A small puff of smoke appeared from underneath the aircraft as the tires made contact with the runway. The aircraft slowed, came to a stop. The propellers slowed down, the circular blur at the front of the engine nacelles gradually becoming individual blades. Eventually, they stopped completely and Crystal Guard military police rushed to surround the aircraft. A few minutes later, five men exited the aircraft with their hands on their heads. Skyfire watched as Crystal Guards approached them, cuffed them, and searched them. He waited for a minute longer, just to make sure things were going as smoothly as they appeared to be. The situation on the ground appeared calm, with the ponies and humans simply talking to each other for now. The pilot raised his bound hands, pointed with one finger in a direction, then made a kind of turning motion, as if he were trying to explain to the Crystal Guards how it was that they had ended up in Crystal Empire airspace. No doubt, the Crystal Guard ground commander was asking questions. Skyfire would have loved to hear the answers, and perhaps ask a few questions himself regarding the crew's odd behavior. But alas, his part of this ordeal was over. His curiosity would probably never be satisfied, his questions never answered. But he'd make a note to ask Air Defense Command later on what had come of the incident. For now, he turned back to his team and addressed them through the intercom frequency.

"Alright, good work team. Got 'em on the ground, no injuries, no weapons fired, and all involved are safe and unharmed. The way it should be."

"Thank you, Sir!" the team responded in near unison. He made another radio call on the control frequency.

"Brass Helm, Mustang. Bogey is secure and the crew was taken into custody without incident."

"Good work, Mustang. Return to base and have one on us."

"Mustang, acknowledged."

Celestia's Sun was beginning to set on the western horizon, setting the sky on fire with shades of brilliant pink and orange as Skyfire and his team made a sharp climbing turn. They began making their way towards their base at a much more leisurely pace than the near sound barrier breaking speed they had flown at to reach the intercept point.

"I bet the Capn could get Fleur Dis Lee in bed with him," Storm Rider said over the intercom.

"Na. No offense to the Capn, but he's like forty years old. Fleur is what, twenty? She's literally half his age," Iron Star responded.

Skyfire simply rolled his eyes as his team talked about him as if he wasn't right in front of them, leading their formation. He heard the idle chatter, but it had an impersonal quality to it. Like listening to a play-by-play sports commentary given by announcers who he had never met. Most of his team was involved in the conversation now, but he paid no attention to which pegasus was saying what.

"He can't be any older than Fancy Pants. Besides, Capn's a war hero. Mares go for that."

"Says the stallion whose only had two relationships with mares, both of which lasted less than a month."

"Hey! Both those mares loved me. It's the baggage that came with me they didn't want. First one ran away as soon as she found out I was in the Pegasus Guard. Second one was a little more understanding, until she found out I was getting stationed in the Crystal Empire. She didn't want to move so far away from home, and she didn't want to have a long distance relationship, so she left. Mares don't wanna marry the military. At least not stallions like us who end up getting assigned to foreign bases."

"Then what makes you think Capn would have a chance with Fleur?"

"Cause Capn's an Ace. The only ace that war produced on either side. He's a living legend, even among the humans. He's got what … seven confirmed kills?"

"Yep. Three F-16s, two F-18s, and two F-14s. Bagged all three of the F-16s on the same day."

"Eight, if you include the bomber. What was it, a B-52?"

"Na, it was a B-1. I know a stallion who was there and saw it happen. Told me the Capn shot the left wing clean off the thing. It spiraled into the ocean like some kind of flaming pinwheel, trailing ropes of black smoke all the way down."

Skyfire allowed himself an inward sigh. All of his team members were too young to have fought in the Contact War. Most of them were too young to even remember it, given it had happened twenty years ago. That would have made most of them between two and eight years old at the time. This back and forth chatter among them was nothing more than hero worship. He hated hero worship, and he hated it when they talked about his war record. It dug memories up from his core that he'd spent the better part of twenty years trying to bury and cement over.

"The crew bailed out on that one though, didn't they?"

"Yeah, but they ended up in the water. The SAR ponies tried to find them and rescue them, but they never did. The search was called off after two days on the assumption they'd been eaten by a hydra."

"Poor monkeys. Survive getting their plane shot out from under 'em, only to become lunch for a hydra."

"What was it the human fighter pilots used to call the Capn?"

"The Red Baron of Equestria."

"Who was the Red Baron?"

"A legendary fighter pilot from the humans' World War One. Made somethin' like eighty kills."

"Capn would've been able to beat that score … if the war had lasted more than a month."

Or I'd be dead, Captain Skyfire thought to himself. Even the Red Baron had eventually met his match. Skyfire often wondered how long it would have been before he met his own if the two sides hadn't agreed to a cease fire a month after the fighting started.

"Eight kills. And meanwhile, all the rest of us got to show for ourselves is escorting a few human aircraft flirting with the borders until they decide to turn around and go home. Well, and forcing a C-130 to land that decided flirting wasn't good enough and they'd blatantly punch their way right into Crystal Empire airspace."

