The ride to the Crystal Empire was surprisingly uneventful for taking place during the middle of a war. The Albatross Carriers were nothing like pony airships that depended on the magic of the planet, and on the air for breathing. Not that Applejack fully understood how they worked; she had family who worked the railroad, and she had seen how long trips consumed whole cars full of coal.

The carriers were easily as large as a train; where was all the coal they burned to stay afloat? Would they tumble from the sky when it ran out? Why was there no smoke behind them if they were burning fuel and not using magic? In her world, machines were either nasty things that spewed chemicals and smoke, or the clean and efficient devices made and run on magic. It was very confusing to be around human inventions that worked like the former but apparently acted very much like the latter.

Ryan would not be her team leader any longer. According to Pinkie Pie, he had been clinically dead, his body gruesomely burned even through the armor. Death apparently was not a sufficient deterrent to the human doctors, who had calmly cut him from his armor and submerged him in a thick substance like gel and carted him off to the smaller medical ship, without breath or heartbeat. Pinkie Pie's reassurance that his brain had survived undamaged was hardly comforting to Applejack. She couldn't help think of all the villages and towns with dragons attacking them right now. There would be no airships filled with humans coming to their rescue.

The Albatross Carriers landed so gracefully she didn't realize they were on the ground again until the ramp retracted and she saw green grass and blue skies beyond. The air on her face was crisp, with little flecks of winter in it. Of course, it was much colder here, the snows kept at bay only by the diligent labor of the weather teams. Applejack struck her brother awake with a hoof, then walked down the ramp to try and get an idea of where they had landed.

Applejack might not have the fancy magic or speedy flight of some of her friends, but what she did have was certain practical skills. For instance, she never forgot a place. The ground spoke to her on a level deeper than words, down through her coat to her bones. A landscape might completely change and yet she would see it, as she had still been able to see the fallow fields and clearings that had grown up into Normandy.

She had never known ponies to transform the land as she had seen humans do. Pony villages grew up into towns and cities in lifetimes, not months, moving around hills and forests instead of cutting them down.

Not this time. There were two cities here now, and not one. The Crystal Empire's massive capital and surrounding farmland were off to the right, spires and quartz glittering in the early morning sun. There had been icy tundra to the left, inhospitable wilderness thick with permafrost. The eternal winter had yielded to sunshine, just warm enough she could've got by with just her coat and stetson if she had wanted to. Of course the armored Vanguard kept her warm enough that the chill on her face was pleasantly refreshing.

The second city was one of fabric and wood, not stone and crystal. Tents as large as barns stretched out as far as her eyes could see, in colors as varied as the ponies walking between them on broad avenues. There were wooden structures as well, spaced so regularly she knew there had to be a system to them. There was a large open area separating her from the city of tents, and she turned to see what was behind her. More tents and temporary structures, though these were far more regular and uniform: military accommodations of pony and human variety both. She expected to see humans by the thousand, but though her vision was good and the sensors in her helmet better, she didn't see a single one until the Sons of Barsoom unloaded from the carriers behind and around her. A crew in human-looking uniforms emerged from one of the nearby buildings dragging hoses and tubes towards the side of the carrier, but they clearly weren't human.

"Something wrong, ma'am?" Applejack blinked, looking up at the pony in front of her. It was hard to say when she had approached, with how well she had blended into the crowds moving about all around her. A mare, with a familiar bright yellow mane and familiar gray eyes. There was nothing familiar about her hat, which seemed far too fancy a thing for a dignified earth pony to wear. Of course the thing on her right foreleg was like nothing anypony would wear, unicorn made maybe.

"Nah'," Applejack replied, honestly. "Just a little confused is all. This city was just a messa' storage sheds and such last I saw it. Guess I didn't expect it to be goin' up so fast." She forced herself to smile, even though she didn't feel at all like smiling. "I'm Applejack." She extended her hoof in the traditional manner. "Glad to see they got some sensible folk runnin' this whole operation. Ain't nothin' compete with old fashioned earth pony hard work."

The pony looked like she wasn't quite sure what she was supposed to do, though she returned the gesture with the leg protected by metal and strange fabrics. She tilted her head slightly to the side, and her fancy hat remained in place. Applejack recognized it then; it looked like something a ship's captain might wear, though the black and white fabric it was made from would've been blue or red in the Equestrian navy. "Everyone's just calling me 'Admiral' lately, but my real name's Alexi. I'm supposed to bring you and another one... Pinkie Pie?" She looked around, glancing past Applejack and into the carrier. "Is she with you?"

