“War is hell. Death, suffering, despair. Yet there is glory to, a shimmering reward that looks best from afar. When the cost it extracts are unseen. Still, for all the blood and suffering it demands, glory itself is intoxicating unless you resist. I have been given decorations, awards, I have ridden at the head of parades and stood before cheering throngs. And each time amid the adoration and chanting of my name; I have tried to remember those that served with me. The legions of brave men and women, ignored by glory whose only legacy for combat and struggle, is pain and death. Glory is fickle selecting some as its children and disregarding others. The victorious fleet commander becomes a national hero, the captain of a vessel collects combat awards medals. The ship has a class named and is immortalized, the gunners of that target enemy ships are cheered for their steady eyes and hands. Yet in the bowels of the ship, braving radiation and heat, and deadly dangers are the engineers. It is they who keep the gunners batteries working through damage, and the stress of battle. It is they who give the captain the engine power he needs, to make sure the admiral's fleet is ready to do as he commands. So let me share the glory that I have received in far greater share than I deserve, and join me in a silent thanks. To those too often unheralded men and women in the engine rooms, and snaking access tubes. As much as any who serve the true arbiters of victory.”

From the commentaries of Rance Barron.
Captain of the NACS-224498 SB-003 Leathy
80 AC (After Contact)

===========================================

(Ship's Medical Bay - SSGT, Fallon - NACS Manitoba - 105 AC )

When I enter the sickbay, I can't help but notice the medical team practically falling over themselves to compare and work on the Equestrian. I was damned surprised that she survived having her lower half crushed by a lanky. A testament to their sturdiness, and was even more so that one of my own crew went over to save her.

Our head doc seems to think that her biology is close enough to a regular horse where it counts, that our medication should work on her. He's already planning on using the tank but from the looks of it, it won't help much, if she survives she probably won't walk again with those legs. It's a little odd, but this is the first time I've gotten to see one of them out of Uniform. They really aren't too different than us when it comes to build.

I glance at Fick who stands beside the pony’s cot. I almost want to tell him to go get some rack, but I know better. No one's sleeping. Especially since the bugs are visiting. I look at the ceiling and think about that. Changelings. We met some of them on the colony, but this is the first time seeing their ship up close. It's also the first time getting to see their Queen, even if it's through a virtual meeting. She's certainly different than some of the brass. There's an arrogance to her, but I've got to figure that's pretty much par for any member of royalty.

But the resistance general, or whatever they call him archeo magus I think is an alright guy. We ran a blood scan and found that he is the descendant of one of the original Camelot Marines. Cuban Blisk is hard in all the correct places, and harder in the rest. He would fit in well with any Podhead group, and if you were to give him an up to date set of battle armor, and a newer M-66 no one would be able to tell the difference between him and any other soldier.

The archeo magus is currently with the skipper in the ward room discussing something above my pay grade. Currently preoccupied, I walk over to the closest medical cot and lay the sleeping blond in my arms down on the bed beside Miiora’s. I have never been more grateful for thrust gravity than I am right now because I think strapping Charlotte down would wake her up, but I doubt it. With my best friend in the bed, I call over the closest corpsman and tell him to work. To his credit he does not shit himself when a power armored MOTH tells him to do something.

A hiss catches my attention and I turn to see Miiora sitting up in her bed holding her PDP. Beside her a Mirialos works on her leg, it makes some kind of sense that the Mirialos are working as non combatants. They arent fighters, but when it comes to stuff like this, medical work and science, forget about it. The crab girl works some kind of gun with her three fingered hand, while holding an IV of some kind with the uppermost pincer on the same hand.

“How's the leg?”

Her left eye goes from her PDP and looks at me. Having been around Miiora for the better part of a year and a half, I feel like I have gotten quite adept at reading her body language. Her race doesn't have the same facial expressions we do, and what little they do have are very hard to read. But I don't need any of this stored knowledge to know she is upset about something.

