In Canterlot Castle, in the hallway before the entryway to Celestia’s throne room, a griffin hefted the large video camera he held. “Aurora News Network” was stamped on the side.

He was dressed in a blue t-shirt, a black PASGT helmet, and a flak vest with the word “PRESS” written on a piece of tape across the front.

He balanced the camera on his shoulder, using his right claw to hold the handle, and held out his left with all the talons out. Peering through the lense, he began to put down one talon at a time as he hissed, “Recording in 4…3...2…”

The human in front of him, dressed in USMC fatigues bare of any labels beyond “PRESS”, and carrying a small microphone, rapidly flattened his hair and nodded.

The griffin gave a thumbs up, and the human cleared his throat, “This is War Correspondent Hank Morgan reporting from Canterlot Castle. After a brutal engagement defending the city, Terran Alliance soldiers from four different branches of service and three different nations have won the day. What remains of the USMC 32nd MEU, along with the US Army 188th Airborne Infantry Regiment, the 1st Parachute Brigade of the British Army, and No. 41 Commando of the Royal Marines are currently providing security and humanitarian aid to the city.

“Most of the Mutan Imperial forces within the city limits have been routed through magical means, and the rest are attempting to evacuate the country, and potentially the surface of the planet with what few air assets they have left. Without proper air cover, these evacuation attempts are proving hazardous. The Royal Air Force, Soviet Air Forces, and United States Air Force have inflicted heavy casualties. The remainder are expected to surrender within the next week at best.”

Morgan gestured with one hand behind at the crowd standing before the doors, from which they were a few dozen meters away.

“Behind me you can see the throne room of Queen Celestia, leader of Equestria. Behind these doors the first arrangement between the Terran Alliance and the Kingdom of Equestria is currently underway. Representatives from the United States, the Soviet Union, the British Empire, the French Republic, the Netherlands, and the German Empire are attending the session.”

Turning around, Morgan stated, “As you can see, the Royal Guards are keeping a strong barrier between the doorway, the various escorts of these representatives, as well as any and all reporters.”

Including the Royal Guards, there were seven different types of uniforms. The Royal Guards stood to either side of the doors, their muskets pointed at the ceiling but ready to sweep down at a moment’s notice.

The remaining six uniforms were the dress uniforms belonging to the honor guards of the six national representatives. They stood in neat formations on either side of the hallway, leaving an open corridor in the middle. The crowd in front of the corridor consisted of two dozen reporters from a dozen newspapers, and one TV network. There were a few score random officials from the nations.

“They have been in session for several hours now, and--”

The locks on the entryway clunked, and a ripple went through the crowd.

“Here they come,” Morgan said, “Mackey, c’mon!”

The camera was jostled as they shoved their way through the throng, getting as close as they could before a US airborne soldier stopped them.

The doorway opened, and out filtered a dozen diplomats and heads of state.

Leading the group were Queen Celestia and Queen Luna, looking exhausted but presentable despite their recent captivity.

Much to the disappointment of the Alliance reporters, and the surprise of the Equestrian newspapers, the Terran diplomats had no ornate diplomatic uniforms. They wore simple business suits. The difference between each group was subtle, the cut of their outfits and the faces of the individuals.

A large green dragon and a human assistant followed the queens, and Morgan spoke into his microphone, “There’s Ambassador Elizabeth Allemand, the French ambassador…”

Next came a tall stiff human gentleman, his face stoney and calm, “That’s Silverclaw Romanovich, ambassador from the Soviets. Jesus, he scares me...”

A paradoxically short woman followed, looking around at the reporters and grimacing, “Okay, staying away from her, uh...that’s Ambassador Lauke Kiffer, the Netherlands. Mackey, be careful, I’ve heard she doesn’t like cameras…”

The camera adjusted in time to catch a griffin with an early 20th century mustache emerging, “Ambassador Baron Erich Von Weiskopf of the German Empire. Does he ever cut that thing?”

A clean-shaven younger human male, grimacing as he deliberately let the baron get ahead of him, stepped out, “Casey Holland, that’s our--I mean that’s the US ambassador. Man, what did Weiskopf do to him?”

An older man, the oldest second only to the queens, wearing a light pair of glasses, took one look at the two beside him and put a hand to his face. “Oh, Lord Bradley doesn’t like that. He doesn’t crack a smile at anything though, he’s the most British British ambassador they could hope for.”

Almost as if on cue, when all the ambassadors emerged, the reporters surged forward. The soldiers immediately fell into a new formation, trying to let them get close without risking some sort of attack.

At least one more physical than the bombardment of questions. “Your highnesses--over here--Ambassador--do you have any comment on--”

Morgan and Mackey shoved their way through, the camera obscured by moving bodies. It refocused in time to catch Celestia’s perplexed expression.