Pinkie Pie had been inside, doing Celestia only knew what. Applejack had never seen her leave, anyway. Yet almost as though asking for her had summoned her, Pinkie Pie was suddenly poking her head out behind this pony named Alexi, looking past her into the carrier. "Who are we looking for?" Alexi turned, and Pinkie Pie beamed. "Oooh, are we playing hide-and-go-seek? I'll start!" She plopped down on her rump, covering her eyes with one of her hooves. "One-"

Alexi's face was difficult to read, flickering rapidly through emotions amused and frustrated both. "Unfortunately not, miss Pinkie Pie. Princess Luna instructed me to bring you to her as soon as you landed." She straightened, and without actually touching it, the hat adjusted itself on her head. It was so subtle Applejack almost didn't notice. The familiar shimmer of magic hadn't been there, yet the hat hadn't moved itself. Right?

"We best get goin' then." Applejack looked sternly at Pinkie, before turning her attention back to the mare that had stopped them. "Is she far?"

Alexi shook her head. "Not really. Bit of a walk." She glanced over her shoulder, and a pony in one of the human-looking black and gray uniforms hurried over, a tablet computer and stylus hovering in her magic. "Heartstrings, have you told them we're coming?"

The unicorn nodded, making a few decisive-looking swipes with the stylus. "The other commanders are assembling; just waiting for you three."

Applejack bid farewell to her brother, promising to return as soon as they were done. Big Mac looked even more furtive than usual; he hardly even met her eyes. They set off through the camp at a brisk trot; far slower than Applejack could've walked without losing her breath, but not all of them had armor that made exertion effortless. "Ya'll be forgivin' me for askin'-" Applejack walked beside the unicorn. "Not that I ain't happy to see a familiar face, but... Shouldn't ya' be back in Ponyville?"

Lyra shook her head sadly. "Nopony's left in Ponyville, Applejack. Between Princess Celestia and Discord everypony's up here now. You saw the transmission, right?" At a nod, she continued, "That virus got more than half of all the Federation troops, the ones that were too slow or didn't want to use the bracelets. Nopony would've been safe with all those soldiers right there."

Applejack felt her stomach drop in her chest. "Do ya’ happen to know if they're sure they got everypony out?" She thought about Granny Smith, barely mobile and not-quite-coherent, locked away with Fluttershy in her cottage that was so very close to Normandy.

Lyra nodded. "Princess Celestia seemed to think so. The tents are all set up by village. Maybe if there's time after the meeting I can show you where Ponyville's is."

Pinkie Pie listened with a very serious expression, perhaps uncharacteristically so. "I didn't know you were an army pony."

The mint mare grinned proudly. "I'm just Alexi's assistant, helping her with the pony thing. Taking notes, sending messages. Not fighting; that's all further away."

"You're not just my assistant." Alexi hadn't smiled before, but she smiled now. "She saved my life once. Now she stops me from looking stupid on an almost hourly basis. You ponies deserve serious props for getting through your daily lives without having hands."

Applejack didn't know what to say to that, so instead she asked. "What's this meetin' about? Luna don't usually call for me unless the other elements are comin' too..."

They were heading into a large, elegant looking tent, with the colorful flag of Equestria waving proudly on huge poles. The tent was gigantic, at least as large as city hall back in Ponyville. "This is a strategic meeting; all the other guests are generals and commanders. Princess Twilight is on the front with Princess Celestia, I'm fairly sure she won't be joining us."

A pair of Lunar Guard ponies waited outside the tent, all purple armor and batlike wings. They saluted as their group went inside, looking as wary as they were half-asleep. Nopony accosted them all the way into a large conference room, with a table instead of hologram projectors and maps instead of satellite images.

If Applejack had to describe the feeling in the room with a word, it would've been "defeated." There were a handful of guardsponies with plumes on their helmets, one from each of the branches of the Equestrian military. Lyra it seemed had left them somewhere in the hallway, because she did not accompany them inside. There was only one human in the room, Cigaal. Alexi walked over and stood beside him, the only two in the room who didn't look like wan birds or ponies with crushed hopes.

Applejack didn't know how to read the maps, save that there were very many red things and not very many blue ones. Judging by the blue in the center, she assumed that must be the Crystal Empire filled with ponies. The numbers didn't look good.

