“Fear and panic in the air,
I want to be free from desolation and despair,
And I feel like everything I saw,
Is being swept away; well I refuse to let you go.”
Map of the Problematique, Muse.

HLS Majesty, August 4th, 2020.

Samantha.

“Perhaps,” Algernon Spader began, his disarming smile and genial manner entirely at odds with the military gear he wore, “we should start with some introductions.”

He took a sip of his tea and looked around the conference room, apparently noting the individual reactions of each and every person there. At least, that’s what it looked like to Samantha Yarrow. Spader was a genial looking man, even in the black military-style uniform he wore. He even had half-moon spectacles perched on his nose, making him look for all the world like a glorified Oxbridge Professor.

Sam’s father leaned forward on the table, looking thoughtful. Clad in a sleeveless Kevlar vest, Maximilian Yarrow – fifty, going on forty with the training regimen he put himself through – was an imposing figure, quite the opposite of Spader. He looked across at the other man in the room – a man in a long-sleeved naval shirt and pressed trousers, with a small smirk seemingly perpetually glued to his face.

“Maxi Yarrow,” Sam’s father introduced himself blandly. “Reavers.”

“I’ve heard excellent things about you,” the other man said, holding out his hand. “Daniel Romero: Ex Astris Victoria.”

Yarrow shook his hand, a firm clasp that was short and to-the-point. “Good to meet you away from the circus.”

Sam resisted the urge to snort. ‘The circus’ was her father’s way of referring to almost the entirety of the rest of the HLF. He respected a great many of them, but getting them together was rather like wrangling a bunch of angry cats and trying to get them to play with the same ball of yarn and push it in the same direction. The meeting where they had all signed the HLF charter had been… interesting, to say the least.

Yet somehow, in some way, Algernon Spader had managed to wrangle those cats.

“Agreed,” Romero said. “I heard about the battle on the Purity. Good job. Nice to see that we can take down Empire ships with good old fashioned effort.”

“Everything goes down with good old fashioned effort, eventually,” Yarrow replied evenly.

Romero nodded, though his smile became slightly more sardonic. “With one glaring exception.”

“The Barrier,” Spader put in.

Yarrow and Sam both glanced at Spader, whose expression was serious to the point of being uncharacteristically grim.

“What are you thinking, Algie?” Romero asked.

Algie? Sam thought, raising an eyebrow. What a nickname.

Spader smiled. “I’m thinking that you’ve got a lot of clever people, Daniel. More to the point, I’m also thinking that we need to establish a plan of action.”

“You mean a long term one, as opposed to the short term,” Yarrow said.

“Exactly,” Spader nodded. He looked back at Romero. “Maxi here is the sort of person to think long term, just like you. I suspect you two will get on well.”

Romero grinned. “Excellent. What sort of stuff you thinking of?”

Yarrow took a breath. “I’m focusing on building reliable accommodation for people displaced by the Barrier, as well as organising and equipping troops for the conflict. New bases: secure bases. Raiding groups and militias are one thing – but we need soldiers in the best gear available. There’s a lot of surplus and old guns that’ll take us far – I found a man with a collection of World War 1-vintage equipment and he practically threw the guns at me.”

“You’re planning on arming your troops with bolt-actions?” Romero asked.

“I’m planning on arming my troops,” Yarrow replied evenly.

“And you think it’ll get that bad, huh?” Romero asked.

Yarrow smirked. “Oh yes. It wouldn’t be my first, second, or third choice, but it’s better to give people something that can fire than… well, not.”

Romero nodded slowly. “Well, I think I still have a few… friends who can help out.”

Sam glanced at Yarrow, who folded his arms, a skeptical frown on his face. “Oh? How so?”

“Let’s just say, I know a guy who knows a few guys in ATC who’re prone to losing things off the backs of trucks,” Romero said, winking cheekily. “And there are an awful lot of trucks these days: who knows what might fall off the back of them?”

“ATC?” Sam asked, leaning forward. “You mean the guys who make the particle rifles and the Type-7 lasers?”

Romero actually chuckled a little at that. “Well, you know your advanced tech.”

Sam snorted. “Damn right I know my advanced tech. I used to train guys on Type-7’s.”

“That’s good experience,” Spader said, nodding. “And it brings me to another point.”

“What point?” Yarrow asked.

Spader let out a slow breath, as though mulling over what he had to say.

“Lyra Heartstrings wants tech experts,” he finally said.

Romero raised an eyebrow. “The PHL, you mean?”

“I know they’re not much at the moment,” Spader said, “but Heartstrings has the same idea we have. A multinational force that doesn’t answer to any one nation’s authority. I don’t see any reason we can’t be amiable.”

Yarrow was frowning. “Some of our people won’t like that – working with ponies and all.”

Spader gave a small frown. “You one of those people, Maxi? I thought you’d be more open minded.”

“I don’t have any opinion of entire races, that’s not my business,” Yarrow replied, ignoring any implied insult – even as Sam bristled at his side. “But you’re talking about the race that’s committing genocide against our species, the one responsible for a lot of people losing not just their homes, but their countries, entire massive parts of their cultures. And you’re talking about us. A lot of our commanders hate ponies. All ponies.”

“Why do you think Aeron, Helmetag, or Mike aren’t here?” Spader said with a humourless smile. “I like Mike and Helmetag, and Aeron’s… got his good points – if nothing else, he’s organised.” His smile faded. “But they’re in this fight for the hate, and while that’s a good motivator, it blinds them to the opportunities working with the PHL provides. That, and Helmetag’s a terrible judge of character.”

“Is he?” Yarrow asked.

“I hate to say it about old Gregor,” Spader said, “But… yes. Good at rallying troops, absolutely. This is a man who rallied people from all over Eastern Europe under his banner, who even brought Lovikov and Kraber into the fold. Good at judging said people, not as much – again, Lovikov and Kraber.”

“I can work with ponies,” Sam put in. “And they’ll need people instructing them on newtech as it comes out – I’ve got more grounding in that than most people.”

“Good,” Spader said. He looked at Romero. “Comments?”

Romero let out a breath. “I’m not opposed to working with ponies. They’re our best bet with magic, after all. The PHL… is an unknown factor, but we’ll see. Heartstrings certainly seems optimistic.”

“She does at that,” Yarrow said.

“I want to say I don’t think they’ll go far, but…” Sam said. “Well, I don’t believe it. These are ponies, griffons, and others with a hell of a grudge, ready to help out humans at any turn. They could accomplish a lot.”

“Well,” Spader said, smiling. “Whoever said optimism was a bad thing?”

Sam nodded slowly. That was true enough: optimism wasn’t the worst thing to have, not when there were people from across the world (and, with Heartstrings’ PHL, across worlds) collaborating to protect the human race.

Maybe, she thought, I’ll enjoy working with the PHL.

Temporary PHL Command, August 19th, 2020.

Sam Yarrow would later look back at the day she met Lyra Heartstrings and think to herself, There was a mare who had the ideals and the guts to back them up. Whatever she would later think of the PHL (and a good eighty percent of what she thought wasn’t repeatable in polite company), Lyra Heartstrings was impressive.

The little Unicorn was smiling when they met, and shook Sam’s hand with her hoof, her grip loose but strong. They met in a corridor, of all places, a bland little concrete nothing that was exactly the same as a million other concrete nothings Sam had walked through in her life. The building was only temporary, after all.

“Hi there,” Lyra said, her voice chipper and friendly, tinged with the tiniest hint of an English accent, like she’d picked it up. “You’re Sam Yarrow, our attaché from Algernon, right?”

“That’s right,” Sam replied evenly. “Got told you needed a tech expert, and Commander Spader picked me.”

“You must be good, then,” Lyra complemented her, with a smile so warm Sam might have almost believed it was genuine.

“I guess,” Sam said. “So, you’ve got problems?”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t believe,” Lyra said with a small laugh. “We’ve got a shipment of ATC gear for our human recruits, but most of them aren’t even properly military, let alone experts in… what the heck even is a powered armour, anyway?”

“You’ve got powered armour?” Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, the REV 6?” Lyra said. “Got that, a few of what they called the Type 8, a few sets of battle armour - they still haven’t finished that, what’s it, Hardball? But this stuff is supposed to be good in the meantime, even if it’s more expensive.”

Sam nodded as Lyra rattled off information. “I’ve read the specs on the Type 8. You tried them out yet? I hear there’s a coolant problem.”

“We’ve not touched them,” Lyra admitted with a small smile. “We daren’t. Not even Alex - have you met Alex?” Sam shook her head. “You probably will. Anyway, not even Alex is really that big on them yet, and he’s probably the only professional we really have.”

“I see,” Sam said, clicking her tongue. “Well, then, I’d best get to showing your people how to work this stuff, then. What about the P220?”

Lyra let out a small laugh. “Yeah, no, we sent that back. You’d have to be pretty desperate to use that piece of garbage. They told us they’d have a refined version in… what, six weeks?”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to fix your Type 8s in the meantime,” Sam said with a sigh. “But I was really looking forward to poking around the innards of the 220.”

“Well, knowing our luck, the 220a will be just as terrible,” Lyra said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, though, I’m sure we’ll keep you busy in the meantime.”

“I’m sure you will,” Sam agreed, as she followed Lyra further into the building.

Despite what would happen later, despite everything, at that moment, Sam shared the optimism that her father and Algernon Spader had shown. At that moment, Sam Yarrow believed in heroes.

One day, years later, blood in her mouth and resignation in her heart, she would look back at that moment, and wonder just how it had gone so wrong.

A damn glorified pirate with a research lab. A sociopath who thinks he’s an ubermensch. A mass murdering psychopath with a long history of mental disorders. A madman obsessed with Norse icons who leads a cult of personality. A nomadic lunatic with floral-decorated body armour. An overgrown biker gang with shotguns and no common sense. An American homegrown terrorist who sprayed down ponies hiding in a bank vault with an SMG. These are the people who think they’ll save humanity? Not the people with near-bottomless funding, the best and brightest of humanity and ponykind, and the backing of every government on the planet?
First Lieutenant Yael Ze’ev.

They’re nuts.
Captain Spitfire, when asked her opinion of the HLF.

Lots of people say I’m crazy. And you know what? They’re right. A sane man doesn’t carry a hammer into battle. A sane man doesn’t lead warriors calling themselves ‘Reavers’. A sane man doesn’t scream out to the Gods of Valhalla to protect him in battle. A sane man doesn’t blood-eagle rapists and traitors. I’m almost certainly not sane, not by the old definition.

And I never pretended to be.

This war’s the end, one way or another. If we win, it’s the end of the old world, and the old ways of thinking. No way we go back to what we had. If we lose, you know as well as I do what the fucking end is.

Yeah, I’m crazy. But I’m not alone. Maybe I’m the right brand of crazy. Maybe crazy’s just what some people need when the only other thing they have is despair. ‘Cause guess what? You look at my people, my Reavers, and you’ll see anger, you’ll see fanaticism… but you won’t see anyone quitting, anyone giving in to fate. We fight, we cry, we rage as much as anyone else. But we never give up.

We will ride the road, wherever it leads, until the road ends. And after that… who the fuck knows. But we’re getting there on our damn feet. Or in heavily armed attack jeeps, which, let’s face it, makes for one fucking brilliant entrance.
Commander Maximilian Yarrow, Head of the ‘Loyalist’ HLF, Commander of the Reavers.

Everyone knows the kind of kontgesig I am. Even me. It took time, effort, getting burned, stabbed, crippled, insulted, humiliated, impoverished, nearly drowning, threatened, and nearly dying about three times to get there. But while all that was happening, I went… traveling. I saw people turn into monsters, I saw people who had no reason to possibly work together joining forces, I had to… fok. You wouldn’t believe what I had to do.

And it was right fokkin’ depressing. This?!

This is one of the last fokkin’ safe places in the world - Well, relatively safe - and we fight over the scraps! That has to end. Or else we all die.

I don’t know who we join with. Not the PER, obviously, but definitely not Carter. Everything I was? They’re going to get much fokkin’ worse. For the love of God, do not trust these people. I did - I was one of them - and look where it got me. Look at Lovikov’s manifesto. They’re desperate, and the thought of what they’d do during Barrierfall are terrifying.

Join the PHL if you can, they’re our best bet for something that can stop the Barrier, for fighting the Solar Empire on equal footing. Join the Spader side of the split if you can’t do that. I’ve mixed feelings about both, but you can’t trust anyone else here.
Viktor Kraber, infamous HLF defector

My experience of the Split? Huh, odd question. We in Ex Astris Victoria don’t tend to see much action groundside, and the other side of the split isn’t running anything bigger than a tug. The Challenger is a warship: we’re the fourth of an elite class of vessel, with some of the best weapons you could ask for. We’re mandated to run combined combat and research. Hell, we’ve got ponies on this ship - look at my XO!