She walked closer to the men in US Marine garb, peering at the camera.

Morgan took the opportunity to elbow a pony jostling him and shove aside a human journalist from the New Washington Herald. He moved in as close as a stone-faced royal guard would allow him, and Mackey was right beside him.

“Queen Celestia,” Morgan said with a raised voice to be heard over the rest, “We’re a TV crew with the Aurora News Network. Can you tell us the results of this negotiation? What was agreed upon?”

Celestia furrowed her brow, somewhat confused as she looked from Morgan’s microphone to the camera, “I…”

“Just look at me, your highness, the camera’s getting everything you’re saying.”

The queen immediately became the picture of dignity again, “We have signed a nonaggression treaty with the nations of the Terran Alliance. We thank them for their aid in one of our most desperate hours. Without them, I doubt victory could have been achieved. In addition to this treaty, we have loaned them the land around their landing site, Utah Beach, for use as a military base as a deterrent against future Mutan Empire attacks.”

Ambassador Holland walked up to come into the camera view, “The United States military is happy to provide troops for this mission. It is hoped this agreement will lead to a formal alliance between ourselves and the Kingdom of Equestria.”

Ambassador Bradley cleared his throat, “Utah Beach’s operating personnel will consist of a multinational task force from the Terran Alliance taking soldiers from all six nations. To be clear, this is not an invading force, it will be a relatively small presence of soldiers. If the Changelings attack again, they will do all they can to help.”

Another torrent of questions rang out, and Celestia pointed at a pony reporter.

“Ambassador of the Terran Alliance, from what our sources have been able to gather, this coalition has existed for over 200 years. Why have you kept yourselves hidden for so long?”

Ambassador Allemand spoke up with an odd french accent, her claws behind her back and her wings folded, “When my ancestors first arrived on this world, there were but 1200 people aboard their ships. With superior technology, but limited supplies, they had to settle somewhere. They were lost and terrified by what they saw, the strange creatures and places on this world. They knew of no other human beings on this world, and did not want to lose what little they had. A policy was enacted that we would maintain total secrecy until we felt secure enough, or there was sufficient cause, such as those events of the past week, to force us into the light. We have done all we can to rescue any other human beings who have come to this world while also maintaining security.”

“Ambassador Allemand, are you not a dragon yourself?” Another equine reporter asked, “The Drakantos Empire, beyond a handful of campfire stories, knows nothing about you.”

Allemand shook her head, “I am not Drakan, I am French. One of my ancestors was a sailor in the service of the Second Drake Kingdom’s maritime forces. In the year 1817, he was rescued when his ship went down in a storm close to the future Terran Alliance. He decided to settle in the country, and my family has stayed there since.“

There was another bunch of questions, and Allemand gestured at a different reporter.

“Ambassador, how have so many species come to be in the Terran Alliance without breaking secrecy?”

Allemand replied, “Much the same way my ancestor did. While we maintain secrecy, we are not monsters. We rescue ships in distress when it is absolutely necessary. We offer the survivors a choice, to come home with us. Many of their crews over the years have chosen this option, as you may be able to tell from our ranks. Most, if not all, have become fully integrated into our society.”

“What happens to those who don’t want to come with you?” the reporter asked, “Where are they? How is it that with such a merciful policy that you have maintained secrecy? Surely if you left them alive--”

“I resent your implications,” Allemand said coldly, “I have said, ‘we are not monsters’. We do not kill those who don’t follow us. We take them home and release them. To ensure they did not speak of us, we would pay them off, or discredit them if they refuse. With our secrecy broken, this policy no longer exists. We will operate in the open from now on.”

“Will your spies reveal themselves?” One reporter spoke up, “How many do you have in Equestria?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss that information as of yet,” Allemand replied, “the Alliance is still reeling from the sudden exposure, and is currently revising various policies.”

She selected another reporter to speak, “Up until the first appearance of two humans several months ago, some believed humans to be an extinct species, while others believed humans to be a straight-up myth. The Terran Alliance has existed for only about 200 years, yet the stories of humanity date all the way back to the Uncertain Years. Why is that?”

Allemand’s face twitched, “From what we have been able to gather, the belief in humans varies wildly depending on the country and education. This is probably due to our own disinformation efforts. As to how long the myths have been around, it is clear the phenomenon that brought our people to this planet has been around that long.”

“Will there be trade or immigration with the Alliance territories?” A reporter called out.

“That will depend on the individual nations within our coalition,” said Allemand, “While we are united in some areas, the nations are still independent and each has their own immigration and trade systems.”