Even Princess Luna looked a little haggard, though it was hard to say exactly what made her look that way. Applejack looked around, expecting to see Rainbow Dash at least present for this meeting. That secret mission of hers had to be over by now, right? "Is... Rainbow Dash comin', Princess?" she asked, before anypony else could speak up. She had wondered too long to keep silent when her friend was in danger. "We got so many other ponies here, an' I thought..."

Luna shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Applejack." There was no weakness in her now. The Princess of the Night met her eyes, and it was all Applejack could do not to look away. She didn't, in the end. Applejack was an honest pony; she had nothing to hide even from those she deeply respected. She had no reason to feel ashamed even in the presence of great ponies. "Something happened to her while on assignment. She lives, but her dreams are strange and I sense she has suffered much. She would not return in time to help us now."

Applejack nodded. What she wanted to do was speak up, learn everything she could, and set out to rescue her friend without delay. Yet as much as she wanted that, she also knew the stakes were higher than just a few lives. If the Crystal Empire fell, the hopes of all Equestria would die with it. Her questions could wait until the meeting was over at least.

"We waited for you, Applejack, because we value your honesty." Luna took her seat at the head of the table. All the other ponies around them followed her example. "The war does not go well. Every day we are forced to retreat, every day we lose ground, and the majority of the enemy's strength has not yet been brought to bear." Her expression grew dark. "The other princesses and I have reached the conclusion that we may be required to recreate the protective magics used in the Crystal Empire when Sombra rose to power, and leap forward to a time when the enemy is unprepared and we have more time to make our stand. Yet to do so would be to sacrifice everything, even Equestria itself. Most of our ponies are not here, and none would come for them."

"Our power wanes, and our allies are few. The zebras are silent, the Steel Tower has either fled or been destroyed, and our army of human allies has been turned against us. Each day consumes more of our strength, and the day will soon come where we lack the power to enact the spells that would send us forward in time."

"Ah'..." Applejack stammered, looking to Pinkie Pie for help. She didn't seem particularly helpful; staring intently at the map and not seeming to hear a word that any of them were saying around the table. "Don't see what ah’ got to do with yer decision, Princess. There's plenty'a wiser ponies than me in here."

Luna's expression never wavered, though several of the generals and commanders looked pleased at the apparent flattery. The unicorn in particular seemed happy the utterly absurd idea that an earth pony might have something useful to say in such prestigious company had been shot down. The princess of the moon did not seem to share that sentiment, however. "That may be, Applejack. However, we did not bring you and Pinkie Pie here as strategic advisors." She gestured at the map, indicating an inward facing bulge that grew very close indeed to the land marked as friendly.

"When this all began, our enemies orchestrated a jailbreak. They freed many of the most dangerous and hate-filled enemies of Equestria from Tartarus. That army, an undying legion who feasts on magic and unravels spells, has done more damage than every dragon and minotaur assaulting us. These monsters... tear the fabric of magic apart around them. Earth ponies lose their fortitude; pegasi drop from the air, and unicorns cannot perform their magic reliably. They devour those they slay, and their magic with them."

"Celestia and I have slowed their advance from afar, but the effort is costly and unproductive. The troops on that front lose half their number daily. Half their number, Applejack. Unacceptable casualties. We can fight dragons, we can fight minotaurs, but this army of demons we cannot fight." She looked at Alexi, flanked by the gigantic man in his glittering armor. "Alexi tells me her people, these Sons, can fight and win against this enemy. She advises against everypony else at this table that to flee through time is ultimately suicidal and unnecessary. She tells me we should risk our greatest weapon, risk the last of the time we might have left to prepare the escape spell, and put our hopes in them."

"I do not believe Alexi Colven of the Federation lies to me, yet I am not certain if she speaks wisdom. I wanted the perspective of ponies who have worked with them. If I send them, can they stand against an army of the dead who tear magic to ribbons and devour all that is good?" There was slump to her shoulders now; Applejack could see it. This load was heavy on her.

"Your sister and my friend have gone to Earth; they may already be on their way with the great human destroyer. Our friends in the Tower may not have died and may simply be regrouping, speaking not to us for fear of being discovered before they can reach us. Perhaps the Zebras too will rise, or the Griffons turn now that they see what this war has made of Equestria. A few weeks might mean victory if we can survive them, and flight our utter defeat. Should Equestria play this gambit? Answer for us, and speak true. All of Equestria depends on your answer."

The room fell silent. Applejack turned her attention on Pinkie Pie for help, though she remained silent. It was very hard to see, but there seemed to be a little of a shake at her hooves, like the shiver of fear. There would be no giggling to make this disappear.