So my experience of the Split? The other side are running tugs, they kill ponies instead of using the talent they’ve got, and they have guns with rifling that craps out after a few bullets, and ends up spitting out bullets - some of which don’t even fire - out the muzzle. They’re fucking idiots. When the war’s over, Romero and Yarrow’ll be the names people look back on and say ‘those guys did right by the HLF, those guys did right by humanity’. Lovikov, Aeron whatever the fuck he’s called? They won’t even be massive, glorious failures - even now, nobody really talks about what Lovikov had in mind after Montreal. I mean, they talk - but they don’t talk about it seriously. They’ll be footnotes. They’ll be seen even worse than Kraber. And I bet they’ll spell Lovikov’s name wrong, too.
Captain Rachel Brooke, CO, HLS Challenger.

Why would anyone sane fight for the HLF? Whatever they’re supposed to represent, all they are is a hot mess of different groups, most of whom aren’t even trying to be organised anymore. What’s the fucking point?
Vinyl Scratch.

Most ponies on the Columbia joined up because they were asked to: they were refugees or dispossessed, or they got saved from PER or the damn rogues. Not me, though. Before the PHL got their act together, before the UNAC had real gear for ponies, I knew that I had to help, and I thought - y’know what? The HLF will want help. I went to one of those adhoc little recruitment things they did in a hired out building, and I got directed to Captain Romero.

Captain Romero… damn, he’s weird, sometimes. One minute he’ll happily chat away about the latest update to Overwatch or how he misses playing Mass Effect, and the next minute he’ll be discussing curing the potion or figuring out how to make a viable space-worthy airship. Man’s got ideas on top of ideas, too many to count, and unlike any of the rogues - or hell, even a couple of the more conservative Spader unit’s - Romero’s willing to do anything, use anything, get the help of anyone or anypony, if by doing so he wins the war and saves us all. And not just humans: I swear, he’s as interested in saving Equestria as he is anything else. The man’s crazy. Good crazy, but… really, really crazy.
Officer Lucky Strike, Security Chief, HLS Columbia.

Lots of people I work for ask me the same question. ‘Why do you fight for the HLF, Sam?’ They cite people like Aeron Grant - or whatever the hell he calls himself now - or Leonid Lovikov, or Viktor Kraber. And I always answer with the same thing.

The HLF is a dream, a vision. The HLF is an ideal. And that ideal isn’t unique to us, but it’s one that’s at the core of us, more important than hating ponies, more important than killing PER.

The HLF says, ‘we are human, and that is the most important thing’. A lot of people conflate us with the old right-wing lunatics, but we’re not. No one has ever been turned away from any HLF group for their sex, their class, their colour, their creed. Even groups like the Christian Marines on Carter’s side of the split have gays, Muslims, atheists, trans people fighting in their ranks.

The HLF is proof that humanity can come together, no matter what divides it, and join in common cause. Not against each other, but against the threats of a wider world, a wider universe. Heck, I guess a wider multiverse, since Equestria’s from another dimension.

That dream says ‘we do not need a nation’s flag or a religious creed to fight, we do not bicker over boundaries of race or gender. We are all of us human, and in that humanity is a common blood, a common cause, a common love.’

That dream is one worth protecting. It’s one worth fighting for. Fighting under the banner of. When we’re done winning the war – and make no mistake, when the war is won, the HLF will be there helping carry the day – the HLF will help be the foundation of a new world, a better world.
Officer Samantha Yarrow, former PHL liaison to the HLF 1st Skirmishers, later a member of the Reavers.

You know what gets me? Romero. He’s got two Thunderchild-class ships. Two. We only built four of the bastards, and one of them got sunk! How the fuck does that man have those kind of connections?! The guy’s either a criminal mastermind or the most charismatic son of a bitch in the world. But I’ll tell you this: any guy who’s got two fucking Thunderchild-class ships is a guy you want to seriously worry about, because there’s a lot he could do, and not a lot stopping him.
Captain Rebecca Kleiner, the Stampede Fleet, USS Lyra Heartstrings.

Blackmail, extortion, downright theft… God only knows where he got those ships, but one day, we’ll get them back. Then Romero gets to see what a real soldier can do, up close and personal.
Robert Gardner, late of the adhoc UN anti-HLF Taskforce.

Some people say I operate outside the boundaries of the law. I’d say they’re not wrong about that. But to anyone spending more time worrying about where I got my toys and how I choose to use them than they are thinking about the PER or the Solar Empire, I say this.

We are losing this war.

If you think otherwise, you’re lying to yourself. Look at the world. Europe, a cultural heartland and the source of much of the innovation that shaped the world we built, is gone. Britain, one of the key founders of NATO, is gone. Millions of people are dead or converted.

In a few short years, America will follow – if the damn PER haven’t already claimed every damn town that isn’t a fortress-city by then. The PHL don’t have the manpower to police one city in America, let alone the rest of the country, or dare I say the world. The UNAC isn’t much better off – their recruits are being thrown into positions too young, too untrained, and getting themselves killed or ponified. The HLF is fractured between Carter’s rogues and the Loyalists, with most of the grunt HLF militiamen on the ground being manipulated by whichever Commander happens to get there first.

The resources to win aren’t in our grasp, yet, and too much time is being focused on the HLF’s rogue elements.

I’m not saying this as an HLF Captain, I’m saying this as someone with common sense: there are officers and commanders in the UNAC who want to kill or capture every HLF man, whether they’re part of the Loyalists, part of Carter’s ‘True’ HLF or just some guy with a gun who’s affiliated with us as a way of keeping his town safe. They’re idiots. Not only are they wasting men and resources on a pointless mission, but they’re worsening the fracture. How the hell is Yarrow meant to tell HLF militiamen that they’re not being persecuted and they’re not being targeted when they are, and the evidence is right in front of them every time a crackdown happens? How the hell is our side of the Split meant to hold the advantage when we are being targeted and undermined? I’d almost think there was a deliberate effort from within UNAC command to split us further and reduce the Loyalist’s support.

And worse, their focus on the fracture is blinding them to the true threat. The Empire isn’t sitting idle behind that Barrier. Even if they could, they’re not. They’re planning something.

You wanna turn to me and go ‘you’re doing illegal things’? Sure I am. In times of war, laws fall silent for a reason. In the fight against extermination, rigid, inflexible laws are for lackeys and the blinkered. Those with vision? They choose the path I walk. They seek the answers I seek.

In the right context… anything is possible. In the right context, even a pirate can become a kingmaker. Or a king.
Captain Daniel Romero, Ex Astris Victoria

“Break me in, teach us to cheat,
And to lie and cover up,
What shouldn’t be shared
And the truth unwinding
Scraping away at my mind
Please stop asking me to describe.”
Muse, Citizen Erased.

Interview Record: H. M.
File Codename: “Limiting Factor”.

Interview subject: “Jim”.

Interviewer notes: Jim is something of a mystery to most observers. Our most pertinent theory is that he’s a transient of some sort who stumbled upon whatever he currently knows by accident. Whatever happened to him, he’s become one of the most indirectly influential people outside of the government and major organisations, even gathering followers such as Hiro Mifune.

Jim: Well hey there, Colonel. Or d’you prefer -?

H.M: I think I prefer ‘Colonel’, under the circumstances, Jim.

Jim: Hey, sure thing, man.

H.M: You really get a kick out of having all these people just call you ‘Jim,’ don’t you?

(Jim is silent for several seconds)

Jim: How’s it been?

H.M: It’s been.

Jim: I’ll bet. Hey, is Amber still on your ass about -?

H.M: No. We’ve sorted that.

Jim: Hey, that’s good. I’m glad.

H.M: Afraid we’re here to talk business, Jim.

Jim: Figured that, man. But hey, I’m happy to help. What do you need?

H.M: Luke Scott.

Jim: The kid? What about him.

H.M: You saved his life, didn’t you? Can you tell me why?

Jim: Aw, heck, man. Any other question, I might have been able to give you a straight answer. Now, though? Now you’re askin’ me to quantify the will of the Gods.

He is afraid of the dark, because it is unknown.

He is afraid because it waits, long after candles have burnt out, long after the sun has failed faded, long after all Light, however Despondent, has finally gone.

He is afraid of the dark because he cannot see beyond it. He is afraid that he is lost forever in that inky blackness. He is afraid, and he is right to be.

He is lost, no light surrounding him, no joy in his heart.

And then…

Impossibly…

… there is light after all.

August 7th, 2022: Nipville.

Luke Scott shot awake, his eyes widening, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

“Easy!” an unfamiliar voice said, a hand pressed against Luke’s chest. “You’re okay, son. Just relax.”

Luke winced in pain, looking around frantically. His eyes refused to come into focus. There were two figures near him, human - or at least they looked human.

“What - what happened?” he exclaimed, the breaths coming short and sharp. “What happened?!”

“Easy, man,” the calming voice said, and Luke tried to slow his breathing. “You’re okay. You just need to catch your breath.”

His eyes managed to focus, and Luke found himself staring at a man. A human, salt-and-pepper bearded, with long, shabby hair and a kindly smile. He wore a shabby sort of robe, not unlike a battered dressing gown, and he had open-toed sandals and loose trousers on. They were in a room - it looked like it might once have been someone’s front room, but the TV was tipped over, the sofa he was lying on had holes in it, and he could smell burnt flesh and wood.

“Hi there,” the man said, catching Luke’s attention. “I’m Jim.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, and Luke caught sight of a man in battered Hardball armour with a dirty hooded robe flung over it, the hilt of a sword poking out from beneath the robe. “That’s Hiro.”

The other man nodded once.

“I… I’m Luke,” Luke said.

“We know,” Hiro said gruffly. “Luke Scott, HLF militiaman. Your group was drafted by several officers of the Menschabwehrfraktion and the Sons of Macha to take and hold this town.”

Luke blinked. At the mention of his group, he remembered screaming, fire, gunshots -

“What happened?!” he asked, his eyes widening as he felt his breath quicken. “Where is everyone?!”

Jim and Hiro exchanged a look.

“That’s, uh… a little difficult to explain, man,” Jim said after a moment. “Look, uh… you know your pals in the Sons and the Fraktion were, uh… well, being a little bit…”

“Dishonourable and cruel,” Hiro put in.

Luke frowned. “They didn’t tell us what they were doing, they just drafted us. Waved an officer badge in front of us, claimed to be acting as part of a greater op. They put us to work guarding the town’s borders.”

Jim winced. “Those guys were your guys?”

“Yeah, that was ‘my guys’, but I wasn’t in charge, Dan was,” Luke said slowly, looking from Hiro to Jim. “What happened?”

Jim winced. He didn’t look like this was a conversation he wanted to have: all of his previous levity had evaporated, replaced by an awkward expression that looked somewhere between embarrassed and… sad?

The older man ran a hand through his hair. “I’m… did you… uh, were you close to them?”

“What happened?” Luke asked again, his voice taking on an insistent tone. “What happened to them?!”

Hiro grunted. “Jim. Tell the boy.” At the dirty look Jim gave him, he only shrugged. “It’s only fair.”

Jim sighed. “Fine. Go… go get someone. Tell them we’ve got a survivor. Yeah?”

“If you insist,” Hiro said evenly, before stalking out of the building.

Luke looked back at Jim, waiting for him to speak.

The older man stroked his beard, before letting out another sigh.

“Yael Ze’ev,” he said quietly.

“What?” Luke said, feeling the blood drain from his face.

“You asked what happened to your guys,” Jim said quietly. “That’s your answer. Yael Ze’ev happened to them.”

“Yael… Yael Ze’ev.” Luke swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He had heard of Yael Ze’ev. Something of an extreme member of the UN Taskforce, known for being less than cordial around militiamen like his group. They’d been warned to not operate near her, or if they did encounter her to stay away from her personally. “What happened?”

Jim kept stroking his beard. “She, uh…” He swallowed. “Well, there was a tank. Uh, and a flamethrower, and a flamethrower on the tank, and Heliotrope was involved…”

As Jim continued, Luke felt his gorge rise. What the older man was describing was…

Holy shit. How am I even alive.

Sam Yarrow smelt burnt flesh, and saw burnt ruins all around her. The feeling of nausea was threatening to overpower her, and she had one overpowering thought. She would never work with the PHL again.

Yael Ze’ev, she thought, you… fucking… monster.

The people of Nipville hadn’t been angels by any stretch of the imagination. Nor had the HLF that took it over. By all accounts, the new Lovikov-run Menschabwehrfraktion, the Sons of Macha, and Christian Marines were unpleasant people, or at least led by them (though she’d heard slightly more positive things about Bowen), and her father had been pushing for more of the Spader-loyalist HLF to come in and ‘police’ them (by which he meant ‘arrest their commanders and reorganise the troops so they’re being supervised by officers and troops we trust’).

But in Sam’s estimation, whatever the people here had been guilty of, didn’t condemn the people they’d taken prisoner, or the militiamen the Fraktion and the Sons had co-opted. That didn’t mean Yael’s astonishing orgy of flamethrower tank-fueled destruction was anywhere in the neighborhood of ‘okay’. HLF and civilians alike had been butchered, trapped in burning buildings and immolated and crushed all at once, ripped apart with stray bullets and explosives, hit with combat spells from PHL unicorns, electrocuted, stabbed, slashed, and bludgeoned.

They had torn through terrified militiamen who hadn’t known any better, slaughtering them in their dozens, and then butchered the soldiers within… and many of the civilians, too.

It had been called ‘the Liberation of Nipville’ in the news.