“Your highness,” Hank Morgan said, directing the camera at Celestia, “How do you feel about this whole affair? Equestria is a peaceful state, and the United States Marine Corps just helped trash it. Humanity has a history of violence, and the Alliance holds a massive technological advantage over your military. Aren’t you concerned?”

Celestia shook her head, “The Alliance only inflicted damage on Equestria in response to the Mutan Empire’s transgressions. The Marines were trying to help us, not destroy us. I understand humanity’s history. Despite our outward appearance, Equestria is not populated by pacifists. We understand violent histories. We also understand technological advantages.”

She swept her hoof toward the ambassadors, “These are not potential threats, these are not enemies. They are potential friends and allies. This is their first formal meeting with a government beyond their own planet. We have much to teach one another.”

Celestia turned to look at the representatives, and smiled, “People of the Terran Alliance, won’t you be our neighbors?”

Morgan blinked, temporarily speechless. He looked at Mackey, who shrugged. They looked at the other Terran Alliance reporters, many of whom had small grins on their faces.

Who knew if it was intentional?

Once the impromptu press conference was over, Celestia and Luna retired to the throne room.

“Has there been any word on M-- Sergeant Foster’s condition?” Celestia asked a nearby aide.

“Not as of yet, your highness.” the stallion replied, checking his clipboard.

Celestia nodded, “Find somepony to check on her. See if they need assistance.”

The aide nodded, and wrote something down.

Luna saw the look in her sister’s eyes, and put a hoof on her shoulder. Nodding at the aide, she said, “You’re dismissed.”

The aide nodded, and along with the guards, departed.

As the doors shut, Celestia squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing.

“Celie, she’ll be alright,” Luna said quietly, “She’s alive, and in good hooves.”

“I think you can understand why I’m uncertain about those hooves.”

Luna grimaced, “They have the most advanced medical facility on the planet, more advanced than even the humans. You saw how severe her injuries were. She would have lost half her limbs had she been in one of our hospitals.”

Celestia frowned, “Yes, I understand that.”

She looked out the stain glass windows at the city. The fires had been put out, and reconstruction was underway. Bulldozers moved rubble, helicopters and airships lifted construction materials.

The bridge between the castle and the town was still out. A large tracked vehicle was in the process of unfurling a new metal bridge that was supposed to be able to take more weight than the original could. And it was just a temporary solution.

“Celie...it was not your fault.” Luna said.

“It wasn’t?” Celestia snapped, “Luna, I put our entire nation in danger. I couldn’t see Chrysalis when she was right in front of me. I ignored one of the most valuable soldiers we had because I couldn’t separate my feelings about her from how I felt about Sunset...and I-- we nearly lost her.”

“We all made that mistake, Tia.”

Celestia’s nostrils flared, “But I was the one who ignored Melissa’s recommendations! I thought she was being paranoid, Lulu! If I listened to her, maybe all this destruction wouldn’t have happened! Maybe she wouldn’t have gotten hurt…”

She looked down at the bridge layer, and sighed, “...And now I find that we may be responsible for even more suffering.”

Luna’s eyes widened, “What? What do you mean?”

The queen of the sun pointed at the helicopters, and the humans she could see walking around the city, “Humanity has only been here for the past thousand years. Since the Uncertain Years. Perhaps millions of humans have been coming to our world over that time. Hundreds of thousands have most likely died, far from their homes and their families. Who knows how many encountered enemies as Andrew and Melissa did, but did not have any good fortune? Is it our fault? By delaying in confronting Discord, did he create the portals? Did--”

Luna put a wing around her sister, giving her a hug, “Tia, calm down! We didn’t conjure up a portal to summon them, did we? Remember what it was like back then? All the chaos, all the magic being unleashed? Whatever happened wasn’t our fault. What’s done is done. Bureau 13 did their best to try and find them. Even if they were unable to rescue any cosmic castaways, they at least recovered their stories. Their families will have closure. We’ve done our best, haven’t we?”

Celestia leaned against her sister, “Is that enough?”

XXXXX

Beep...Beep...Beep...

The pulsing tone rushed into Melissa’s senses as she awoke with a start, coughing and gagging, a terrible taste in her mouth. Swallowing only made it worse, her throat was quite dry. Light stunned her eyes, it was white and fairly soft. Shapes moving.

Before she even knew what she was doing, she had put her left arm on a bed rail, and was sitting up and trying to get out of bed. The blanket, and what felt like half a dozen cords moved with her. IVs and stuff she couldn’t identify.

“Oh shit!” someone said, “Nurse! Whoever! Someone!”

What felt like dulled claws started pushing her down as her vision started to clear. USMC uniform, BDU, urban camouflage. Odd shape though.

More shapes, large dark one.

“Sergeant, calm down!” spoke a voice she recognized but did not know.