Applejack stared into the face of Captain Cigaal, his dark features strong and impassive. She saw the soldiers as they had moved in Appleloosa, the way they threw themselves into danger without hesitation or thought. She saw how fast they had reacted to the dragon's powers, shifting from one strategy to another until they conquered. She saw the millions of ponies outside of the Crystal Empire, either enslaved or soon to be. She thought about Rainbow Dash, and her sister, both of whom she would surely never see again if they moved forward in time. Yet those could not motivate her choice, or else it couldn't be honest.

"I don't know what sorta monsters these are. I don't know what kinda ponies got locked up down in Tartarus, least not the upper parts." She turned a little to face Cigaal. "I know them, though. I reckon there ain't nothin' they couldn't fight and win. I saw 'em kill an entire army of griffons and minotaurs, biggest meanest types you ever did see, without losin' a pony. I saw 'em kill a dragon." She nodded, growing more confident. "We can do it, Princess. Don't matter if we can't use magic; we'll stop 'em."

She saw strange expressions on the faces of the ponies in the room. Some looked angry, others afraid. Still others seemed to smile at her, as though relieved that at least somepony had a little backbone. Cigaal met her eyes, and in them Applejack could see something she hadn't seen there before. His face might be dark, but that expression warmed her like sunshine. It was respect.

"Can you do it?" Luna wasn't speaking to her anymore, her attention turned on Cigaal. "Can your Sons halt their advance and destroy this abominable army?"

Cigaal did not bow, not even a little. He did nod though, with great respect. "I am not the Prophet," he began, "may peace be upon him." He straightened, his head so high it brushed the ceiling. "But God willing, my sons will do this thing. For you we will send these demons back to hell."

Enrique Rodriguez Antonio De Muerte Vasco was not happy to have been woken so early in the morning. More precisely, he was unhappy to be woken so little of the way through his twelve-hour sleep cycle. Humans isolated from sunlight for long periods naturally shifted from a twenty-four to a thirty-six hour cycle, and Enrique like everyone else in Alajuela bunker was not exposed to real sunlight anything like often enough to alter his circadian rhythms.

The single hammock in the watchman's quarters of the very highest occupied level of Alajuela bunker was not quite long enough for Enrique's gangly form, which meant that no position was quite comfortable. As he shambled half-asleep and blind through the rehearsed steps of preparing for a visit to the surface, he could fantasize of nothing more alluring than the faded red nylon of the hammock.

But deep down he knew that there was no mistake he would regret more once he was awake. Living in the bunker was the very definition of dull, a world where nothing ever changed and survival was only just attainable. Being one of the watchmen, the cowboys, was a unique prestige only a few could earn. Even so far from any population centers the radiation outside meant that even in protective gear any individual could only travel outside sparingly, with visits into the ruins that had once been Alajuela almost impossible for the phenomenal levels of radiation that waited there. You might be able to walk there, but even with the most hardy strains of Nanophage you would be dead three times before you made it back.

The cowboys did not tend to livestock, since of course there were no large animals alive anywhere near the bunker. They were scavengers, watchmen, and soldiers all in one. It was a competitive and highly sought-after position, one that would be lost to him forever if he went back to sleep now.

So however much he might want to go to bed, Enrique ignored that desire and went through the routine of preparation. He showered in a high pressure blast of cleansing almost-water, dressed in a faded jumpsuit that was too tight at his wrists and ankles, and sat down to breakfast in front a cracked display. He hardly even felt the disgust as he ate an entire plate of insect paste on bean crackers. He might've gagged the first few times he had eaten such things, but no longer. A few decades of similar food had a way of helping you adjust. Besides, the report flashing across the screen was so fascinating that he probably wouldn't have noticed if someone had switched his sandwiches for cardboard.

Apparently something large had passed through the radar-detection area of Alajuela. It matched no specifications in the computer for any Tower or Federation craft, which might suggest it belonged to unaffiliated scavengers, except for the fact that it had apparently appeared from nowhere. The footage from the entire network had been reviewed and the craft hadn't shown up anywhere, which the AI predicted meant the ship had been created by unaffiliated scavengers who had access to a cloaking device and had built the ship somewhere it couldn't be seen.

Of course, even more interesting than the idea of scavengers bold enough to fly into a city as heavily irradiated as Alajuela above them, was the fact that it had apparently taken some heavy damage. The camera that had been trained on that part of the Earth had not been watching for the ship, so the footage was vague and low-resolution. Still, once Alajuela's own sensors had detected it there were clear signs of weapons damage consistent with Federation weapons.