“You sure liberated the hell out of this place, fellas,” she heard one of her troops saying, pushing up a massive slab as he looked for more survivors.

These people… they were people, dammit! Sam thought, her mind racing as she looked over the ruins. Her troops were picking through the scorched wreckage, and Sam could have sworn she saw Martell - Martell of all people! - throwing up in disgust.

“Anything?” she asked one of her people, a soldier in full-body Armacham armour. She tried to ignore the burnt doll in the trooper’s hand - a relic of one of these destroyed homes.

The soldier shook their head. “No, ma’am.”

Of course not, Sam thought. Anyone left’s probably been rounded up and told to shut up or else.

She didn’t want to be that cynical. She really didn’t. She tried to tell herself that maybe - just maybe - this was worth it. Maybe, just maybe, there had been good enough reasons for this. She’d read the reports, knew what these mutineers had been doing…

“Aw shit,” someone said from nearby. “I think there was a kid in here…”

No. No way is this alright, I don’t care what was happening here. Sam closed her eyes. Damn you Yael. And you, Heliotrope. And everyone else you had following you in this fucking abomination. If it kills me, I’ll make sure you go to fucking trial. I will see you fucking pay for this!

“Officer Yarrow!” a voice said from nearby.

She opened her eyes.

“Yeah?” she said, not trusting her gut not to heave if she gave a more elaborate reply.

The next words surprised her. “We found a survivor!”

She gave a small smile. Well. That’s something, at least.

“How… why…” Luke didn’t know how to process what Jim had told him. The description had been nothing short of horrifying. “How did I even survive that? I was on the town’s border, with the others.”

“Yeah, you were,” Jim said, smiling ruefully. “Kinda hard to explain, but we think you were… well… lucky.”

“Lucky,” Luke echoed hollowly.

There was a cold, dank feeling settling into his gut, twisting it from the inside out. Jerry and Tina had both called him ‘Lucky Luke’. He’d laughed, waved it off, chuckled about it, and now they were dead and their bodies were somewhere out there, burning or crushed or riddled with bullets.

“I know,” Jim said with a sympathetic smile. “It doesn’t feel like it now.”

“No, it really doesn’t,” Luke agreed, nodding absently. “They’re… you’re sure there’s no other survivors?”

“There are a few of the ringleaders alive, a few stragglers from the proper groups,” Jim replied. “But… no. Not really. I almost hope I’m wrong, but…”

There came a knock at the ramshackle door, and Jim turned.

“Hiro?” he asked. “That you?”

“Came with help,” the voice of Hiro replied. “HLF. Reavers, to be precise.”

Jim raised an eyebrow. “Well, potentially crazy help is better than no help.”

“‘Reavers’?” Luke murmured, frowning. “The ‘Fraktion guy said the Reavers were traitors.”

“Yeah, well, don’t say that to them,” Jim murmured back. “Come in!”

The door to the broken building opened, and a woman in heavy armour stepped into the room. Luke blinked in shock: she was beautiful, albeit the expression on her face made her look more likely to kill something than smile. The armour was marked with a symbol that Luke vaguely recognised as the Armacham Technology Corporation logo, and there were a few symbols painted on in crude red paint - small, but there.

“This the survivor?” she said, looking at Luke. Her voice was English, though he couldn’t quite localise it. Somewhere North, maybe?

“Uh, yeah,” Jim said.

“And who are you guys?” she asked, glaring at Jim. “Passers by?”

“Jim,” Jim replied. “And the other guy is Hiro Mifune.”

The woman’s eyes widened in recognition. “I see. Well, then. Thank you for helping this man.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Jim said quietly.

“May I speak with him alone?” the woman asked.

Jim looked at Luke. “Well, kid? May she?”

Luke hesitated for a moment, but then nodded.

“Thank you,” the woman said, smiling softly. It made her look much younger.

Jim stood. “We’ll be outside, me and Hiro. We still gotta talk, kid.”

He walked out, his battered dressing gown of a robe flapping behind him, and then the woman and Luke were alone.

Her smile faded slightly. “I’m Officer Samantha Yarrow. HLF ID 003-2113.”

Luke nodded. “Luke Scott. Uh… we, uh, didn’t have ID numbers in my group.”

Yarrow clicked her tongue. “Were you even HLF?”

Luke looked at his arm, and then pulled off the raggedy armband that was there, handing it to her. She looked it over.

“The 243rd HLF Militia,” she muttered. “Signatories, but you guys must have been one of the poxiest…” She trailed off, her eyes widening in horror. “Sorry. I shouldn’t… sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Luke said quietly. “We, uh, we were pretty poxy.” He paused. “I… I don’t know how much help I’ll be. I don’t… I don’t really remember what happened here.”

“It’s pretty obvious what happened here,” Yarrow snorted. “Your group got drafted by the ‘Fraktion and their mates, and when they fucked up, Yael Ze’ev came and slaughtered them all. Except for you.”

“Yeah,” Luke said, looking at the floor. “Except for me.”

Yarrow sighed. “Look. I can’t do anything about your friends being dead. But we can try to do something about their killer.”

Luke looked up. “Like what?”

“Like tell my father,” Yarrow said, a dangerous glint in her eyes.

Luke blinked, and then let out an involuntary chuckle. “Why, is your dad bigger than the PHL’s dad?”

Yarrow just smiled. “My dad is Maxi Yarrow, Commander of the Spader-Loyalist HLF. He can bring them to task.”

Luke’s mirth faded, replaced by a wide-eyed expression.

“You serious?” he asked.

“Deadly,” Yarrow said.

Luke ran a head through his hair, trying to think about everything that could possibly come of this. A few days ago he’d just been a militiaman: now?

… now he could change the world.

“Well…” he finally said. “I guess I can’t say no.”

Yarrow smiled. “Great. Come with me.”

Hadley’s Hope.

“Sir. Processing has begun.”

“Very good, Lieutenant. Keep me informed of our progress.”

Warrior Cairn, that was his name. His father had been a Unicorn Guardspony, and his father before him, stretching back generations. If there was such a thing as an Equestrian warrior tradition, Warrior Cairn’s family had been the family with that tradition.

Sat in a tent, signing off on the latest orders he’d received, he sighed.

Warriors, he thought, and I’m stuck here, on glorified prison camp duty.

Hadley’s Hope was a shantytown, a temporary pre-fab filled refugee camp with delusions of grandeur. It was little more than twelve rows of houses (many of which were made from shipping containers) and a warehouse with supplies stored in it, all on a lonely road in the middle of nowhere. It’d been a so-called “deliberate community” set out by the PHL on a lonely little spit of disused road near a river, then subcontracted to some other company that had made an absolute hash of it and found themselves unable to supply more than these very, very basic housing units.

The only thing that made it interesting was the existence of the seven hundred and twelve people that would make for seven hundred and twelve semi-useful meatshields.

Because, of course, that’s all they’ll ever be, Cairn thought dully. He knew some of his colleagues felt there was more potential to all of this - indeed, he knew that Shieldwall, working with Captain Cactus, was working on making a lot more potential come of it all - but he had seen Newfoals. He’d met precisely one Newfoal worth spit, and Imperial Creed had been sent off to Celestia-knew where.

“Here,” Cairn said to his adjunct, a Newfoal named Dare or Derry or something similarly stupid and provincial. “Send this off via prole.”

“Right away, Cairn-san!” the Newfoal said, grinning that obnoxious rictus they all had.

“Thanks, Derry,” he said automatically.

“Dere, Cairn-san!” the Newfoal corrected chirpily.

Cairn blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Sun Dere, Cairn-san!” the Newfoal.

Cairn blinked again. “Whatever. Go do you job.”

Sun Dere saluted again and walked out, and Cairn sighed.

“Problems, Commander?” an unwelcome voice said snarkily.

Cairn sighed, and looked up, to see Commissar Straight Arrow, his unit’s ‘political officer’, enter the tent. Arrow was a dark brown Unicorn with a shock of white hair and a white moustache, a scowl on his face. His uniform was a shining suit of silver Guard armour, and he wore a saddlebag and a peaked cap.

“What do you want?” Cairn asked irritably.

“Having problems with your adjunct, Commander?” Arrow asked.

“No,” Cairn said. “What do you want, Arrow?”

Arrow sighed, before bringing a small black object out of his saddlebag.

“You need to inspect and sign off on this,” he said disinterestedly. “It was recovered in the possessions of one of the humans and it has a vague thauma signature.”

Cairn raised an eyebrow. “Yay. A trinket. Put it on the desk, Arrow, I’ll see to it presently.”

“Don’t take too long,” Arrow warned, placing the object on the desk. “You know we have an ordained schedule.”

“I know,” Cairn said, returning to his work. ‘Same as always, he thought. ‘Hurry up and wait.’

Shieldwall had asked for a suitable test area to use as a Reconstitution Camp, so Cairn had taken Hadley’s Hope… at which point, Shieldwall had been delayed by something by the Great Lakes. Shieldwall had requested several newfoals to be kept specially decontaminated for a new variant of Reconstitution Potion, only for him to later announce - within almost two weeks of the same orders! - that all his plans involving Reconstitution were currently in limbo.

“Celestia protects, Commander,” Arrow said, his business concluded, and walked out.

“Celestia protects,” Cairn repeated idly.

He glanced at the object. It was spherical, and seemed to be made of some sort of onyx.

I’ll test the thing later, he thought. Got work to do.

Got work to do, something echoed… somewhere. Cairn blinked, looking around.

“Hello?” he said. “Is somepony there?”

Is somepony there? something whispered.

Cairn frowned, and then shook his head. Working too hard, Cairn. Maybe I need a rest leave after this tour.

The object on his desk glimmered, and he smiled reflexively.

Well, he thought, looking at it idly, at least its a pretty paperweight.

He kept looking at it.

“Destroy this city of delusion,
Break these walls down,
I will avenge!
And justify my reasons with your blood.
You will not rest.”
Muse, City Of Delusion.

Interview Record: H. M.
File Codename: “Limiting Factor”.

Interview subject: Captain Daniel Romero (D.R.)

Interviewer note: Captain Romero is a long-term associate of the PHL and UNAC, whose unit’s independent work on Newfoals, the Geas and the potion cannot be underestimated. Despite numerous official complaints, it is and will continue to be R&D’s policy to continue working with him.

Personal note: Gardner, I know you’re reading this, so fuck you and the horse you came in on. Earth horse, pony, I’m not particular. It’s not our fault REDACTED decided to play agent provocateur with a lunatic, and it’s not our fault you can’t see the good Romero and the others have done. So for the last time: butt. The. Fuck. Out.

D.R: Parallel universes.

H.M: That’s right.

D.R: And what’s your interest in those?

H.M: That’s a long story. Right now, I’m just trying to collate opinions and information.

D.R: And which am I?

H.M: Whichever you can be, Captain Romero.

D.R: Alright.

(There is a pause.)

H.M: Well?

D.R: Well, it seems a bit obvious that they exist, if you wanted my opinion on the subject. Equestria is one, after all.

H.M: You think so?

D.R: Oh please. ‘Equestrian standard’ is English - it’s even written like English. Their names are plays on words of our own. They even have the damn Hippocratic oath. There’s no way they’re not some parallel timeline where we all ended up magical horses.

H.M: That’s an odd thought. And a disturbing one.

D.R: Yeah. Alright, so. Opinion pieces out the way, you want any information I may have about them, right?

H.M: Well, if you have any.

(There is a pause.)

D.R: Well that rather depends, don’t it?

August 9th. En route to Bastion. Undisclosed location.

When Luke opened his eyes, he took a moment to remember where he was. He was being driven in Officer Yarrow’s APC: a bulky, ugly thing that made up for the cramped interior by being fast and well-armoured.

“You alright, pal?” one of the Reavers asked him. He had his helmet on, so Luke couldn’t tell who he was.

“Uh… yeah,” Luke replied, still a little disoriented. “I think. Where are we?”

“Somewhere,” the Reaver replied. “We should nearly be at Bastion now.”

“Right,” Luke said slowly. “Okay.”

“Hey, don’t sound so glum,” the Reaver said. “You’ll like Bastion. Maxi’s built a really nice place.”

“You mean the Commander?” Luke asked.

“Yeah,” the Reaver said. “Most of us just call him Maxi. He’s not really a ‘Commander’ kind of guy like some officers.”

“Stow the chatter back there!” came a voice from the driver’s cab. Sure enough, Samantha Yarrow came crouch-walking out of the cab, one arm going up to steady herself. “You guys done with your confab?”

“Sorry, Officer,” the Reaver said.

Yarrow looked serious for a moment, and then her expression split into a wide grin. “Only pissin’ around with you, mate. Chill.” She looked at Luke. “He’s right about Dad. He’s one of that kind of guy who’d be a gardening enthusiast if there wasn’t a war on.”

“I… see,” Luke said, not sure how to react. “Sorry, it’s just… I’ve heard stories.”

“Oh?” Yarrow said, sitting down.

“Yeah,” Luke said. “About a guy called Yorke?”

The other Reaver made a sound somewhere between a sneer and a laugh, the helmet distorting their voice heavily.

“Yorke was a rapist, a psychopath, and an asshole,” Yarrow said, her expression soured. “He deserved what he got. He sullied the unit, he sullied the cause, and he sullied the human race.”