I notice her glance toward the pony. She doesn’t say a word, and honestly she doesn’t have to. She and her family were slaves, and the Equestrians were the ones who had enslaved them. Even if that Equestrian did help stand against the lankys it wasn’t like that one act was going to undo the damage the Equestrians had done to her people. What she felt wasn’t lost on me. Ages ago humanity had gone through similar issues. Various ethnic groups held long term grudges against other ethnic groups because of something that had happened ages before they were born. Riots, hate crimes, social turmoil had broke out because of those grudges.

I wasn’t going to tell Miiora to shelf what she felt toward the Equestrian, but I knew that I would help to remind her that the Equestrian we had on board wasn’t the same one that had kept her as a slave. he looked back at me, and I could see turmoil she had storming inside of her. Working together, being together, had allowed me to have real peek into how she she wore her expressions.

“It feels, wrong,” she looked at me as she spoke, and then she almost looked down, “Having one that had served as a master on the same vessel.”

I nodded, “But she wasn’t a master, right?”

Miiora looked at me for a moment, and then I saw the comprehension take hold.

“No, she wasn’t directly,” she looked back at her, “Still, this one… I, I’m not sure I can be more than professional around her.”

A slight grin crossed my lips, “Not asking more than that.”

Sitting there, looking at the Equestrian, I couldn’t help but think back to something I had been told by one of the teachers I looked up to. He was supposed to teach us government regulated reading materials. Basically what was designed to ensure that we questioned the actions of the government very little, listed openly, and accepted fully. I’m glad that he threw the lesson disks in the trash and instead taught from a small collection of old books he’d had. Most of them were fiction, ancient tales about knights, dragons, wizards, the kind of stuff that fuels a kid’s imagination and let it run wild. But it was what he said to us that made me stop and think.

“Everybody has one thing. Just one, that instantly tells them what their life is about. In that moment they know the secret to their life,” I remembered him smiling before looking back at us, “For me, it was realizing that I could teach all of you to question authority, to think for yourselves, to be more than cogs in a machine that would grind you up and throw you away. I don’t know what it will be for the rest of you, but I want you to look for it. Long after this class, long after I’m gone, I want you to find what is the secret for your life.”

I guess he knew what was coming eventually. He oversaw our entire education. I had him right through my final grade in my secondary education. There was fifty of us that graduated, another hundred that was in various grades behind us, and he taught all of us how to think and question things. Or, at least he did before they came and took him away. I tried to find out what happened to him, but the records were sealed. I heard stories though. That PRC Housing block, that section I grew up in, was heavily monitored by the city’s government on all levels. Since he’d created no less than a hundred and fifty individuals that could ask why things were the way they were… Well, he had no place in that section.

I’d like to think that he was relocated, but I’ve got a feeling that he was liquidated. It wasn’t a common practice, and certainly not every block, or section, did it, but those heavily monitored did practice it more often. Still, I listened to his advice. I went searching. I searched in the military, and while I’m good at what I do, I know that the service isn’t my calling. I’m not sure how I realized it, but when this Equestrian did everything she could to stop that Lanky from getting that civilian kid… It clicked. She was important. Maybe not the one thing that I’m meant to do, but certainly someone that I’m meant to know.

“Odd.”

I looked toward the doc, “What’s odd?”

He checked her again, “I… I can’t explain it, but the damage that was done to her was fairly extensive. Yet, it would almost appear that her body is attempting to heal itself. Not like a normal body does, but actually it appears as if the cells are trying to restructure themselves.”

He laughed, “Were this a mere… three hundred years ago people would have swore it was some kind of magic.”

=========================================================================
Changeling Homeworld- Conference Quarter - Queen Chrysalis - 105 AC

I can hear the sound of the chittering of my subjects. Naturally they’re excited, not that I blame them. Humans, unlike the Equestrians, think more like we do. They see a reason, a need, and they seek to fill that need. I will freely admit that I had miscalculated my attempt to overthrow Celestia, that my taking Cadence’s form had been… a trifle… too far. In truth it would have been far better to play the longer game, but when my subjects, and myself, were starving there little time for the long game. I needed to fill our reserves.