It must have had an impressive cloaking device for it not to fail until the poor ship was breaking apart. It had been heading straight into the old city and had crashed where it was far too hot for any living human to ever walk and return, but as it disintegrated numerous objects had tumbled from it, some even gliding down with parachutes. There was something off about the suits they wore in the enlarged photographs the screen showed him, but it was hard to tell for sure if there was really anything out of place or it was just a trick of the image.

The screen briefed him on the locations he would need to visit, along with simple mission parameters: recover all the components that had fallen within survivable range, along with any passengers. Anyone he found, if alive, was to be treated as a potential enemy and restrained carefully. He would keep them in the upper-level quarantine until they were determined to be clean of infection, at which point his superiors would decide what to do. If they were contaminated or directly hostile, he was permitted to use lethal force.

This was the sort of mission that could make his career. Even as Enrique stepped up onto the assembly platform, even as the radiation suit was assembled around him by spindly robotics, he thought of the prestige he might earn for himself and his family if he brought someone in alive. In his imagination he worked up a picture of a fallen pilot, defected from the Tower with vital information that could lead to its final destruction. He would bring in the pilot, and the story would earn him and his family their seats on the next flight to Luna-Prime. There would be a medal on his chest, lots of media and ceremony, and a spot for him in Officer's Candidate School. Best of all, he would never have to see the rusting walls of Alajuela bunker again. It would be glorious.

There was nothing glorious about the ten-minute ride up the lift to the surface, the sound of thick steel doors opening and closing and the steady clanking of the teeth that would prevent the lift from tumbling should the power fail. He was as relieved as ever when he had reached the surface-level.

Lights came on as he emerged, illuminating a floor filled with vehicles of various shapes and sizes. He selected one, an automated hover platform with an integrated lifting crane, stepping aboard and snapping his boots into place. There were no controls; he simply sent the proper coordinates to the machine and how fast he wished the thing to travel.

The platform sent dust flying as it lifted, gliding smoothly onto a slightly raised platform and waiting there as hydraulics lifted him through a widening opening in the ceiling. Sunlight streamed down on him, making Enrique squint even despite the polarization of the facemask. For some reason he always expected the sky to be a sickly chemical gray, maybe with black clouds or mutated birds flying through the air, but what he saw was blue spotted with ordinary-looking cumulus clouds.

The sky was the only part of the world that looked the way the surface did in pictures and movies. The ground around the base of the platform was splotched with small shrubs, in browns and yellows and purples barely living. There were no birds, no animals at all save perhaps a hardy insect or two where he couldn't actually see them. This had once been a rainforest lush and beautiful; but none of the trees were anything more than skeletal remains. Many had fallen, but where they were a hazard previous cowboys had cleared them, at least in a path from where he stood to the road. Many stood strong still, as though they hadn't yet realized they were long dead.

Sometimes Enrique wondered if the situation was the same for humanity.

His hovercraft did not wait for him to reminisce, and accelerated rapidly through the corpse of the old rainforest. He did not need to react as the hovercraft swerved and dodged its way to the road. Asphalt was cracked and rotting in the moisture of the jungle, but the hovercraft didn't mind. On a curtain of high-pressure air anything approximately flat was equally suitable. Without large rocks and fallen trees to avoid they accelerated to great speed. Greater than Enrique was comfortable with without gripping the crane's arm as tightly as he could for support, at any rate.

He did not relish these visits to the surface for the scenery. The road took them past what had been suburban sprawl, first outlying villages and then towns before the city proper, all of them in various stages of decay. Trees did not sprout in the gutters and crush the walls with their roots, and there were no birds roosting inside with the help of broken windows. Only a thin, spidery ivy grew on anything, as well as a few different species of lichen that were resistant to the radiation. Insects could not live in any great numbers, though he saw a few skittering about in the empty buildings.

Every fresh visit Enrique prayed he might see something larger, perhaps a rat or a bird overhead. It would be a sign that the Earth was healing itself, that anything the people here had done to begin repairs was making a difference. He hadn't yet, nor had any of the other cowboys. Nobody wanted to believe it, but every new visit only confirmed; it might be tens of thousands of years before the surface was habitable again. Unless some revolutionary new technology became available in the interim, his children for many generations to come would likely live on a diet of insects and hydroponic produce fed on waste and corpses.