“I… I heard he was…”

“He was,” Yarrow said. “And Dad was right. He deserved it.” She sniffed. “I knew the pony he tried to…” She shook her head. “Nice lass. Or mare, or whatever you call ‘em.”

Luke nodded, still not sure what to think. “I just… I never met a high ranking officer before. And he’s… well, he’s the commander.”

“He doesn’t really like using the rank,” Yarrow said, her smile returning. “Try not to think about it too much, okay?”

“I… okay,” Luke said, nodding.

“Anyway,” Yarrow said. “We should be at Bastion soon: I’m going to need you to tell my Dad everything.”

Luke nodded again. “I’m ready, Officer Yarrow.”

Yarrow chuckled. “Call me ‘Sam’. ‘Officer Yarrow’ makes me sound old.”

“Oh, okay, uh,” Luke said, “Sam.” He coughed. “That feels a bit weird.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Sam said with a wink. “Don’t worry, alright? Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“Nearly there, Sam!” the driver of the APC called back to her.

“Gotcha, Sean!” Sam called back. She looked at Luke, and grinned. “You’ll wanna see this.”

Bastion's outer walls were a combination of wooden palisades and a couple of wood and metal towers surrounding the town within, giving it the image of one of those old-west forts one used to see in movies. There were also a couple of concrete mixers outside these, men in tank tops and hard-wearing jeans hard at work building what looked to be concrete walls. There were already a few metres of concrete walls in progress, though nothing overly defensible yet.

At the dirt track entrance were two emplacements, both of them packing big turrets that looked like some sort of advanced gear - likely Armacham tech, if Yarrow’s Armour was anything to go by. Luke suppressed the urge to snort: a few days ago he’d have been lucky to have an automatic rifle. He’d had to stick with an M4 with an old bumpfire stock. And, to make it easier to aim, he’d had to find a new stock and pistol grip for it. Clearly, something must have been going right for this side of the Split.

“Not bad, right?” Sam asked. “She’s a little rough ‘round the edges, but she’s home.”

“Officer Yarrow,” one of the soldiers by the gate said, a man in Lighter ATC armour with an earpiece in. “Good to see you. How was your mission?”

Sam’s expression faltered. “It wasn’t good. But I need to talk to Dad about it before anything else.”

“Gotcha,” the man said. He tapped his earpiece. “Open the gate. We’ve got family returning.”

He immediately turned and headed towards the palisade gate, waving to a couple of the guards as he did so. They waved back, and the gate creaked open slowly. Sam smiled, and motioned for Luke to follow her inside.

Inside the gates, there was a small town. The buildings, such as they were, were simple log cabins, only adding to the image of the old west fortress. Some of them were interspersed with ATC prefabs, command towers and the like, creating an almost schizophrenic image. Armed men were walking about - dozens of them, in fact - clad in heavy armour. To Luke’s surprise, there were civilians too. He could see women and children running around, looking for all the world like normal kids, even as they ducked and weaved between armoured legs.

It’s like Defiance, Luke thought. He’d never seen the so-called ‘heart of the HLF’, but this place reminded him so much of the stories that he couldn’t help but draw a comparison.

“Like it?” Sam asked.

“I do,” he replied evenly. “I… really think I do.”

Hadley’s Hope

Cairn was staring again. The object simply sat on his desk, glittering slightly in the light. It was so deceptively simple, this thing, and yet so beautiful. Like a pure, unsullied piece of art, too pure to have been made by human hands alone.

“Sir?” a voice asked from somewhere far away.

He could have sat there, staring at it forever. It was so beautiful. No pockmarks, no hard edges. Perfectly smooth, perfectly even. Celestia herself could never have made such a wonderful thing: it had to have been the work of -

“Commander Cairn-san?” a voice said again.

Reluctantly, Cairn tore his gaze from the sphere, and blinked. Sun Dere was staring at him, a cheerfully expectant look on her face.

“Have you completed the scheduled paperwork, Commander?” she asked diligently.

“The what?” Cairn asked. He slowly shook his head. “No, no I… no.” He paused. “I… What was I supposed to do?”

“Honoured Lieutenant Colonel Shieldwall-san requested a report on the ponification of the town, Commander,” Dere said cheerfully. “His letter was written in what I am reliably informed is an insistent tone!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cairn said. “Wasn’t he… wasn’t he meant to be coming?”

That would be good. He could look at this beautiful stone too, and then surely his work would be improved. Yes, seeing such a thing would be bound to improve anyone’s day. It was, after all, so…

“Commander Cairn-san?”

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I just…”

Show it to her.

He paused, blinking. What had that been?

Show it to her.

Yes, he thought. Yes, that might… that might work. That might… do…

“Sun Dere,” He said evenly, “have you seen this?”

Sun Dere looked at the object, then frowned, as though concentrating.

“It’s a contraband object, Cairn-san,” she said after a moment. “You are obligated to investigate it and then destroy it. Death walks from the shadows and no light may escape it.”

“Excuse me?” he said.

“I said you are obligated to investigate and destroy it,” Sun Dere repeated. She tilted her head. “Is your hearing impaired, Commander? The blood of innocents must be spilled to avenge the blood of innocents.”

“Again!” Cairn said, pointing a hoof at her. “What did you just say?!”

“I do not understand, Cairn-san,” Sun Dere said, twitching. “What are you asking me? He comes, vengeance in his wake, death in his shadow.”

Cairn put a hoof to his mane. “That - that -”

He lowered the hoof, and suddenly shoved the object slightly away from him. It stopped short of falling from the edge of his desk, teetering ever so slightly. Dutifully, Sun Dere touched it with her own hoof, and pushed it back onto the desk. Cairn watched it as it made a soft scraping sound, his eyes fixated on it.

“Commander Cairn-san.” He looked up to meet Sun Dere’s eyes. Her expression was oddly serious. “I must report that you are not acting within standard operating procedure.”

Cairn let out a half-hearted chuckle. “Yes, I… I suppose I’ve been a little stressed on this mission.” Something occurred to him. “Send Doctor Horse in. I want his medical opinion.”

“As you say, Commander,” Sun Dere said evenly.

Somehow, Cairn was incredibly relieved that of all the things Newfoals could be expected to question, that was not one of them. And why is that, I wonder?

Still, it would be good to get Horse’s opinion. He was a solid sort of stallion. Reliable. Wasn’t prone to flights of fancy.

And he… he should look at this thing too.

Maybe he can tell me why it’s so. Very. Captivating.

When Sam reached one of the many log-cabins, she stopped.

“Here we are,” she said quietly. She looked at Luke. “My father will want you to be honest. So be honest.”

“Uh, yeah,” Luke said, nodding. “Honest. Right.”

Sam winked, and then pushed the door to the cabin open.

The first thing that Luke noticed was that it was simplistically decorated: there were a few maps of America, certain areas highlighted. A few notes – Lovikov here, Grant here – were scribbled onto certain parts of the map. And there, in a red circle, was the town of Nipville.

A man in a long green military overcoat with a shaven head was standing over a desk. The desk had another map, this one a more detailed one, showing a smaller area. Luke thought he could make out ‘Bastion’, ‘Hadley’s Hope’, and a few other names. Another man was with him, a grim and angry looking man in biker leather daubed in more of those Norse symbols. He looked up as Sam and Luke entered the cabin.

“Sam,” he said curtly.

“John,” she replied. She looked to the man in the military coat. “Dad.”

“Officer Yarrow,” the man – clearly Maximilian Yarrow – said, looking up. He looked at Luke. “And your Nipville survivor.”

“Um, Luke Scott, uh, reporting, sir?” Luke tried, feeling awkward as all hell.

‘John’ laughed. “Hark at the militiaman trying to be a proper soldier.”

Yarrow glared at him, and he immediately shut up. That done, the Commander looked back at Luke, and gave him a small smile.

“Mr Scott,” he said. “I’m glad you survived.” He motioned for Luke to sit down. “That’s an English accent.”

“Yes, sir,” Luke said. “I’m from Leeds originally, sir.”

“Good city,” Yarrow said. “A little crowded, I always found, but nowhere near as bad as further south.”

“No, sir,” Luke said with a little laugh.

“Relax, lad,” Yarrow said, smiling. “All I want to hear is what happened. The truth.”

Luke swallowed. “Right. Uh, well…”

“Start by telling us what you were doing in Nipville,” ‘John’ began.

“Uh, right,” Luke said, nodding. “Well… uh… well.” He coughed, and suddenly felt acutely aware of the three pairs of eyes staring at him. “We, uh, were in our designated patrol route, y’know? Nipville and a couple of the other towns in the area know us. So, uh, the guy - some ‘Fraktion officer or something? I didn’t catch his name. But, uh…”

“But he recruited you,” Yarrow said heavily. “Right?”

“Just to hold the outer border, and to get the locals to trust ‘em,” Luke said, nodding. “Um, he said it would facilitate their operations.”

Yarrow swore under his breath. “Like I’ve said before. They recruit independents. Let me guess, your unit’s Commander didn’t really pay attention to the split.”

“Um, not really,” Luke said, shrugging. “I mean, it was a bit above us, y’know? But, uh, the ‘Fraktion guy had the proper serial ID and stuff.”

“Of course he did,” ‘John’ said heavily. “Fuckin’ Christ.”

“Idle,” Yarrow said in a warning tone. It took Luke a second to realise that was the other man’s name. Yarrow looked back at Luke. “So: you didn’t know what they were doing in there?”

“They, uh, didn’t ask for us, sir,” Luke said quietly. “Said it was classified?”

“Easy to manipulate these lads into doing the shitty jobs so they could focus on having the ‘real fun’,” Idle said scathingly.

Yarrow ignored him. “And then the UNAC?”

“Uh, I don’t really remember the attack,” Luke said apologetically. “One minute we were fine, then there was a yell from someone, an explosion, and then the next thing I remember is waking up being looked after by that Jim guy.”

“Jim,” Yarrow repeated. He raised an eyebrow and looked at Sam.

“Jim and Hiro Mifune were both there, sir,” Sam said. “They stayed behind in Nipville.”

“Of course they did,” Yarrow said quietly. He looked at Luke. “I’ve seen some of the pictures Sam and her unit took, and they have helmet cam footage as well. I just needed to know what your involvement was. Were they any other units besides yours and the ‘Fraktion?”

“Uh,” Luke blinked, trying to remember. “Some guys called the ‘Sons of Macha’, and some other people who I think might’ve been Christian Marines?”

“Like I said, Bowen and O’Donnell are on Galt’s side of the split,” Idle put in. “That fits with their movements and the lack of communication from them.”

“That’s how many units confirmed on their side?” Sam asked.

“Nine in total,” Yarrow said quietly. “The ‘Fraktion, the Thenardier, the Christian Marines, Taskforce Paris, the Sons, what’s left of Carter’s Irregulars, nevermind that they’re folded into the Thenardiers at this point, the Gluepots, the Lost Legion and the Horncrushers.”

“What about the BD?” Idle asked.

“Rogue independents,” Yarrow said tiredly. “And, unfortunately, not our problem to deal with. They’re too far away for effective handling.”

“We’ve got more units on our side,” Sam said quietly, “but the ‘Fraktion has the edge in pulling in the local independents.”

Luke had started feeling like this conversation had gone over his head the minute they’d started talking about other units.

“Uh, excuse me?” He asked quietly.

Yarrow looked at him, before smiling. “Sorry, this is all a bit much I bet. Tell you what: go outside, ask for Preacher. He’ll see you right.”

“Uh, thanks,” Luke said, smiling. Sam gave him a final, friendly smile, and then he left the cabin, wondering what exactly was going to happen to him now.

Sam and Idle stood, silent, for a few moments after Luke had exited. Sam had a small, triumphant expression on her face. Idle was scowling - that was nothing new, though, he always scowled. Maxi tried to keep his own expression studiously neutral, but he knew it was a losing battle: he could feel his brow furrowing.

We could have done without this shit, he thought grimly.

“So, nine units,” Idle finally said. “I’d say Lovikov and Galt are the worst.”

“Grant’s unit was always dangerous,” Yarrow said quietly. “And Lovikov has Kraber, Benning, Gunderson, Murphy, and a dozen other hardened killers on his side.”

“Taskforce Paris should still be a consideration,” Sam put in, turning to look at a map of America. “Our intel on them is sketchy at best.”

“Agreed, but they’re a smaller unit, and they’ve mostly remained focused, even on that side of the Split,” Yarrow said quietly. He stood, walking to the map and tapping it. “The area around Montreal is a hotspot right now. All sorts of mess.”

“Agreed,” Idle said quietly. “With Lovikov there, we know there’s a lot of potential for him to right royally fuck us over, not to mention the war effort.”

“Which makes dealing with him our first priority,” Yarrow said quietly.

Sam and Idle exchanged a glance.

“Not the PER?” Idle asked.

“Or the PHL?” Sam added.

Maxi paused, looking at both of them. “Lovikov represents a consistent threat to the chain of HLF command. He’s a cornerstone of the other side of the split. His potential to disrupt the war effort is considerable. I want him gone. Do you both understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Idle said at once.