She rubbed one eye with her right hand, and yelped with pain, then with anger as she caught sight of a black perforated body as the source of the voice.

“No, no no…” Melissa garbled, and with her good hand tried to punch the Changeling. The pulse of the heart rate monitor grew more frantic.

There was a blast of air around her face. It made her more aware. And realize she was wearing some sort of oxygen mask.

She sat up again, trying to pry the mask off in a panic.

Someone helped pull it off, and a third voice spoke, “Sergeant Foster, stop! You’re going to hurt yourself! Doctor Larynx, get away!”

“What? Look, you monkey--”

“She keeps panicking when you get near, so back away!”

Several sets of hands forcibly pushed her back.

“F...fuck off…” she garbled, swinging her fist and bumping into something.

“Sergeant!” the first voice snapped, and grabbed the fist, “You’re safe! It’s me!”

A navy blue coat of feathers came into view, a griffin’s upper body, wearing the uniform from earlier.

“Who…?” Melissa muttered, rubbing her eyes again. Her vision was clearing slightly, she could make out vague blobs. A human medic on one side, the griffin, and...a Changeling standing at the back wall.

“Corporal Ceres, ma’am,” the griffin said, “you had four-eyes steal my sidearm, remember? You’re at a combat support hospital, stop trying to hurt yourself!”

“Right...Ceres...where the fuck are we?”

“Combat support hospital, ma’am.”

“Bull-fucking-shit,” she snapped, grabbing him by the collar and pointing at the Changeling, “There’s a bug over there!”

“That’s a slur, right?” the creature asked, looking to the nearby medic, “They always say that.”

“It’s a Changeling combat support hospital, Sergeant,” the medic said, “Bravo Company’s convoy found them. They surrendered, and gave us the facilities so we can heal the casualties in exchange for sanctuary. Don’t worry, we’ve got them under control.”

“What? Why?” Melissa demanded, “Hell, why the flyin’ fuck do you bastards have facilities on the planet’s surface instead of the ship?”

The Changeling doctor, clad in what must have been their equivalent of scrubs, scoffed, “The things known hearabouts as ‘doctors’, and ‘surgeons’, barely know how to put your people back together, much less my own. And I don’t expect you to know how much fuel it takes to get something into space.”

“I think five kilograms of fuel for one kilo of stuff for us…” Melissa muttered, “Bug, trust me, I know. I’ve lost so many Kerbonauts because of my bad fuel calculations...”

She glanced around the room. It was some sort of ward in a tent, with a dozen or so beds lining both sides of the building. Almost all of them were filled, with wounded Terran Alliance, Equestrian, and Changeling soldiers being tended to. It seemed to be the recovery room, not many were making sounds of distress.

“Why am I in here anyway? I understand future technology, but…”

As she spoke, Melissa shifted in her sitting position, and winced. She rolled up her sleeve and looked at her hand, closing and opening her fingers. Along her forearm, where there had been torn skin and blood along an open gash was instead another gel-like sponge...thing, mounted to a plastic rig wrapped around the limb.

“You were among some of the badly wounded. You took a blast of shrapnel in your wrist and right leg,” the medic said, “Along with a…”

“Cracked rib, dislocated shoulder, bruises…” Melissa nodded, “I remember something--”

She inhaled sharply.

Her right knee wouldn’t bend. There was some sort of brace, it felt like.

Flickers of memory returned. Melissa lifted the blanket, and her heart sank. The leg was encased in some sort of brace, carrying what looked like a blue sponge covering the kneecap and several smaller ones covering other parts of the limb.

“W...what…? But...”

“The shrapnel missed your tibia, fibula, and femur, but your knee was shattered.” the medic said, “They had to replace it.”

Melissa slumped forward, holding the limb and snuffling. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry…

“Well fuck.”

The Changeling doctor’s eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at the medic, “What? What’s the problem?”

“My service is up, you interplanetary goat!” Melissa snapped, “My fucking knee is gone you stupid fucking fuckwhistle! ‘For to hump tent and pegs, a man needs both legs, no more waltzing Matilda for me’! fuck!”

The doctor put up his claws, confused, “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Why are you getting so upset?”

The marine stared at the doctor in utter confusion, “Who’s the primitive here, jackass? You know I only have two of these, right? An artificial one, even 3D printed to fit me, won’t get me back in the service! Fuck it, I had a good run but--”

The Changeling sighed with relief, and stepped back over, rolling his eyes, “Oh, by the emperor! You didn’t think we’d put anything like steel pins in there? Steel pins, staples,” he shivered, “Ugh, metal implants. By the emperor, even Earth was at least trying.”

Melissa glared at the Changeling, “You better start talking or I’m going to chop off your limbs, rip out your intestines, and ride you like a meat toboggan. What did you do to me?!”