The first components he found were only a little strange. The computer identified one as a significant fragment of a plasma weapon, and several large plates as chunks of hull armor. Only the letters labeling the parts could not be identified, each written in some pictographic alphabet neither he nor the computer could recognize. A query was sent immediately to the Latin American Regional OMICRON Processor, but Enrique still hadn't received a response when he came upon the bodies.

It was good to see they were wearing full pressure suits, or else their chances of survival would have been slim in the toxic air. Yet as he drew closer to the clearing, he saw what had been blurry and indistinct from the satellite's perspective and almost could not believe what he was seeing. Yet the computer confirmed there were no active transmissions nearby, not even a possibility the fallen passengers could be doing something to his senses. His eyes were organic besides, not prosthetic, so it wasn't as though even a talented hacker could deceive him there. Holograms?

Enrique parked the hovercraft and hopped to his boots with a thunk, slinging the SAR from his shoulders and advancing slowly towards the fallen bodies. All his scanners came back clean; no holograms or projections seemed to be at work here. The bodies were scattered across about a hundred meters or so of open ground, parachutes flapping uselessly in the wind and dragging through the sand.

He neared the closest of the figures without any sign of struggle or motion. There were no explosions, no concealed drones, nothing even remotely dangerous. He could hear the quiet wheezing of the ventilator in the suit. "Hello?" he called over every standard radio frequency. "Are any of you alive?" He stood still and waited for a response, though of course none came. He did not wonder long why.

These fallen bodies weren't human, not even close. The suits were built for a four-legged species, each limb that emerged from the tangle was a leg ending in a boot, not a glove. Were they large dogs, perhaps? Or some species of feline? The boots were almost completely flat their interior curvature failing to suggest a feline or canine anatomy. Some sort of horse, perhaps? Yet they were far too small to be adults. Enrique had never seen a horse before, but he pulled up a few images of foals from the mesh and found these creatures were too stocky to match well. The legs weren't thick enough, the head a little too squashed.

Yet when he circled the fallen creature to the faceplate, he found the apparently resting face to be highly equine in suggestion, the coat a healthy pinto that even matched one of the images the computer had summoned for him.

There was no trace of footprints around the bodies in the mud and dirt, no sign that any of them had moved much after landing or that there were bodies missing he did not see. But then, why would someone make such a point to get their pets to safety if they weren't going to be there to take care of them? It wasn't as though the pressure suits would keep them forever. A day perhaps, assuming they could get the right drugs afterwards to mitigate the cancer risk and redevelop the damaged tissues. Enrique had heard somewhere that horses were fairly smart, that they could navigate familiar territory well and always find their way home. Was there somewhere safe these creatures would know to wander to if they woke up? Should he wait until they awoke and follow them?

Horses might be able to navigate to some familiar home, but he doubted they would be able to fight their way out of the tangled parachutes. It was hard to imagine them doing anything other than struggling against the tight bonds of the suits. Ultimately he decided against that plan; if his superiors wanted, they could always release the creatures from the bunker and follow them then. It wasn't as though a mile or two would make a difference.

On a whim, Enrique queried their suits on the standard data frequencies. All five responded with signals sent from a standard Federation microprocessor, one common to life-support situations. All five told much the same story, in English. He didn't speak nearly enough English to understand the words, but the computer did, and quickly translated. The suits were made for high-altitude skydiving of all things, but they had detected the radiation outside and switched to the internal air supply, which was rapidly dwindling. Each one of the occupants had multiple injuries; many of which were probably from their landing. They had a few more hours of air, if they were very lucky. Their prospects were not good if they were left out here, even if they did somehow regain consciousness.

Enrique ordered the suits to administer a sedative for transport, and each reported they had complied. The creatures were light enough to lift without the crane, even in their suits. None reported spinal injuries, so he was just careful not to cause any as he lifted each onto the hovercraft and tied them down beside steel plates and the other salvaged parts he had discovered. None of them stirred as he moved them, not even a twitch.

Granted, the glimpses of the faces he saw did unnerve him a little. The first might've been close enough to equine that he could pass it off as such, but the others had coats that bespoke either intense effort with dying and artificial coloration or else genetic manipulation well beyond what any sane person would invest in for their pets. These days it was all about more efficient crops and animals that could survive in irradiated environments. Considering the suits had already reported these individuals were suffering the early stages of mild radiation poisoning, Enrique suspected that possibility was right out.

So he sent back what he had seen to the central computer, and went about the normal duties of a cowboy. His search for salvage was over, though. Almost immediately after sending his initial report he received instructions to return and treat the animals for their injuries. Further salvage could wait until they were securely treated and locked away in isolation.