“Yes, sir,” Sam echoed, more reluctantly.

Maxi frowned at her for a moment. Something’s going on there.

“John,” he said to Idle. “If you could leave us alone for the moment.”

“Sir,” Idle replied, throwing a loose salute. “I’ll be around if you need me.”

“I appreciate that,” Maxi said quietly.

Idle nodded to Sam as he left the cabin. She returned the nod. Neither of them were on particularly good terms: Sam didn’t approve of Idle’s lax discipline or attitude. Idle didn’t like what he termed Sam’s ‘pole-up-the-arse’ syndrome. And yet, like so many other things, Maxi Yarrow had made it work.

How is this all going to work without me, he thought, running a hand over his shaven head.

“You looked oddly happy when we confirmed what happened in Nipville,” he said to Sam after a moment. At the mention, she smiled.

“I’m not happy,” she said, her grin belying it. “Not… not really. I just…” She let out a sigh. “God, it’s been so hard to do our jobs this last year. Men like Lovikov doing whatever they wanted, and now this.”

“Yes,” Maxi agreed. “This certainly gives us more than enough onus to go and give Lovikov the attention he seems to be begging for.”

“About damn time,” Sam said with a grin. “I shouldn’t be happy that he crossed the line, but I am, because now we get to take him down.”

“I hear that,” Maxi said, nodding.

“Two birds with one stone,” Sam continued. “Nipville gives us Lovikov and his lot being war criminals, so the rest of the Front won’t think twice when you take him out, and it gives us the opportunity to put the PHL and the UNAC in their place.”

Maxi felt his blood run cold. “What makes you say that?”

“You kidding?” Sam asked. “The UNAC and PHL have been using those mutineering pricks like a warrant to talk down to us, sanction us, kill our men, and all the while the split widens and we can’t keep people on our side of it because… well, it’s like Daniel said, isn’t it? How are we supposed to convince them they’re not being persecuted when they are?” She grinned, even wider than before. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be gloating about this, it’s petty as shit. But it’ll be so great to pin them to the wall for this.”

“Nobody’s pinning anybody to the wall for anything,” Maxi said evenly.

Sam’s grin disappeared in an instant. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard,” Maxi said tiredly. “We’ll deal with Lovikov and have a presence in Defiance. Deal with the big fish first. Then, once that’s sorted, I’ll lodge a formal complaint with the PHL. Cheerilee or Alex Reiner or someone will read it, God willing. Yael Ze’ev will most likely be demoted and sent to work with a different commander, somewhere quiet. Nipville will be hushed up. That will be the end of it.”

Sam blinked, as though not sure she was hearing correctly. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were,” Maxi said tiredly. “But in a war of survival, even when other factions are acting to divide, we must act as the voice of reason and try to keep the peace.”

“You’re definitely joking,” Sam said flatly. “We have them nailed to the fucking wall over this, Dad.”

“And what do you think will happen if the people lose faith in the PHL?!” Maxi snapped. “What do you think happens to morale when the force Lyra Heartstrings pulled together is shown to be just as shitty as the rest of us?!”

“They’ve done it to us,” Sam said. “They’re putting you in the same boat as Lovikov. I’ve heard their rhetoric. They don’t think you’re any different than him.”

“They can think what they like,” Maxi said flatly, “so long as they let me do my job.”

“But they don’t,” Sam pointed out. “They’ve been friendly-firing us, arresting our people, threatening us in shitty letters and shittier propaganda for months. Wolfgang and Arthur, Dad.” She laughed, an almost desperate sound. “And now they cut us out of our own damn chain of command, went over our heads, and murdered civilians, and they have the government ready to help them brush it under the carpet -”

“Yes, and we’re going to have to take that and be the bigger people about it!” Maxi hissed, slamming a hand on his desk. Sam jumped, shocked at the display, and Maxi sighed. “I’m not pretending it’s just. Or anything approaching fair treatment of us, or even Yael Ze’ev. God knows, I don’t think that woman should be allowed to stay in the army after using flamethrowers in an area with civilians. I’m not going to lie and say that it’s what Heartstrings would have wanted, either. But it’s what they’ll do, because they think they have to. And for the sake of the war, for the sake of stability, we have to accept that.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Dad. We are not Batman, this is not The Dark Knight, and the PHL are not the heroes Gotham needs right now. You don’t have to play martyr for their sins.”

“Are we the heroes the world needs?” Maxi asked. “I’ve spent as much time cleaning up Lovikov or Grant’s messes as I have killing PER and Imperials these last eleven months. We are fighting a civil war, Sam. A nasty, bloody war. People can’t look to us to give them hope.”

“Oh, can’t they?!” Sam retorted. She pointed to the door. “The Cranes delivered their baby on the Purity. They’d be sunk or ponified without you. And you tell me you can’t give people hope? You built this town out of spit, prefabs, hard effort and the sweat of your brow. You helped build every palisade, every house, every crop. You know almost everyone by name. And you’re telling me the people out there who love you aren’t being given hope? I’ve seen men follow you into hopeless battles and impossible odds, and they believed in you just because you spoke to them. Is that not ‘giving them hope’, Dad?!”

“Well then,” Maxi said. “All valid points. But…” he relaxed slightly. “But what would you do, Sam?” His anger was gone. “What would you have me do?”

“I would have you nail them to the wall where they belong,” Sam replied. “I would have you do something.”

“And place ourselves against the PHL,” Maxi said. “People who have an army of PR representatives, more money, and more resources.”

“Hitler had PR, Dad,” Sam said scathingly. “George Bush, Tony Blair, Robert Mugabe, Kim Jong Il, Kim Jong Un, all these people had resources and PR. That doesn’t mean that they were right.”

“No, but it doesn’t mean it’s a battle we can win,” Maxi retorted. “We’ve more to lose on fighting it than not.”

“Oh, well, fine,” Sam said, shrugging and folding her arms. “Hey, while we’re giving up on battles we can’t win, shall we just shoot ourselves and have done with it?”

Maxi blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” Sam said, her tone turning desperate. “You walked into this fight knowing it wasn’t something we had that much of a chance on. Thanks to you, we’ve got more of one. Thanks to you, Daniel, and a hell of lot of good, dead friends, we’ve done more than anyone ever thought we might. But this is still a hard fight, Dad. A losing fight. We still, after all these years, don’t have anything on the Barrier. So many people think this fight is impossible.” She took a breath. “And you’re fighting anyway.”

Maxi blinked. “It’s… not evenly remotely the same thing.”

“No, it isn’t,” Sam replied. “Because I’m not asking you to destroy the Barrier, or kill some immortal super-horse-goddess with wings. I’m just asking you to stand up, and say ‘no’. ‘No, you can’t condemn us for actions you commit yourselves’. ‘No, you are not the moral high ground you claim to be’. ‘No, you cannot kill innocents and claim that you did it for the right reasons’. All the things we’ve been saying about Lovikov and his ilk for a year. All I want you to do is say to the world, ‘wrong is wrong’. That’s a fucking piece of cake compared to the Empire.”

Maxi scowled. “You know it won’t make a difference.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort,” Sam retorted, “but I know not saying anything won’t make a difference.”

“Even so,” Maxi replied. He sighed. “We have to be careful, Sam.”

“Careful,” Sam snorted. “Or what. They’ll burn us too?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Maxi replied, giving her a warning glare. “You don’t know what they could or could not do. There’s always been a lot of people in the PHL who aren’t happy about a large, non-government group like us.”

“And I’d share their concerns,” Sam replied, “if they weren’t so busy undermining you instead of helping you.”

“You can’t blame them,” Maxi replied.

“I can,” Sam replied. She paused, taking a breath. “We have to have a contingency.”

“A…” Maxi blinked. “A contingency?”

“For if they come for us,” Sam replied.

“You…” Maxi facepalmed. “If you write down any kind of ‘contingency’ to deal with the PHL, do you have any idea how suspicious that will look?!

“Just a basic one, Dad,” Sam said. “I was drawing up basic lines of defence in the ride here from Nipville, and I was thinking we could get some of Daniel’s guys to put up scramblers -”

Yarrow sighed. “Dragging Romero into this. Christ. Please tell me you haven’t contacted him about it.”

“It was in the APC, Dad,” Sam said, rolling her eyes, “I literally haven’t contacted anyone. We do still have a chain of command, after all.”

“Glad you remember that, at least,” Maxi said, chuckling weakly.

He paused, collecting his thoughts and trying to think of the best way to word this.

Damn her for inheriting her mother’s fire and brains, he thought, feeling a little guilty for it. He loved both those things about his daughter and her mother (God rest her soul), but damn it could be frustrating to argue with.

“Sam, if you don’t take anything else from this, listen to me now,” he finally said, speaking quietly. “If they find any sort of evidence that you’re preparing for a conflict with them, they will see it as provocation, and they will burn us.”

“What, so they burn civilians and then when we make plans to protect ourselves from them burning civilians they’d burn civilians to punish us for that?” Sam asked. “Are you really saying that?”

Maxi sighed. “Sam…”

“Are you honestly trying to convince me not to make plans by telling me that the PHL are the danger to our people that I think they are?” Sam said, her voice rising in volume.

“No,” Maxi yelled back, “I’m trying to tell you that you’ll make your own worst fears true if you always assume they’re real!”

“And I'm trying to tell you that we can't trust them!” Sam shouted. “You saw the photos from Nipville, dad! You heard what Luke said!”

“I don't like trusting them any more than you do!” Maxi yelled.

There was a long, empty pause as the two of them breathed heavily, panting from the exertion of shouting at each other.

“Of course I don’t like it,” Maxi said, quieter now. “Why would I. I’ve killed innocents myself, Sam. When I fought for a flag, I was responsible for crimes that got covered up. That’s why I can’t fight for a flag now. That’s why I have to fight for people, for a cause that unites people regardless of their flag. Because now, of all times, I cannot accept flags and men in suits telling me what they think is right. Because I know, deep down, that they’re not.”

“But if you understand…” Sam began.

“Who else is there in this, Sam?” Maxi asked her. “If we bring down the PHL, expose them, who else do we have left? Daniel has good ponies and people, but not enough. The Independents, like Luke? They’re small fry. They compartmentalise the whole war into protecting their little patch, and all they want is to be left alone!” He rolled his eyes. “And don’t get me started on the rogue HLF. Christ, I'd rather shoot myself and be done with it.”

“So… we’re going to do nothing, they get off Scot free, we probably don’t even have the support to take out the damn mutineers, and one day they’ll come for us and I can’t even begin planning how to protect us,” Sam said quietly. She shook her head, clearly disappointed. “Jesus, Dad. Never thought I’d see you turn into Neville Chamberlain.”

Before Maxi could reply to that, there was a knock at the door. Sam half-turned, and Maxi sighed.

“Come in,” he said evenly.

A man in fatigues entered. “Guards report a PHL van with another shipment coming in.”

Maxi gave Sam an expression, as if to say ‘there, see? Another reason to have the PHL on our side’. She just rolled her eyes.

“Let ‘em in,” Maxi said. “And then take a break, Fred, you look knackered.”

“Someone’s gotta build the concrete defence wall, boss,” Fred replied, smirking.

“Yeah, and it’ll get built,” Maxi replied, “but you’ve got a pregnant wife in your cabin. Go see to her.”

Fred nodded. “Cheers, Maxi. I’ll go do that now.”

He walked out, leaving Sam and Maxi alone.

“We’ll discuss this when you’ve had the chance to calm down,” Maxi finally said. “And I will discuss with Daniel what our response, if any, should be.”

“You know Daniel,” Sam said curtly. “He’ll say it’s all a distraction from the real fight.”

“And he’d be right,” Maxi retorted, walking out.

“Yeah, maybe,” Sam said, staying behind him, “but will any of us be alive to fight the real fight if the PHL have their way?”

The crates had been stacked in the main courtyard by some of the Reavers. Sam stood by the doorway of her father’s cabin as he walked towards the crates. As usual, they were marked with ATC symbols and covered in yellow and red markings.

“So?” Yarrow asked as he reached the crates. “Where are the delivery boys for us to thank?”

A forest-green pony with a big brown mustache and short, thick mane streaked with some green, like moss on a tree stepped up, flanked by two humans - a heavyset man who looked like he could bench-press a truck, and a woman with thick, bulging biceps.

“Dovetail?” Yarrow asked. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Figured I’d slip you…” Dovetail said, and then theatrically looked around, a comically wide-eyed expression affected on his face. Then a stage whisper: “A little extra. The personal touch, y’understand.”

He then waved to Sam. “Hope this is going well for you, Sam! I’ll just consider this part of your vacation days,” he said, smirking.

“Dovetail,” Sam said, shaking her head. “You know what I said. I’m never coming back.”

Dovetail, as it happened, was one of the top engineers from PHL R&D in Montreal, a sprawling complex built in several old mills that’d lain abandoned for decades. He dabbled in virtually everything - power generation, weaponry, armour, vehicles, medicine. He and Sam, along with his not-quite-lover, not-quite partner Rachel Presley, had collaborated on reworking ATC tech, and creating the first PHL magitech. That, of course, had been before Sam had been rubbed the wrong way by the whole kit and caboodle.