The doctor actually chuckled at that image, sounding strangewith his alien voicebox, “We don’t use leeches or prayer around here. We saved your leg, and you’ll be running after a few months.”

Melissa gaped, looking at the medic, and to Ceres, “What?”

The medic explained, “It’ll be less like you got your knee replaced and more like a bad break.”

Ceres pushed his rolling chair back a bit, and pointed at his lower back leg. It was wrapped in another brace, shaped like a walking boot. “They did the same to me. The bones got cracked or chipped or something. They did some surgery, and tell me that I should be walking on it and back to work in a few months.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Hey, Doc bug, tell me exactly what you did.”

The doctor shook his head, preparing to walk away, “You wouldn’t understand, I’ve got to--”

“Cellular regeneration? Is that what this thing is? Or is it some sort of artificial bone? I’m going to assume that if I can walk, or run on it again it’s got shock absorbency to keep my bones from shaking themselves apart. Don’t judge me man, my society’s just less advanced, not primitive. Considering how I was able to figure out how your guns worked pretty quickly, I think I might be able to understand how you managed to fix my leg.”

The doctor sighed, “You think you can understand? Alright, I’ll tell you what we did. We pulled out the damaged bone and replaced it with a biodegradable ceramic scaffolding, which your osteoblasts colonize. It will serve the purpose of the bone for a few months, until your osteoclast cells eat away at it, and replace it with normal bone, as they would if you’d never gotten injured. Normally, your cells will do this with the natural bone, like workers replacing a brick in a building one at a time, and this effectively tricks your cells into thinking nothing's wrong, and to keep building business as usual.”

He smirked, confident that would confuse her enough to stop talking.

Melissa’s eyes widened, “Holy shit! That’s amazing! Sounds like a perfect kind of bone replacement! So just a few months of physical therapy, and I can jump and run and stuff?”

“Could you before?” the doctor asked, somewhat disappointed, “Oh, speaking of which, Petty Officer?” he glanced at the medic, “Help her up, we need to test the leg.”

Melissa immediately swung her legs out of bed, “Ow, ow, ow!”

The doctor rapidly went over, trying to help Melissa straighten out her leg, “By the emperor, enlisted are alike all over…”

Melissa’s left pant leg slid up a bit, revealing a gash...or where a gash used to be. Instead, there was a nice neat line, with a pair of white strips on either side running parallel to the closed wound. The strips were connected by dozens of plastic zip-tie-like pieces across the wound, holding it shut.
The marine reached out to touch it, then pulled her hand back, “Well, looks like you guys don’t do stitches anymore. Zip Skin Closure System, right? Noninvasive stitches, I can pull it off on my own?”

“Yes, sorry to tell you, but we don’t sew people together like cloth around here.” the doctor said.

“Thank the Elder Gods, man-- uh, bug, I was not looking forward to pulling a stitch out-t-t-yeow!”

Talking became quite difficult the instant she put her weight on the replaced knee. Pain arced through the limb. She nearly fell over, first against the bug then pushing herself off to lean against the human medic.

“Put more weight on it,” the doctor said, “It won’t heal if you don’t exercise it.”

“Hippocratic Oath doesn’t say anything about pain, right doc?” Melissa hissed through gritted teeth, standing back up straight.

“I wouldn’t know, but my oath doesn’t. Try to take a step.”

Melissa took a step, leaning on the medic while trying not to touch the Changeling. Pain still lanced, the bones grinding together with a sound vibrating through her body that was altogether unfamiliar.

Taking a step onto her good leg, she noted in the back of her mind how much had changed since she’d left home. How much else would she lose before going back?

Would she ever?

The pain of the next step focused Melissa’s mind. What had happened since she was out?

“Hey, Chief,” she said to the medic, “what’s the status of the battle? What happened to the Changeling troops?”

“That force field the ponies have made all those in the city disappear. We couldn’t do much for the ponies in the way of supplies, what with the Randolph gone, but the Woodrow Wilson and the Prince of Wales brought up their battle groups and a bunch of Strategic Sealift ships. The Royal Marines helped the rest of you leathernecks clear out the rest of their guys. Most of them pulled out though. Biggest concern is looters and the humanitarian crisis.”

“They have looters here? Wait. The city. What happened to the city?”

“Canterlot’s fine, ma’am,” Ceres said, “Sergeant Vaughn was the one who told me to keep an eye on you.”

“Which we would’ve done, but our nurses are all busy…” grumbled the bug doctor, “So we’ve got a bunch of morons getting in the way just to keep the drugged up patients from wandering off!

“Look doc, I don’t think my squad leader would appreciate his combat engineer getting devoured for her love or wandering off and getting herself hurt!!”