Of course, I have found that the love from a human is just as satisfying, and unlike the Equestrians there is no worry of corrupting them, or enthralling them. They are actually naturally immune to that kind of magic. My only guess would be it is how their emotions differ from the Equestrians themselves. I hear the sound of the head of the ship we’re meeting with. He sounds confident, and that is good. I want him to be. I wouldn’t trust my subjects being on his ship if he was anything less. My own eyes glance toward my human guard, my confidant, my lover.

I will admit that his… fetish about rutting a royal is adorable. Plus, I don’t have to pretend that I’m enjoying it. Unlike with Shining Armor. He was a measly two hump champ. To this day I can’t understand what it was that she saw in him. Not that it matters. Hearing of their deaths have certainly pleased me. I’ve considered taking her form, one last time, when we capture Celestia. Transforming into her beloved niece, holding a inhibitor ring, placing it onto that horn of hers, and then allowing all of the slaves that want a turn at their former master to do so before I grant her the sweet release of death. Oh, but I won’t grant it quickly… No, I want the humans to aid in it.

When it comes to creativity… I’ve found that humans are quite adept at creating new and impressive ways of terminating an enemy.

=========================================================================
Aryanne’s Dreams - Germaneigh - Marelin - 01AC
=========================================================================

“REJOICE! I PRINCESS CELESTIA SOLIS HAVE COME TO BRING YOU TRUE HARMONY!”

The thundering sound of the voice of the Equestrian Princess hurts my ears. I look at Kyrie, my sister, as she hugs her rifle. The two of us were placed in the bell tower, snipers, our job was simple, and yet it was the most impossible job given. We were to weaken our would be saviors by eliminating some of their guards. I slowly moved, getting into position. I wanted to shout not to do this. I remembered what happens. I remembered every moment of what happens! The bolt slid so easily. I heard the shell as it enters the chamber. It moved forward with the precision and grace few have ever really known.

Click

I worried that the sound was enough to attract the Solar Diarch’s attention. Although I knew it was a baseless worry. I scoot forward, looking down the scope, seeing the Princess’ head come into view. It would be simple to take her. A single shot, right below her horn. She was giving me the perfect opportunity, but it wasn’t her I was to aim for. Slowly, my aim shifts and I focus on an orange stallion. He’s a Pegasus, his blue mane and tail are stark contrasts to his coat. I had heard he was selected as the consort for the newest Princess. I needed for him to stop, for just a moment. The shot had to be perfect. It had to paint the newest Princess’ dress with his blood.

There would be chaos, disorder, and of course the Führer would blame the radical group of traditionalists. She would promise that all that could be done, would be done, but perhaps it would be best if the Princesses were to remove themselves from our shores. For their own protection of course. He stopped, for a mere moment, and I smiled. My finger pulled the trigger, the echoing sound of my rifle left the tower behind the bit of lead meant to take the life of the consort, but it never hit him. Golden light surrounded her, Süße Küsse, our mother, and she is pulled in front of the consort. My eyes widen in horror as the shot meant for the consort enters below her eye. I wanted to scream as she fell, and the Princess that moved her dared to look concerned.

I looked to Kyrie, and like me she was horrified at what happened. We had no choice. Quickly we left, heading out our escape route, destroying all evidence of our being there, and along the way the two bodies of two gryphons, mercenaries the Princesses brought with them, were left with the rifle I used.

We reached the comforting darkness of the alley, and I could keep it inside no longer.

“NEIN!!!!!!!!!!”

========================================================================

SSGT Fallon - NACS Manitoba - Medical Bay- 105 AC
========================================================================

“NEIN!!!!!!!”