So he drove right back to the bunker, a little disheartened to have his expedition ended so abruptly and not to have found the real pilots of the ship. All the way back he tried to figure out why the ship's pilots might have taken such pains to save their animals without jumping themselves. Surely if they had access to the raw materials to make such new-looking pressure suits they had gear for themselves as well. Where had they gone? They had to know that the ship's trajectory would take them into uninhabitable city, and that there would be no return if they rode it all the way down.

He eventually settled on the same hypothesis as the computer: the human pilots had jumped earlier, possibly wearing personal cloaks. Even if there was another bunker within walking distance, they would still eventually want their property and come looking for Alajuela. Though the entrance he used was carefully concealed, there was another, public access not far away, one with all sorts of security and seals. Nobody had used it in years, but that would have to be where the real pilots would go when they wanted their animals bad enough. It seemed a safe assumption they wanted them, seeing as they had invested a fair amount of resources making suits to keep them alive in the fallout.

Enrique kept his hands on his accelerator all the way home, watching the HUD for any signs of motion that might signal an ambush to recover the animals. Nothing happened, which hardly surprised him. If the pilot of that ship had the time to set up an ambush, why wouldn't he or she have just recovered the animals and been done with it? It wasn't as though he would've fought for salvage if its owner was still alive.

Once inside, he drove the platform to the very edge of the lift, unloading the little passengers one at a time onto the lift that would take them into the station proper. He was glad they were so small, since that would mean he wouldn't have to take multiple trips.

Enrique sat quietly beside the fallen forms of the strange animals, trying to read some clue as to what they might be from the faint pictographic letters written into the suits. Unfortunately, staring intently did not simply will understanding into being, and the central computer had nothing either. An information request had already been made to Lunar Command, but that might very well take days. Enrique had no better idea than most about what was going on up there, but everybody knew it was something. The president hadn't said anything about it, but hadn't the Aegis been seen in lunar orbit? What was the Martian flagship doing so far from home?

Maybe, just maybe, it had something to do with these apparently genetically engineered animals and the ship they had been flown on. Yet, of anywhere they could have visited, why here? The ruins of Costa Rica held no strategic targets, no significant population centers and no large-scale research or manufacturing areas. It made no sense as an attack or as a movement of allies. Central computer still thought it was independent scavengers somehow, and Enrique had no reason to disagree. If only their owners would hurry up about getting here so he could learn why they had gone to such trouble to make such apparently useless creatures.

Decontamination had always been a pain, particularly when he had cargo. Enrique discovered he had never really learned the full extent of how awful the decontamination process could be. Scrubbing his own armor, stripping out to the jumpsuit and scrubbing some more, was made all the more awful when he had to do it several times an hour.

The process was as meticulous as it was painstaking: clean himself under the showers and foam as he normally would, but then slip into a sterile jumpsuit and take one of the animals into the shower. The creature, little more than deadweight, offered no help at all. He had to do for them exactly what he normally did for himself, scrubbing the suits first and then the animals underneath with disinfectant, careful to miss nothing.

Strange creatures they were, too. With their suits removed, there was no mistaking them for Earth equines, not past a few minor similarities. They were too small, their bodies failing to match horses in just about any way. Of course, he didn't worry about it all that much as he washed them, concentrating instead on the traditional folk music he played as loudly as the speakers would allow.

It took three hours to get each of the strange animals stripped and cleaned and into the medical lab. At the computer's direction, he selected one and lifted it from one of the cots and onto the examination table, careful not to twist or bend the little animal the wrong way. After such a thorough washing, he had at least learned one thing: these animals hadn't been dyed. That meant the green coat on this thing was completely natural, right along with the mane and tail like sunshine. Of course, nothing was as striking as the little image of the earth on either of its flanks. That settled the genetic engineering question quite handily.

"I thought most of what we did with genetic engineering was about culturing crops; what sort of crop is this?" Enrique did not need to address the computer directly for it to understand that he was asking a question. It wasn't as though there was anyone else here.

The response came immediately, the Spanish so flawless it lacked soul. "Precision alteration at the level required to produce this body would be outside the capability of any known power or nation." As the scanners flashed and glowed over the unconscious animal, data began filling the holospace above it. Enrique didn't understand any of it, and as usual had to ask for instructions from the computer.

"How is the patient?"