“The assets?” Melissa said, hissing as she tried to walk forward more.

“Celestia’s Heroes? They’re fine,” said the medic, “The fleet’s sending supplies to the city. Some bridge-layers for the wrecked bridges, bulldozers, tractors, they’ll repair buildings and infrastructure...things are going pretty well. I hear there’s going to be a party or something tomorrow.”

“Wedding,” Melissa corrected, “I need to see them as soon as I can. You’ll probably want to keep me for a bit, but can I at least go out tomorrow for an hour to visit the wedding?”

The Changeling furrowed his brow, “Uh...sure. But only if you can stand on that leg alright with a walker. If you experience any problems, you’re going right back--”

“Doc, I get it. Thanks.”

They helped her back to the bed.

“It’s not so bad, ma’am,” Ceres said, “I mean I gotta walk around with a cane!”

He held up a cane designed for griffins for emphasis, and glanced at the medic, “Sir, with all due respect, would you mind finding a walker for her? My squad leader will kill me if I let her out of my sight and she wanders off.”

Without breaking eye contact, he pulled Melissa further back onto the bed when she tried to slide off.

The medic chuckled a little, “I’ll see what I can do, corporal.”

Melissa sat back in bed, groaning a little in pain.

She scanned the room. There were a pair of windows on either side of each bed. Out of the windows across the aisle, and those beside her, she could see the camp.

The facility had been placed on one of Equestria’s many foothills, a squat huddle of prefab buildings and flattened dirt.

The hospital was in a much more reduced state of chaos than they had been from the flashes of memory Melissa had. Helicopters moved in and out, depositing troops and supplies. Changeling soldiers scurried about, moving patients and equipment, kept a careful watch on by members of the USMC 32nd MEU.

Sentries watched the perimeter, as well as the interior, several manning the machine guns of humvees. An FV4201 Chieftain tank with a Union Jack on its side sat near a road leaving the base.

A handful of Changeling soldiers moved solemnly, carrying body bags to a corner of the facility where dozens of others lay. Their shapes were indiscernible, they could have been anyone.

But her attention soon fell on something that was familiar.

She could see Equestrian mountains stretching from one side of the horizon to the other. Mountains covered in foliage, mostly a light green with streaks of dark green slowly overtaking the landscape as the trees bloomed.

At home, in Vermont, it would be summer. The fields would be tended, school would be out, everyone trying to beat the heat. The lake sides would be covered with families, playing in the sun. Strawberries would be in season…

Melissa put a hand to her face, feeling tears leaking at the sides of her eyes. What else did people do during the summer? She couldn’t remember. Had she forgotten, or had she never found anything to do? Had she so taken her world for granted?

Regret, regret, regret.

What have I done?! I destroyed the FTL drive, I can’t go home...

The sergeant let out a soft sigh, “‘We pray for one last landing on the globe that gave us birth...’”

Ceres cocked his head at her, “Ma’am, do you normally talk in your sleep?”

“...Why?”

“You kept saying that stuff in your sleep.”

Melissa furrowed her brow, “I did? Huh.”

She looked down at her knee, and flexing her wrist, “Hope I don’t end up like Rhysling…”

“Who? What? Sergeant, what are you talking about?”

“The Blind Singer of the Spaceways. Sunburn fried his optic nerves. Died damping a reactor before he could reach home.”

Ceres glanced at the IV fluid containers, “Jeez, how much of that shit did they shoot you up with?”

“Where are you from, Corporal?” Melissa asked, letting out a deep breath and keeping her eyes locked on the horizon.

“New Washington.”

“You a city boy or country? I consider myself something of a mix. Grew up in the country, but lived my college life in Boston before I joined up.”

“Uh...city. New Washington’s one of the biggest cities in New Texas.” the corporal looked a little uncomfortable, “Ma’am? You doing alright?”

Melissa blinked slowly, one eye closing before the other, “Yeah...yeah! I’m fine. I’m from Vermont. Specifically Bleakburn, one of those little New England former mill towns. The main part of town...you could look out and see these roving hills all the way out to Champlain...”

She sighed, “What’s New Washington like, corporal?”

Ceres scowled, looking off to the side, “What’s it like for who, ma’am?”

Melissa looked at him, confused, “What do you mean?”

He shook his head, “Sorry, Sergeant. It’s nothing. It’s the capital of New Texas. It’s got statues of famous people, museums, all sorts of stuff. It’s a bit like New York back home, I suppose. They’ve even got the USS Meadow there. Floating museum now.”

He remembered who he was talking to, “Oh, that’s the first American ship that came over here. The founders of New Texas.”

“Wait a minute, what were you saying a second ago? What’s the city like for who?”

Ceres right claw balled into a fist, “Nothin’.”