“I do,” Dovetail said. “And besides, ‘vacation day’ is the most innocuous way I can put it.”

Sam resisted the urge to slap him. This had been a common thread back when they worked together.

Dovetail looked back to the PHL soldiers behind him. “Thompson, Scrimgeour? You don’t mention this, and there’s some of The Good Shit for you afterwards - I’m talking stuff brewed in Europe.”

“But Europe is…” Thompson started. “Ohhhhh. Oh, I get it. Offer accepted, Dovey.”

“Don’t call me Dovey,” Dovetail said, trying not to chuckle and not quite succeeding.

Yarrow waved at them, a grin on his face. “I’ll do you one better, Dovetail. I have some of that to spare. You, Thompson, and Scrimgeour get some, and you let them have some of your private reserve just so we’re all sure. They’ve earned it.”

There was a loud cheer from the surrounding Reavers, and Dovetail and his colleagues looked slightly awkward and embarrassed. Sam just grinned.

That’s Dad, she thought. Even the delivery boys get the same treatment.

Yarrow motioned to one of his people. “Adrianne, get these crates to our -”

Wherever he was going to get Adrianne to take the crates, Sam wouldn’t find out, because at that moment there was a sudden rush of air, light, heat, and noise, and the next thing Sam knew she was lying on her stomach, her back aching, and panic coursing through her veins. She looked up, and saw the wreckage of the courtyard… and bodies.

No… she thought. No, no, no!

She tried to stand, and only stumbled, falling back to the ground. She could feel herself blacking out.

Dad… she thought, as consciousness finally escaped her.

Ah, here we go.

So: we have Sam’s character arc, poor old Commander Cairn, and Luke having no idea what to do with himself. I wonder where this could be going…?

Seriously, this was a mega-fun chapter to write. I used to write arguments like Sam’s and Maxi’s back in the day and I would get effectively sabotaged by the setting. NOT ANYMORE MUDDERKUFFERS! Now there’s a real debate at hand, and I get to write two-sidedness. Well, sorta, anyway.

“Our hopes and expectations…
Black holes and revelations…”
Muse, Starlight.

Interview Record: H. M.
File Codename: “Limiting Factor”.

Interview subject: Doctor Richard Bowman (D.B.)

Interviewer note: Doctor Bowman is simultaneously one of the most reliable and yet unreliable members of this department. At any given moment he might be helping with Colonel Hex’s programs, assisting our dept. with any number of technological issues, in the field lending scientific advice, or complaining to my secretary about her inability to make good tea. His exact motivations are, unfortunately, an enigma to me.

Note from Col. Gardner to H.M. That jackass Bowman sabotaged my damn air con again. I got a blast of cold air that literally froze my coffee when I switched it on this morning. Shut that prick down before I do.

Additional note from Doctor Who?. LOLNO.

Additional note from Chalcedony, PHL R&D. Did you really just send Gardner a note saying “LOLNO”?

Additional note from H.M. Did you really just CC in everyone on your email list?

Additional note from KingWills. Yes. Yes he did.

Additional note from Col. Gardner. FOR FUCKS SAKE.

Additional note from Doctor Who?. Mind your apostrophes, Colonel.

D.B: Ah, here we are again. Refreshingly familiar.

H.M: Again?

D.B: Never mind. How can I help you, Colonel?

H.M: I assume you’ve read the reports.

(There is a pause)

D.B: I have.

H.M: Opinions?

D.B: Are like rabbits. You put one down and it’ll breed a hundred more.

H.M: You know what I’m asking.

D.B: I was there for a lot of what happened. So yes, I know what you’re asking. Although I don’t know how much help I’ll be.

H.M: Anything is better than nothing.

D.B: Alright. Then I can tell you you’re lucky. Very lucky. You were this close to Armageddon.

H.M: That bad?

D.B: That bad. I’ve already seen it happen, Colonel.

H.M: In the future?

D.B: In an alternative future. A world that was, and now is subsumed and lost forever. Trust me when I say, you do not want to go out like them.

Bastion, August 9th, 2022.

Twelve minutes earlier.

Luke Scott wandered out of the cabin feeling… well, honestly, he didn’t know what he was feeling.

Maximilian Yarrow had certainly proven to be… not what he expected. If he had actually been expecting anything at all. There had been so many contradictory stories about the man. The hero of the Purity, the man who’d led the Cain run, the Butcher of the Barrierfall Front.

“Hey, you alright?” a Reaver asked, waving a hand at him and bringing him out of his reverie. “You're the new guy who came in with Sam, right?”

“Uh, right,” Luke said, nodding. “Commander Yarrow said I should look for… Preacher?”

The Reaver nodded. “Gotcha. He’s right that way.”

The armoured figure pointed in the direction of one of the older buildings, a grey, dull prefab with the ATC logo painted over with a simple cross.

“Thanks,” Luke muttered, walking over to the building. He hesitated for a moment, and then knocked on the door.

“Come in!” a genial voice called out.

Gently, Luke pushed the door open. Inside the building, there were a few equally grey benches arranged in something loosely resembling a church. There was no lectern: instead, a simple chair sat at the head of the room.

Sitting in one pew was a man in a battered bowler hat, reading a book. However, in that simple chair at the head of the room, reading a copy of the bible, was a man in his late fifties or early sixties, a pair of half moon spectacles perched on his nose. He wore a long black coat over a simple, threadbare suit. He glanced up as Luke entered the room.

“Ah,” he said, standing up. “Can I help you, young man?”

“Uh, yeah,” Luke said, swallowing. He’d never been very good at any of this sort of thing. “Um… I… do you, uh, do confessions?”

The man shook his head, a kind smile on his face. “I was Anglican before the war. Now I’m somewhat denomination-non-specific, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” Luke said quietly.

“Still,” the man continued, “I’m more than happy to sit and talk, if you find that’s what you need. A Shepherd tends to his flock, no matter who they might be.”

Luke nodded. “I… I’d like that. Uh, Father.”

“Preacher,” the man corrected gently. “I go by Preacher. A somewhat on-the-nose nickname from the rest of my flock, but acceptable.”

Luke smiled, though there wasn’t really any mirth in it.

“Come on,” Preacher said, tapping one of the makeshift pews, “come sit and tell me what the problem is.”

“Ha, where to start,” Luke said, shaking his head. He sat down, putting his head in his hands. “I… really don’t know where to start.”

“Well. You could start by telling me your name,” Preacher said quietly. “I don’t know you, so you must be new.”

“Yeah,” Luke said. “I’m -”

Before he could finish, there was a sound, one very familiar to both men. Luke stood up at once, and Preacher took his half-moon spectacles off.

“GET DOWN!” the man from the pew yelled, diving to the floor and pulling Luke with him.

The ground shook, and one of the windows cracked. Luke pushed himself to a standing position, his eyes wide in horror.

“Oh no,” the priest whispered from behind him. “Come on, young man. We may need to help.”

He raced out faster than Luke might have thought possible for an older man, and Luke followed, already worrying.

Wake up, trooper! something yelled at the back of Sam’s mind. Wake the fuck up!

She pushed herself to her feet, her head, arms and back screaming in agony. She looked up, and saw the blistered and broken remains of the supply crates, the broken bodies lying all around it. Only one body concerned her, though.

Her father was lying flat on his back. He had been thrown some ten feet from where he’d been standing, and there was a nasty burn mark on his shirt and coat. A large gash had been gouged out of his forehead, and was bleeding profusely.

“Medic!” Sam yelled weakly. Grimacing, she forced herself forward. “Fucking medic, now!”

A few Reavers raced over, checking the bodies. One – an older man in a white tank-top and cargo pants – reached her father’s side and immediately checked a pulse.

“He’ll be fine,” he said evenly after a moment. “I think. Not sure if he’s got internal injury from the blast, though. The head trauma will keep him down for a little while, no question.”

“Just get him treated, Avery,” Sam said heavily. “Now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Avery said. He motioned to some of the approaching stretcher crews, and they raced over to her father’s side, gently moving him onto a stretcher.

Sam winced, looking down at her armour. It had been dented and scratched, but not penetrated – the most she likely had was some jostling.

I’ll feel it for a day or two, but I’ll live, she assessed. Her own state wasn’t the first thing on her mind, however.

The three PHL personnel – the pony, Dovetail, and the two humans – had been knocked off their feet, but they were all alive and apparently uninjured. Even as Sam watched, some of the Reavers were muttering to themselves, looking at the PHL with hard eyes.

Idle jogged up to Sam, his face blackened with soot but otherwise alright. “What are your orders?”

“My orders?” Sam repeated. “You mean -”

“Maxi was clear,” Idle said at once. “You’re the boss, Sam.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Get me the Odinsons. Now.”

Idle nodded, and put a hand to his earpiece. Sam, already dismissing the thought, drew her Seegert pistol, and strode towards Dovetail and his people.

Dovetail saw her first.

“Sam,” he said, but Sam said nothing, instead aiming the pistol.

“Don’t,” she hissed.

“Arm…” Scrimgeour hissed through gritted teeth. “Hurts…”

Thompson was carrying her, letting her lean on him with his good arm.

Blood issued from a narrow gash in her head. Sam had seen wounds like that – concussion, but hardly fatal, if she got treatment relatively soon.

“You’ll live,” she said curtly.

She was saved from having to say more to them by the arrival of the Odinsons – twelve soldiers with red norse markings all over their armour, custom warhammers in hand.

“Howard,” Sam said to the leader, a tall black man with a serene expression. “Please take these… these individuals and lock them in the brig. Try not to hurt them, Dad wouldn’t want that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Howard T Preston replied. He looked at Dovetail and his team. “Please come with us. I don’t want to have to make this ugly.”

Dovetail gave Sam a final pleading expression, but she said nothing, instead turning away. The Odinsons led Dovetails group away a moment later, and Sam let out a breath.

Well, Dad, she thought, closing her eyes. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. She felt sick for thinking it, but it was true. I just hope you live for me to say ‘I told you so’.

The brig, such as it was, was simply another ATC prefab, grey walls and grey doors. The Odinsons escorted the PHL team there, and shoved them none-too-gently into the main room. There were chairs, at least.

After a few minutes, Sam Yarrow entered the room.

“You guys,” she began, her voice full of a kind of venom that Dovetail had never heard even when she had stopped working with the PHL, “are in so. Much. Shit.”

“Honestly,” Thompson said, “I’m as surprised as you.”

Dovetail glared. “Thompson, no…”

“You knew about it?!” Sam said.

“Wha…” Dovetail started. “NO! God, no! Why would you even-”

“Your shipment just blew up in my Dad’s face, Dovetail!” Sam snapped, her expression somewhere a light year or two past ‘thunderous’. “I’d take a good long look at the situation you are in and decide whether you really can’t think of a single reason I would think that maybe you had something to do with it!”

“Sam…” Dovetail began again.

“Was that it,” Sam said, voice devoid of emotion. “Was that the little extra you promised, Dovetail? WAS IT?”

Dovetail’s persona had simply fallen apart. His mustache dropped, and he looked aghast.

“I don’t know any more about it than you!” he yelled. “I was just going to surprise you with an LS-66 Sabre from R&D!”

“A likely story,” someone standing next to Sam sneered.

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” Dovetail yelled. “Scrimgeour’s arm is broken, she has a head wound, and you dragged her in here too! I think…”

“Then what?” Sam asked, her voice now deathly cold. “The PHL shipment just happened to have a bomb?”

“At least get her into your infirmary!” Dovetail yelled.

“I’ll have Avery see her in here,” Sam said. Her knuckles cracked, her fist clenched tightly. “Trust me. You don’t want to be out there. We have families here, Dovetail. We have children. We were this close,” she held up her finger and thumb, “from having your shipment – the one with the bomb in it – kill someone’s toddler. If you think I’m being unreasonable, think again.”

“You dragged in a woman with a head wound and broken arm for interrogation, and haven’t even given her an aspirin,” Dovetail said.

“This isn’t an interrogation, you smug prick, and I haven’t asked her a damn thing!” Sam hissed. “This is me putting you here until I calm down enough to know what my Dad would want done.” She took a breath. “I. Will. Have. Avery. Look. At. Her. Now will you, very kindly, stop worrying about your friend with the minor head wound and the easily healed arm, and start thinking very carefully about the fact that your shipment has killed some of my friends.”

Dovetail took a deep breath.

“I,” he said, “am truly sorry about this. I have no idea how this happened. I… I never wanted to hurt anyone here. I just wanted. To deliver some supplies. Including the laser rifle.”

“Well, you’ve instead succeeded in driving a bomb into my home,” Sam said. She turned to one of the Odinsons. “Get Avery. Or one of the other medics. One of the detached ones. Now.”

The Odinson nodded and left. Sam turned back to Dovetail.

“Think very carefully,” she said quietly. “I want names. Who has touched this shipment.”

“A lot of PHL R&D,” Thompson volunteered.

Dovetail shook his head again. “Let’s see. Colonels Hex and Munro, Becky-”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“Rebecca, Dr. Presley!” Dovetail said. “Whoever! Jimmy Walker, Lieutenant Colonel Northwoods, Haidan Jansen, Boundless Creation, Chalcedony and Bowman, Anwilichukwu – she’s a zebra – Terry Cloth, Fuse Charge, Wallace Kleiner, Isaac Freeman, Dr. Vance… and a bunch of delivery boys we have.”