"There's no sport in shooting down transports anyway. You can't dogfight with 'em. And they are big, slow, and have the turning radius of a cargo ship. It's like shooting at the broadside of a barn."

"Kind of strange though, isn't it? They weren't just flying along the border, but staying in international airspace. These guys just busted right on through like they didn't have a care in the world."

"Everybody plays cat and mouse games. We do it to them too. Secretly, everyone loves it. Gives us all something to do, keeps everyone's skills sharp, and gives governments an excuse to spend money on defense. These guys just got a little too close."

"Probably got distracted by their broken radio and let their course wander a bit too far. I doubt Crystal Palace is gonna make a big stink over it. Assuming they weren't spying, those guys will probably be on their way home in a day or two."

"They're probably more afraid of what'll happen to 'em after they get home than of anything that might happen to 'em here. Their own leaders aren't gonna be happy about the diplomatic incident they caused, even if it is a minor one. And shit rolls down hill, as they say."

"What's it like, Sir? To actually make a kill?" Skyfire raised an eyebrow as one of his teammates apparently remembered that he was there.

"Capn doesn't like to talk about his kills, rookie. Doesn't like to talk about his war experiences."

Skyfire finally joined the conversation.

"He's a rookie. He gets to ask once, and I answer him once. After that, he never gets to ask again. That's my rule. The same rule all the rest of you had to follow."

"Well … what's it like then, Sir? To dogfight and make a kill?"

"Oh, here we go again," Thunder Strike mumbled. Skyfire ignored him and turned his head to look back at the rookie once, then faced forward as he began speaking, unscrewing the lid from the memories he'd tried to keep bottled up. Hopefully, this would be the last time.

"It's the biggest thrill you can imagine. The dogfight is like sex. Like the perfect drug. Seeing the beam from your Hellfire cannon hit, seeing the bogey explode into a blazing ball of fire like Celestia's sun. It's like the climax of sex. The ultimate high." His voice became more morose now. "But then … you land, and the withdrawal hits … At night, I would see their faces. And then the next day I'd go back up in the air and it would all start again. Every day, I'd tell myself this was the last time. Assuming I survive another dogfight, when I come back down, I'm going to the squadron commander and telling him I'm done. But I just need one more hit from the drug. The thrill of one more kill. And that night, there were new faces added to the ones I saw the night before. The war ended, and the drug was no longer available. But the withdrawal never goes away … I still see their faces."

For a few moments, they flew in silence, the noise of the wind slipping passed them the only sound reaching his ears.

"Whose faces, Sir? The faces of the pilots?" the rookie asked.

"Mostly, I see children. Their faces staring at me accusingly, and asking me why I took their daddy away from them. I try to explain, but how do you explain something like that to a child? They tell me they hate me for killing their dad. That they hate their dad for leaving them. They tell me they don't understand why we couldn't all just be friends … Wisdom from the mouth of a child … Yes, why couldn't we all just be friends …."

An oppressive silence hung over the team as the last remnants of Celestia's Sun sank below the horizon. The air felt muggy and heavy, as if a thunderstorm were moving in, even though it was a perfectly clear and warm late spring evening.

"You sure know how to take the wind out from under a pegasus's wings, Sir," the rookie finally murmured.

"Never be too quick to wish for dogfights and action and kills, rookie. It's not worth taking someone's life over. It's not worth having to see those faces every night. And besides, even the Red Baron eventually made a mistake. And it cost him his life."

Another long pause before the rookie responded.

"You … You think the human soldiers who killed Royal Guards feel the same way you do Sir?"

"I imagine they do. Might even have been worse for them because they had to see what they were shooting at. But for us, in the heat of the dogfight, you're shooting at a machine. You don't think about the fact that when you destroy the machine, you're also destroying the living being inside of the machine. You don't think of that until you're back on the ground … We may have a lot of cultural and philosophical differences with the humans. We may not see eye to eye on economic issues, or social issues, or many other issues. But every human boy and girl, every pony colt and filly, grieves for the loss of their fathers. Grief is universal. It binds us. Even when nothing else does."

They continued flying in silence, all the mood for the lighthearted chatter completely gone. Even the sense of satisfaction over the successful intercept seemed to have been killed. Skyfire turned his mind toward other thoughts.

Something about this intercept didn't make sense. The human pilot had indicated that their radio wasn't working, and that's why they hadn't been able to respond to radio calls. But Skyfire knew that the crew members carried portable aviation radios as well, so they would be able to communicate with aircraft from the ground in the event they had to bail out. But those portable radios could also be used in the event that the aircraft's on board radio was not working. Certainly, one of the crew would have thought about that. That meant there was some reason the crew hadn't want to answer radio calls. They hadn't wanted someone to hear them. They hadn't wanted someone to home in on their radio signal and track their location. They were hiding from someone. And if it had been the Crystal Guard they were trying to hide from, why not answer the radio once it was clear they'd been discovered? No. It wasn't the Crystal Guard they were trying to hide from … but who, and why?