Melissa grimaced, “Okay. Corporal, what’s New Texas like? I grew up in the Continental United States. I’m going to guess New Texas, despite technically being part of the country, is different.”

She smiled a little, looking him up and down, “Well, one difference is obvious--”

Her smile faded and the grimace returned, “Oh...shit. The Meadow was from 1945…Jim Crow?”

Ceres waggled his claw, “Not exactly. I mean, my grandmother said it used to be worse. The Meadow’s crew was a very small number when it first showed up, and they kinda got a bunch of forced racial integration, both black people and dragons and ponies and griffins and the rest.”

“Still got a bunch of diet racism though, eh? Damn it, even here that still exists.”

Melissa flexed her right arm again, “You got family there? Parents, wife, girlfriend, siblings?”

Ceres scoffed, “I wish I had a girlfriend...I’ve got a brother, he’s human. So are my parents; my mom’s American and my dad’s French.”

“So does that mean you’re a chimera, or…?”

“I’m adopted,” he growled, “What about you, Sergeant? Any family?”

“Brother, and my parents. My brother’s a marine aviator, my mom’s in the air force, and we don’t talk about what my dad does.”

“What?” Ceres laughed, grinning, “Is he a secret agent?”

Melissa snorted nervously, “Uh…”

“Oh my god, what?! I’m right?!”

Melissa shrugged, “I don’t know what to tell you man! He was in the marines, then he got into SOCOM, and after that it’s all ‘eyes only’ and ‘we’ll have to kill you if we told you’ and ‘don’t go through dad’s filing cabinets’.” she added a few air quotes, mostly with the one hand, and cackled at Ceres’ befuddled expression.

He had never heard her laugh like this before. Always a chuckle, a snort, never full-blown laughter. It was somewhat infectious, making Ceres smile and laugh himself.

As the laughter finally died, Melissa sighed, looking into the distance, “I miss him…”

She shook her head, putting on a somewhat forced smile, “So...New Washington. Is it like…”

Melissa cleared her throat, looking somewhat confused, “Is there anything there like home?”

Ceres shrugged, “It’s got mountains.”

Melissa winced, holding her stomach, “Oh, what the hell? What’s the matter with me?”

She clamped the corporal’s beak shut when he tried to speak, “Right, I know, I walked into that one.”

When she let go, Ceres rubbed his jaw, “Ma’am…you got a grip! Ow...Do you want me to get the doc?”

“Nope,” Melissa groaned, hunching over, “I’m fine, I just...just...”

The medic showed up with a walker that didn’t quite look like those of the elderly, “Everything alright?”

Melissa pulled her legs off the bed, “Oh thank Cthulhu, not anymore! I gotta get outside. That’s what I need!”

Limping to the walker, Melissa leaned against it. “For fuck’s sake, I feel like an old lady.”

“Hey, at least it makes it easier for me to keep an eye on you.” Ceres pointed out.

“You want to keep those chicken legs of yours, corporal?”

“Oh, news for you, sergeant,” the medic spoke up, “Colonel Waters and Captain Hansen want to sit in on your debriefing session. Once you’re feeling up to it, obviously.”

Melissa’s mouth twisted, “Alright, probably better to do it ASAP than later. Where do I go?”

“I can get them to come here. The interviewers need to go over a lot of people, anyway. Sergeant, are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Doc, my career is on the line here for reasons I probably can’t tell you. Let them know to come interrogate me.”

The medic nodded reluctantly, and soon left.

Minutes later, the tent flap opened, and in stepped an earth pony mare, who wore no uniform, but was instead dressed in an equestrian-made pant suit.

And it was a pony Melissa knew.

The mare scanned the room, and spotted them. “Melissa! Melissa Foster!”

She quickly trotted over. Ceres painfully stood up, and blocked her path, “State your business.”

“Stand down, corporal,” Melissa said, “Strike Berry? What are you doing here?”

“You know her?” Ceres asked, looking at the pony with suspicion.

“Know her? She’s on my company’s board of directors!” Melissa peered at the mare, “Strike, what’s going on? This is a military base, what are you doing here?!”

Strike Berry moved to stand by the bedside, “Oh, thank Celestia you’re alright. Are they treating you well? How’s the leg?”

“It’s fine. They say I’ll be off the walker in a few months. What are you doing here?”

Strike Berry winced, “I uh...uh…”

“Miss, this is a military facility,” Ceres growled, “Either show me some ID or authorization, or--”

Opening her jacket, Berry pulled out her long wallet. She ran her hoof along one seam, and pulled open a small hidden pocket. From within she withdrew a small plastic card and offered it.

Ceres took it and peered at it. His eyes widened and he gaped.

Melissa yanked the card out of his hands, and her own eyes rounded.