“And would any of these people have done anything?” Sam asked, scowling.

“Only one I can think of that would is Isaac, but he doesn’t talk that much,” Dovetail said. “He’s not mute, y’know. Just doesn’t talk.”

“Really?” Sam asked. “Huh. Doesn’t seem like him, though. Besides, Freeman works in physics. Not all that likely he’d know much about explosives.”

“Bowman and Chalcedony are right out, cause… come on, everyone knows,” Dovetail continued.

Something about the way Dovetail was talking made the prospect of punching him in the face seem ever more attractive to Sam. She pushed it away.

“What about Gardner? Would he have done it?” she asked, more to distract herself.

Dovetail shook his head. “He hates all HLF, but he doesn’t touch these shipments, and even if he somehow got his hands on it, he’d confiscate it and then pass it off to his own men. He’s not a subtle kinda guy.”

Of course not, Sam thought, scowling.

“Striker?” she asked.

“Quit R&D after you told him to fuck off, got ponified in the field last month,” Dovetail said.

“Yael?” Sam asked. I know it’s a long shot, but please, please give me something to nail that bitch...

Dovetail laughed despite Sam’s glare. “You kidding? She was miles away when we were packing this up.”

Sam sighed. “Shit. SHIT!” She punched a wall, the metal denting. Dovetail blinked: he’d forgotten how tough ATC Replica armour was. “This… this is…”

“I’ve a question though,” Dovetail asked.

Sam glared. “Which would be?”

“Okay,” Dovetail said. “I’ve pissed you off.”

“Whatever gave you that idea,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

“Call it a hunch,” Dovetail said. “But… I don’t think we’ll get to ‘who’ by throwing names out. Let’s… why would the bomber do it?”

“Gee whizz, why would anyone want to kill Reavers,” Sam thought, tapping her chin sarcastically. “Between Yael Ze’ev burning a town of civilians and taking every opportunity she can to say ‘we need to kill and fold in the HLF because we can’t afford for them to exist’, Gardner being a prick at every opportunity – and I mean every opportunity – and about eighteen friendly fire incidents in eleven months, that I know of, I couldn’t possible see any motivation among the UNAC and PHL for wanting to kill Reavers.” She gave a harsh, almost desperate laugh. “I mean, we’ve been getting on so well, Dovetail! I was even going to invite the whole PHL to the Christmas party! We had the moonshine and everything!”

“I’m just going with what I’ve seen on TV,” Dovetail said. “Trying to construct a motive. That’s all.”

“The motive’s pretty crystal clear to me,” Sam said icily. “And it has been, for years.”

“How do you know this isn’t what the bomber would want?” Thompson asked suddenly. “This… distrust and division thing?”

Dovetail stared at him blankly for a second. “That… is a really good point, Vince.”

“Thank you,” Thompson said.

“I don’t,” Sam snapped. “I don’t know anything right now. All I have is what’s in front of me.”

“Except neither of them are involved with us,” Dovetail said. “R&D sits on Gardner’s requests for anything as long as they can manage. And Yael… well, Heliotrope works as a consultant with us. She’s not a regular.”

“Could she have done it?” Sam asked.

“It’s…” Dovetail said, considering it. “It’s possible. We were running some tests on her flightsuit to see what makes it work when our prototypes don’t come close. She came in a little before Nipville with Quiette Shy.”

“And Heliotrope is the definition of sneaky,” Sam said, more to herself than anyone else there. “It’s her whole M.O. Meanwhile, Quiette loves chaos. Could either of them have touched the shipment?”

“They would have had to know about when we were leaving, set up a trigger mechanism in the truck, know which truck we’d use, and…” Dovetail said. “And QS just seems too tired and apathetic to try this. I guess it makes sense, but…”

“Again,” Sam said, “she is the definition of sneaky, and Quiette Shy has a vicious streak a mile wide. And if you don’t know how Heliotrope’s suit works-”

“Honestly, sometimes I think she doesn’t know it that well,” Dovetail interrupted. “Lot of weird black box sorts of things in it.”

“She could have stealthed you out, Dovetail,” Sam finished, ignoring him. She snorted. “You did used to leave your laptop open, either on top secret files or that furry porn site you found. And don’t tell me she isn’t clever enough to do all those things if she wants to.”

“It still seems like a leap,” Thompson said.

“You seen Nipville, mate?” Sam asked the man. “You seen the burnt homes, the dead bodies, the wreckage where people used to be?”

The downcast looks on their faces told her all she needed to know.

“Then you know,” she said, “that some people are willing to go to any lengths, do anything, for what they think is right.”

Before she could say any more, Howard Preston entered the room, a medic in tow.

“There,” Preston said, pointing to Scrimgeour.

The medic sighed. “You pulled me off Karl for this.”

“I ordered you here,” Sam put in, turning to the medic. The man quailed. “These people stay in top health until I or my father say otherwise. Clear?”

“Crystal, ma’am,” the medic said. “I’ll… uh…”

“Do your job, Rick,” Sam said. “Do your damn job.”

The medic nodded. “Yes’m.”

He immediately went to the injured Scrimgeour, who was sitting on a chair. He shone a light in her eyes, then pulled a cold compress from his bag.

“No concussion,” he said. He checked her arm. “And this… this is a clean break.” He looked to Preston. “Get me a splint. She can get patched up in a hospital – assuming we let them go any time soon,” he added, looking at Sam. “And the splint should hold until then.”

Sam took a deep breath.

“Just one thing, though,” Dovetail said before she could speak. “If anyone asks what happened to us, you be as transparent as possible.”

“Don’t patronise me,” Sam said.

“I’m not… okay,” Dovetail said. “Okay, I am. And I know you think we did it. But there’s just one thing that keeps bugging me about it.”

“And that is?”

“Neither of us come out of this looking like the good one,” Dovetail said. “I feel like there’s too many ways this could spiral out of control.”

“So… what?” Sam asked, holding her arms out.

“I’m saying that a lot of things here don’t make sense,” Dovetail said. “I don’t have concrete conclusions, just questions.”

“Well, here’s a big one for you to think about, Dovetail,” Sam said quietly. “You had that shipment with you for the whole trip, from PHL R&D to here.”

“Yeah,” Dovetail said, frowning. “And…”

“And, it doesn’t detonate until Maximilian Yarrow, the guy holding this side of the split together, is close enough to get blown the fuck up by it,” Sam replied. A tear spilled from one of her eyes, and her voice shook. “It could have blown up any time before then, but it didn’t. This, whatever it was? This was deliberate, and targeted.”

“Yeah,” Dovetail said, “no argument there.”

“What you might want to also think about,” and Sam’s voice dropped to a whisper, “is that your team got off with scratches and a broken arm. Some of mine are dead, and I don’t even know if my Dad is going to be one of them.” She looked at all three PHL personnel. “So if any of you think you’re being unreasonably treated, I invite you to think about how that looks to me, to the men and women guarding you, and to the seven or eight thousand people billeted in this settlement.”

Dovetail felt the blood drain from his face. “Your father wouldn’t want anything happening to us.”

“Which is why nothing will,” Sam promised. She turned to Preston. “Get them beds and food. They might be here for a while.”

“Hey, you can’t just keep us here,” Thompson said.

“She can,” Dovetail said quietly. “But you shouldn’t, Sam.”

“Is that a threat?” Sam asked.

“No,” Dovetail said. “No it is not. But I’m serious, Sam. This will not help anything.”

“It’ll make me feel less like shooting you all in the face,” Sam snapped. She took another steadying breath. “I am trying, very, very hard, to maintain my objectivity with you people. Try to remember that.”

“Sam,” Dovetail tried again, but she turned and stormed out, her armoured boots clunking.

“Sorry, sir,” Preston said evenly. “She loves her father.”

Thompson looked up at him. “So, does… does this makes us prisoners or…”

“You’re whatever you want to think of yourselves as, sir,” Preston said with a shrug. “Me? I’d say you’re a bunch of unlucky sods, who are just lucky enough to have been accused of sabotage and murder by the HLF with self control.”

“Lucky,” Thompson said. “Huh.”

“Could be worse,” Preston said, shrugging. “I’ve seen Sam kick people in the balls wearing that armour.”

Thompson and Dovetail both looked at the dent in the wall where Sam had punched it. Both of them winced.

“Exactly,” Preston said. “Don’t worry. Maxi’ll see this right.”

“She’s going to…” Thompson said.

“Whatever you were going to say,” Dovetail said, “don’t. I know Sam. She wouldn’t…”

“She really wants to hurt something,” Thompson said. “My big sis always told me that people that usually find something. Innocent or no.”

Dovetail sighed. “Of course she does. Her Dad just got blown up, and…” He grimaced. “We do happen to look pretty suspicious, let’s not lie to ourselves here.”

“Hey, we know we didn’t do it,” Thompson said.

“Yeah, we know,” Dovetail said, “but Sam’s not a fucking telepath, is she?” He took a breath. “Look, we’ll… we’ll ride this out. Okay? We’ll ride this out and see what happens.”

“I’m still sleeping with one eye open,” Thompson said.

“Agreed,” Dovetail said.

Hadley’s Hope.

Cairn watched Dr Horse closely as he examined the sphere. His eyes were narrowed, fixated on the sphere. He had brought a variety of medical tools, but he hadn’t gotten any of them out. In fact, he hadn’t so much as touched his equipment since coming into Cairn’s tent.

“It is interesting, isn’t it?” the doctor said after a moment. “No apparent mechanism of any kind, no openings, not even a single flaw on its surface. It’s absolutely perfect.” He blinked. “And the… the thaumic signature is low, certainly too low to be causing any effect on a pony. At least, by our measurable definitions of ‘low’ and ‘effect’.”

“That’s what I thought,” Cairn said, nodding. “And yet…”

“And yet the effects you’ve noticed still exist, yes,” Horse agreed, nodding in turn. “Odd, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Cairn agreed in turn, still nodding. Both of them were still looking at the sphere.

More.

“I say,” Horse said, motioning to Sun Dere without looking away from the sphere. “I have a Newfoal nurse named Mercy Errand, you might remember her from when you were converted. Could you please fetch her here?”

Sun Dere bowed, and left without a single word, her usual smile still on her face.

“So obedient, these Newfoals, eh?” Cairn asked.

“Absolutely,” Horse said in turn. “Depressing in some ways. No fire in ‘em. I’d like Mercy to have a bit of bite now and then.”

Cairn didn’t take his eyes off the sphere, but he raised an eyebrow. “Bite, eh?”

“Oh, not like that, you pervert,” Horse said, rolling his eyes and then returning his gaze to the sphere. “Just… y’know, I used to like a good argument with my staff, back in Ponyville.”

“A pony who likes arguments,” Cairn said, chuckling. “Well then.”

“It’s just… it felt real,” Horse said, smiling wistfully. “Like at the end, we could all settle it down. And at the end, it was just part of a long shift. Don’t really get that from a Newfoal nurse.”

“I see your point,” Cairn said, nodding.

Neither of them took their eyes off the sphere. A few moments passed in absolute silence. Some part of Cairn wondered if there was something wrong with that…

No, he thought, smiling at the silliness of the idea. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

After a few moments, Sun Dere returned with Mercy Errand, a mare with a long black mane that hung over a pale, almost ghostly white coat. She smiled, brushing hair out of her eyes as she did so.

“Dr Horse,” she said, nodding. “You summoned me?”

“Want your opinion on this,” Horse said, motioning her forwards.

Mercy stepped forward, frowning at the sphere for a moment.

“I believe this is a contraband item from Commissar Straight Arrow’s confiscated pile, Dr Horse, sir,” she said after a moment. “It should be catalogued and destroyed. The blood of innocents is the shadow that spills from the feet of Tyrants.”

“Yes, it should be,” Horse said, apparently not registering what she’d said properly, “but we’ve documented some interesting effects that it seems to be having.”

“Effects, Dr Horse?” Mercy Errand repeated. “What sort of effects? Only the embrace of death can cure the cancer of the Tyrant.”

Horse grinned. “Like, for example, the fact that either you seem to be saying strange things, or I’m hallucinating.”

The way he was smiling made him seem entirely unperturbed by the possibility.

But then, why should he be? Cairn thought. I’m sure everything’s just as it should be, after all.

Mercy Errand’s expression became a gentle frown. “I am saying nothing out of the ordinary, Dr Horse. Praise the Nameless One who gave of himself to slay all that would chain us.” She paused. “May I respectfully suggest that you accompany myself and Sun Dere to the infirmary to be looked over. It would be just dreadful if something were to be wrong with you.”

Yes. More.

“I entirely agree, this could be serious,” Horse said, nodding. “I say, Cairn, I ought to take this as well, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Cairn agreed. “As many opinions as possible, don’t you think?”

“Indeed,” Horse agreed in turn, picking up the sphere in his left forehoof. “But, uh, Sun Dere, dear, I suggest you remain with Commander Cairn. In case his symptoms present worse, eh?”

“Absolutely, Dr Horse-san,” Sun Dere agreed with a nod. “Good luck, Nurse Mercy-chan!”