“Fuck, sedate her!” the ship's Doc orders. He runs over from his newest patent a private from the third whose arm had been removed, and begins attempting to strap the mare down. However the mare appears to be too powerful for him to strap down alone and like he was reading my mind the middle aged man turns to me.

“You MOTH, your not doing anything, get over here and hold her down.”

I pull my arm from Miiora’s unconscious grasp and stand up. “Got it.”

The mare is thrashing around like she is possessed, like she is wracked with some kind of nightmare. Her lower half is completely useless, lying inert on the table but her arms swing at anything and everything that is within range. Her IV has been thrown out by the time I get over to her, and there are two other rather big marines attempting to pin her arms down.

She looks like she is about to break free when I walk up and simply place my armored hand against her chest. Any attempts to get up by the strong earth pony are met with the much stronger servos of my power armor, and she lays flat on the table. Now with her torso pinned I use my other hand to pin one of her arms allowing the Doc to use the metal safety restraints and sedate her.

“Thanks, that could have ended badly.”

“No problem man.”

I raise my fist in a nod and return to my spot beside Miiora and Charlotte. With Chief Burban Jack in the medbay missing a leg, and Bishop our leading petty officer dead, i'm not really surprised I don't have any orders. I wonder who is going to be put in that position? Face Hopper maby… no he died when we first got into this system.

“Hey doc. How long until Miiora is back on her feet… claws… talons, whatever?”

“Two days. At most, tyerians heal very quickly.” The mirialos says, from her position next to another tymerian across the room.

“Damn.”

“Why, is that a bad thing?” Fick asks with a raised eyebrow. Glancing passed my bulk and to the now sleeping form of Miiora.

“Its not not her if that's what you are thinking. Its that I have to spend the next two days with Trombley, and my team is only at half strength.”

“Actually your replacements should be arriving from the Nostromo soon so don't worry.”

=========================================================================
Miiora’s dreams
=========================================================================

Looking overhead so much crosses my mind. My... how long was it that I thought in third person? That I was lead to believe that I was not a sapient being.

Yet here I am, lying in bed, newly mated. My eyes drift to Fallon. He is beside me, and I feel him wrapping his arms around me. Charlotte called this... spooning. It's actually nice. I let my tail lazily wrap around his right leg.

I feel my breathing deepening, my entire self is relaxing, and that is good. As we lay beside one another my mind wanders. Family, a powerful word in its own right, is everything to my people. I am here, working with the others, as part of this force, in order to protect countless families. It is work I am proud to do, but I feel almost guilty that I want the same. I want a family. And that leaves me wonder if Avery Fallon and I will be able to make one.

I've heard of adoptions. Taking in those younglings who have no one else, and again I feel it is worthy and noble to do so, but part of me wishes for a youngling of my own flesh. I feel Fallon's slightly cold metallic hand drift, he makes the little circles that I like, and I know that he has figured out how to play me. He is the artist and I am the instrument.

My body begins to respond, I feel the more primal side of myself taking hold. The one true thought taking hold. Claim this male, mate with him, produce his brood, protect and claim. I groan, my hips move slightly.

"Mmmm."

I let out a soft hiss, "Need you... now."

=========================================================================

SSGT Fallon - NACS Manitoba - Squad quarters - 105 AC
=========================================================================

When I finally get back to my birth after an extensive debriefing, and thorough scrubbing of both my self and my power armor I am virtually a zombie. When I enter the birth I am expecting to see Trombley’s shit all over the place, and him watching some Network garbage. But instead the lance corporal is asleep in his rack and the room is clean. This isn't the strangest thing either, because when I kick off my boots and am about to crawl into my bunk I see that the third bunk over Trombly has some kind of big ass drapes dangeling down from the bunk one above his.

Wait drapes aren't that long, and there not furry now that I think about it.

I am about to go outside and check the birth number when the door to the head slides open behind me. I turn around and I am amazed to see a familiar face.

“Levoy!?”

“Fallon!”