She glanced up, her eyes narrowed. “Strike, friend, what is this?”

Strike Berry scratched the back of her head, “Um...well...Melissa...let me reintroduce myself. I’m Operations Officer Strike Berry, Central Intelligence Agency. I’ve been keeping an eye on you these past months.”

The card had a picture of the earth pony wearing an American pant suit placed on the left side above her name. The seal of the CIA was placed on the right side, above a bar code.

“You’re a spook?!” Melissa yelled, “You’re a motherfucking CIA spookand you didn’t tell me?!”

“I’m really, really sorry, ma’am!” Berry stammered, “It was my job! You know how The Company is!”

“Oh I sure as fuck know what the goddamn CIA is like you motherfucker!” Melissa snarled, and lunged at her, “I’m gonna beat the shit--!”

Ceres managed to grab her left arm before she fell off the bed, and she tottered on the edge for a second. Pain arced through her body, and the automated IV machine began beeping rapidly, several valves hissing. Berry helped push her back into bed.

Melissa leaned back, her eyes flicking around weakly. She moaned softly, her leg and arm going somewhat numb.

Struggling to keep one eye open, she gestured with her left arm, “Man, what is this stuff? It’s great!”

“Ma’am? You alright?” Ceres asked.

Melissa’s head raised weakly, “Wha…?”

Her eyes caught sight of Strike Berry’s white coat, and her mental train went back on the track, “Now I know why you have the name of a shitty heavy metal band…”

“Yeah, dad was the biggest metal-head on the Chesapeake Bay…” Strike Berry mumbled.

“Oh, so you’re a chimera too? Would’ve helped to have known that!”

Strike Berry grimaced, for the first time somewhat mad, “Look, Melissa, did you think the Alliance didn’t know about you? How do you think they trusted you so easily on the threat to the planet? You run one of the biggest companies in Equestria, not to mention, advancing their technology a ton! We had to keep an eye on it!”

“Oh, so you could afford to keep an eye on us, but not tell us that we weren’t the only two humans on the planet!?”

Ceres glared at Strike Berry, “What?! I mean, I get the need for secrecy, but...what?!”

Berry’s eyebrows snapped together, “Corporal, you know the policy!”

“Yes, I do! I mean, I know we had spies, but...I thought maybe you missed them or something! But we knew?!”

“Do you have any idea what you put us through?!” Melissa roared, “Andrew and I?! We were alone! We actually thought for a bit we could be the last humans alive! Why, why, why would you lie to us?! You could have helped us! You...you…”

The automated dispenser activated again, and she simmered down some.

Strike Berry found a chair and climbed up on it, “Look, Melissa…” she furrowed her brow at Ceres, “...and uh, Corporal...up until the other day, we had 13 million people to keep secret. The populations of the other countries on this continent are at best three to five times that number. We can’t match them for numbers or for industrial output, we can only beat them in terms of science. We couldn’t risk breaking secrecy. Not even for two actual humans, and especially not once you got famous. If we tried to retrieve you, you would be missed, and we could be found out. If we even told you, there was an increased risk we’d be discovered. I’m sorry, Melissa. This wasn’t my choice. It’s been Alliance policy since its founding.”

Melissa took a deep breath. Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned back.

“Motherfuckers…” she muttered under her breath.

She rubbed her face, trying to wipe away some tears again, “Fuck me. I understand why you did it...but...Cthulhu’s left testicle, I’m mad.”

“I know, Melissa. I know…” Strike Berry looked down at the ground, her eyes twinkling.

“Jesus christ, the things our country does…” Ceres moaned.

“Don’t get me started on that!” Melissa said, pointing at him, almost drunkenly, “You missed the bullshit big brother nonsense known as the Patriot Act, the nosy and obnoxious NSA, and the pushy creeps who love to watch footage of people using the bathroom also known as the CIA.”

“We don’t like to watch people using the bathroom!” Berry said indignantly.

“Ah, but you do have footage of it, don’t you? I rest my case.”

Melissa cast her eyes downward, and was silent for a minute. “What are you even doing here, Strike?”

Strike Berry tapped her hooves together nervously, “Uh...so I mentioned that my word is part of why they trusted you, right?”

“Right…”

“They want me to sit in on your debriefing.”

Melissa’s eyes widened. The IV machine beeped again.

She slumped back. “Oh shit.”

Ceres furrowed his brow, “What’s the problem?”

“Melissa, from what I’m told, you lied to superior officers, and/or concealed information.”

The sergeant cast a sideways glance at Ceres. To her surprise, he was still glaring at Strike Berry. It seemed he took Semper Fidelis seriously.

Melissa put up her hands, and began speaking, “Okay, now let me explain. You have to believe me, this was extenuating circumstances. You see…”