"Heavy bruising near the elongated bone spur protruding from the head, and symptoms of a mild concussion. Evidence of internal damage consistent with acceleration injury. Radiation poisoning consistent with a dosage of approximately 40 rads over a few hours. Intervention not required."

Enrique moved his hands through the field, expanding the holographic projection of this first patient so that he could watch as data gradually filled it. "Excuse me? That sounded serious; where are the medical androids?" He looked to the opening in the wall from which they always came, but there was no sign of motion. "Even if it is just an animal, we're not going to just leave it to live or die on its own, right? Those aren't our orders."

"Intervention not required," the computer said again. Enrique opened his mouth to argue, but as he did he saw the intricate lacework of orange lines snaking through this animal like veins, except for in the head, where they were so thick any other data that might've been displayed there was completely lost. "Repair already underway. Patient is fully integrated with Neuroboost Nanophage strain, and will be repaired."

Enrique gaped down at the sleeping form, enlarging the brain section of the image so that he could look at the various clusters of light in detail. With such a focus on the internal structure, the scan was almost indistinguishable from a human brain. He might not have known better if the subject wasn't unconscious on the table in front of him. "I thought there weren't any nonhuman Nanophage strains... Why Neuroboost? Why would you..." He took a step back from the table, eyes wide. "Were they trying to make it smart? One of those uplift experiments maybe, like what they tried with cetaceans?"

"A likely hypothesis."

"But how- no. Send an Ident query signal. Maybe the implant will give us the name of whoever owned these things..."

"Affirmative response. Patient identified as Dr. Kimberly Colven, female, aged 41. Federation citizenship record number: US-299170101LU-G4. Local Reference: Luna-7. Current assignment: RESTRICTED"

He couldn't help it. Enrique laughed. Like every member of his family, his laughter was deep and raucous, shaking through his whole body. He even thought he noticed the little animal twitch. "Okay, who's screwing with the computer? Whatever the joke is... You got me!" He turned around, spreading his arms wide. He expected his friends and fellow cowboys to emerge from the doorway, perhaps carrying bottles or some small bowl of flan to share. The computer remained silent as well, which meant the only sound was the breathing of the animals he had brought in and so laboriously sterilized.

His smile faltered a little. "Computer, give me a local buffer reset. Full shutdown and reboot, got it?"

"One moment." The glowing terminal to his right went dead. He checked the signal with his own Nanophage (much less expensive than a Neuroboost) implants to be sure the reset had been accomplished. The computer responded in the affirmative. Yet the holospace above the patient remained as it had been, unchanged. He even panned through the data, selecting a few meaningless fields to be completely certain a still image hadn't been left in the buffer. It responded exactly as it should. Nobody would go to these lengths to fool him, would they? If they weren't real, these animals had to be sophisticated robots, made to simulate respiration and resist water. No way Alajuela had the resources to waste on a practical joke this elaborate.

"Ready."

Enrique cleared his throat. "Was the reset successful?"

The question was pointless; his implants had already confirmed the answer. But the computer didn't care. "Yes."

"And what were we doing?"

"Conducting an evaluation of patient Kimberly Colven. Intervention not required."

He sighed. "This isn't a joke?"

"Command not recognized."

"Shit, you're serious."

"Command not recognized."

Enrique closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths before responding. There was absolutely no reason he ought to get upset with the central computer; it wasn't a GAI capable of human-level responses. As sophisticated as it might seem, it could still only obey direct commands as it received them. "Computer, my patient is not a 41-year-old human woman. Obviously the implants are giving us forged information." He shook his head, moving his hands through the air until he found the image on file for Dr. Colven and enlarged it. The woman might've been pretty if she was smiling, though she didn't look forty-one. But then, in the age of nanomedicine was there anyone who actually looked their age?

"Forgery not possible; deviceID and genetic profile both match lunar records."

"Wait." Enrique closed the distance to the animal resting on the examination table. "You're telling me this thing has a matching genetic profile to the one on Luna?"

"Affirmative."

"So this Colven woman has a nonhuman genetic profile?"

"Affirmative." There was a brief surge of energy, the lights going out for a split-second and then lighting up again. Such disruptions were rare, but not beyond his realm of experience. Usually that meant there had been a problem with the main reactors, and the backup system had been engaged.

He swore again, though more quietly to himself than a shout. "Could you ask Luna-7 what we should do with their missing horse-scientist, then?"

"Unable to comply; long-range transmission equipment is offline."

"Since when?"

"Main antenna went offline approximately five seconds ago."

Enrique glowered at nothing in particular. It was going to be one of those days.