“Thank you, Sun Dere!” Mercy Errand replied with a grin. “And the same to you!”

She trotted out, Horse and the sphere (his gaze still locked on it as he hobbled three-leggedly out) in tow. Sun Dere turned to Cairn, who was still gazing at the spot the sphere had sat.

“Do you not have tasks to perform, Commander Cairn-san?” she asked, her smile still fixed and wide.

“What?” Cairn asked, looking up at her. When he met his gaze, he blinked. “Oh. Oh, yes, tasks. Absolutely.” He paused, thinking it over. “Go to the processing camp and halt all ponifications immediately.”

Sun Dere didn’t protest (and some small part of him found that more than a little odd), instead merely nodding.

“What reason should I give Lieutenant Pine for this decision?” she asked.

“Magical taint in the area and the risk of an infected or anomalous crop,” Cairn said at once -

(but… I don’t have any evidence of…)

And yet he pressed on. This felt right. It was the kind of gut feeling it was madness not to trust. “We don’t want a whole brigade of freaks on our hooves, after all. We’re hardly Shieldwall’s unit.”

“Yes, Cairn-san,” Sun Dere said, nodding. “Any other orders?”

“I want every trooper and Newfoal auxila to report to the infirmary systematically,” Cairn said, nodding to himself. “Yes. We need as many troopers… vetted… as we can.”

“Of course, sir,” Sun Dere said, inclining her head. “All hail the Nameless.”

“All hail,” Cairn said, then he shook his head. “Sorry, what was that, Dere?”

“All hail Celestia,” Sun Dere said, her smile turning into a quizzical frown. “Should you report to the infirmary as well, Commander Cairn-san?”

“No,” Cairn said, shaking his head and smiling. “No, everything’s alright now, Sun Dere. Carry out your orders. Please.”

“Yes, sir,” Sun Dere said, bowing and leaving.

Yes, Cairn thought, smiling to himself. Yes, this should all go perfectly. Absolutely perfectly.

A list was pinned to Maxi Yarrow’s cabin wall. On one side, ‘loyalists’. On the other, ‘traitors’. Beneath the latter was a list of nine names, nine units that had turned against the HLF’s ideals, that he wanted gone, along with individuals of note. On the other was a list of twenty or more units on the Spader-Loyalist side, most of which were billeted with the Reavers in Bastion. There was another military coat hanging on the coat rack, and maps with scrawls and doodles just about everywhere.

Her father had been preparing for battle, always preparing. But against whom, am had to wonder. There was so much here about Lovikov’s HLF, Grant’s unit, Taskforce Paris… she knew that he’d had thoughts about the PER, tactics for the Empire, that he had Daniel Romero going over… everything… but…

So much of this… I don’t get you, Dad, she thought. Mind you, dealing with the mutineers was definitely a priority. She sighed, picking up one of his files and going through it.

‘Mad Dog Lair to be primary target, he’d scribbled somewhere. Mad Dog is dangerous, demagoguery can lead to fighting large numbers of troops. Frontal assault? Deploy Odinsons at key positions, snipe guards. Attempt to minimise casualties. Stun rifles??? Must ask Munro for…’

Sam dropped the file. A plan for taking on Defiance. Did he think it would come to that? Is Lovikov really that dangerous?

She picked up another file and thumbed through it, stopping on one particular page.

‘...despite maintaining a friendly facade with his own troops and ingratiating himself with towns where his forces have deployed, has demonstrated marked sociopathic and narcissistic traits. Defectors and others from Menschabwehrfraktion have displayed signs of being in an emotionally abusive relationship. He assumed command after garrotting Gregor Helmetag, and shows little regret despite Helmetag having considered him a friend. Subject LEONID LOVIKOV shows an alarming ability to draw like-minded individuals to himself, such as Viktor Kraber and various New England-based antigovernment militias. For information on the latter, see file REBECCA BENNING.

‘Despite this, assassination is not recommended – without his guidance, it’s best not to consider what would happen to his group without him.’

Guess that’s a yes, Sam thought numbly. She picked up another file, this one labelled ‘Imperial and PER POI’, and thumbed through it. A few names made sense – Amadeus Cain, Jacob Levy, Shieldwall (bastard), and Captain Cactus – but one name popped up.

‘Commander Warrior Cairn,’ the file read, ‘PER Liaison and Commander Fifth EEF, no recorded victories, considered generally competent but predictable by ER Intel. Latest movements suggest his force to be operating in area near Valhalla.’

The name for Bastion: Sam frowned. Commander Cairn. Now there was a name she’d never heard, but if they were operating near here…

“Sam,” a voice said. Sam looked up from the desk, to see Avery standing in the doorway.

“Well?” she asked.

“Seven dead, one crippled, one who probably won’t make it through the night, and bunch of people with shrapnel injuries,” Avery said quietly.

“The PHL woman?” Sam asked dully.

“Arm’s set, it’ll be fine,” Avery said with a shrug. “Rick knew what he was doing, but Howard asked me to look over his work. Just in case, y’know?”

“Was it good?” Sam asked quietly.

“He’d been a little less gentle than I’d like,” Avery admitted.

Sam snorted. “Great. Give him latrine duty for a couple of days. Don’t want standards to slip.”

They were dancing around the issue, and both of them knew it.

“As for Maxi,” Avery finally said, taking a breath. “He… your father, he… he’s in a coma, but I can’t tell you if he’ll come out of it.”

Sam lowered her head, putting it on the desk. “I see.”

“Sam,” Avery said gently, “have you spoken much to your father about…”

He trailed off.

“About what?” Sam asked, not looking up.

“Well, this,” Avery said quietly. “Being in charge.”

“No,” Sam said quietly, lifting her head finally, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “We never spoke about this. Didn’t think…” She sniffed. “Didn’t think.”

Avery sighed. “Get yourself to Preacher’s church, Sam.”

“I have work to do,” she said hollowly.

“It’ll wait,” Avery said quietly. “Just go. He’s better at this than anyone else here.”

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “Sure.”

She stood, not really thinking about it, and walked out of the cabin. She almost stumbled: she was tired, and the armour was heavy. She probably should have gotten out of it, but she couldn’t bring herself to.

It took her a few minutes to finally enter the Church. Preacher wasn’t there – Lord knew, plenty of people would need his ministrations tonight. But there was someone there, to her surprise.

“Luke Scott?” she asked, frowning at the back of his head.

He turned, standing, his expression shocked. “Oh, uh, Officer Yarrow, I -”

“Sam,” Sam said, cutting him off. “My name’s Sam.” She smiled. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Uh, actually, I don’t know where I’m sleeping,” Luke said awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “No one ever gave me a, uh, billet, and, uh… well. Y’know. Today.”

Sam nodded, her smile fading. “Yeah. Today.”

“Hey,” Luke said, taking an awkward step towards her. “I’m, uh, sorry to hear that your Dad got hurt.”

She shook her head. “He’ll pull through.”

“Yeah,” Luke said, nodding. “Bet he will. He seemed tough.”

“He is,” Sam agreed. “One of the toughest people I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. I’m proud.” She sniffed. “So proud to… to be here. With him.”

Luke nodded. “I… uh…” He paused, clearly not sure what to say. “How’d… how’d you two, uh… end up here?”

Sam smiled. “That… that’s a funny story, actually. Originally, I wasn’t going to be in the HLF with him, but my unit got diverted, and I ended up helping him evac the UK. Me and the rest of the guys ended up on the Purity…”

She kept talking, and Luke kept nodding, smiling as she smiled, laughing with her, and hearing her tell the story of her and her father’s journeys. She kept talking right into the night, even as the moonlight shone faintly through the Church’s windows.

The moon shone down, the light a traitor that might well have doomed her before any of this started. Earnest Star didn’t complain, though. She might have hated Newfoals, might have thought they were abominations, but there was something pretty admirable in a twisted way about how they kept going, never complaining no matter how hard the situation was. Right now, much as the comparison sickened her, Earnest Star had to find that same determination within herself, somewhere.

“Keep going,” she whispered to herself. “Keep going!”

She kept going through the dark night, following the road. She didn’t know if they were following her, but she had to hope they weren’t.

Have to find someone, Earnest Star thought, pushing on. Anyone.

Suddenly, she tripped, and faceplanted straight into the ground. Grimacing, she pushed herself to her feet… only to stop, a dagger at her throat.

“Stay perfectly still,” a voice hissed in her ear. “And repeat after me. Fuck Celestia up the ass with a rusty screwdriver.”

“F-fuck Celestia up the ass with a rusty screwd-driver,” Earnest Star repeated. The dagger was moved from her throat at once, and Earnest Star scrambled away from the figure who had held it.

It was a Pegasus mare, with a black kevlar vest over a blue jumpsuit.

“You’re no Imperial,” she said, sheathing the dagger. “The hell are you doing out here?”

“Escaping Imperials,” Earnest said at once. “They… they took over the refugee town, captured my parents, my friends…” She closed her eyes. “They… they’re…”

“Don’t say it,” another voice said. A man in a black combat uniform, complete with gasmask, stepped forward. He had a red beret perched on top of his head. “We know their M.O.”

“Schaefer, is the road still clear?” the mare asked.

“Yeah,” the man – Schaefer? – said. “We have a clear path to Bastion.”

“Good,” the mare said, turning to Earnest Star. “We can get you to a place of safety. But when we get there, we’ll need you to tell us everything you can about what’s going on in the town.”

“R-right,” Earnest Star said. “W-who are you people?”

“I’m Lieutenant Commander Lucky Strike,” the mare said. “That’s Schaefer. We’re with Ex Astris Victoria.”

Ex Astris Who-now? Earnest Star thought.

“Come on,” Schaefer said. “We need to get going before things get worse.”

He headed off, and Earnest Star followed, Lucky Strike behind her. Despite not knowing precisely who these people were, she allowed herself a small sigh of relief.

Anything’s better than Hadley’s Hope.

So, things seem to be heating up once again: lots of interesting developments among the Reavers, Luke continuing to be a little lost, the introduction of Earnest Star, and a bit more time spent among the PER in Hadley's Hope, and that lovely, captivating sphere. Feels like you just can't look away...

Special thanks to Doctor Fluffy. He’s awesome. 😃

Our time is running out,
Our time is running out,
Can’t push it underground,
Can’t stop it screaming out,
How did it come to this?
Muse, Time Is Running Out.

Dear Colonel Gardner,

I’m writing in response to your recent request for the locations of the HLS Purity, the HLS Columbia, the HLS Challenger, and the HLF settlement known as Bastion.

No.

Yours sincerely,
Colonel Harrison Munro, First Encounter Assault Recon.

Interview Record: H. M.
File Codename: “Limiting Factor”.

Interview subject: Yael Ze’ev (Y.Z).
Interviewer Notes: Yael Ze’ev’s expertise is limited in regards to “Limiting Factor’s” purview. However, she was witness to the presence of the Albino and has some tangential knowledge of the events surrounding Hadley’s Hope, so her perspective is valuable.

Y.Z: Sir.

H.M: Lieutenant. Good to see you.

(There is a pause)

H.M: First off, congratulations.

Y.Z: Uh, for what, sir?

H.M: For punching the bastard out! How'd it feel?!

Y.Z: It felt... You know what? It was the best! I'd been wanting to do that for weeks.

H.M: You realize you'll probably get some kind of punishment for -

Y.Z: I won't.

H.M: You seem awfully sure about that.

Y.Z: I helped end multiple conspiracies and helped save a city. So did Kraber... and they're not punishing him or anything. Wouldn't make sense if anyone went after me.

H.M: Right. Anyway. Congratulations – I know that I've wanted to do that so many times. Unfortunately, I have more important business to discuss.

Y.Z: Like what, sir?

H.M: Hadley’s Hope.

Y.Z: Oh. That.

(There is a pause)

Y.Z: We only arrived long after the battle was over. All we found were bodies. The scrawlings. The blood. Frankly? I’m glad we were so far out of it. I’d hate to be the poor bastard fighting in that shithole.

Bastion.

Samantha Yarrow blinked, her eyes slowly adjusting to the rays of sunlight coming in through the window of the church. She was sat against a wall, still wearing her armour, and her nose wrinkled slightly as she realised that she stank.

Sleeping in heavy armour, bad move, Sam, she thought, pushing herself to her feet. A couple of feet away from her, she saw Luke Scott, snoring away happily, and she couldn’t help but smile. They must have talked for hours about her father, about their work, about…

Dad, Sam thought, full memory catching up. Her smile faded.

“Ah,” a cheerful voice said quietly, “you’re awake.”

Sam looked up from Luke, to see Preacher walking into the church, stripped to his shirtsleeves and mud all over his suit trousers and shirt.

“Preacher,” Sam greeted. She looked at his muddy clothes. “Busy night?”

“I was helping bury our new fallen,” Preacher said, his expression grim. “Eight. One died a few hours ago.”

Sam closed her eyes for a moment. “Dammit all.”

Preacher walked past her, glancing at Luke as he did so.

“I hear,” he said, as he found a cloth and began wiping his hands, “that we have a few prisoners.”

Sam frowned at him. “Yeah. The PHL team that brought the bomb.”

“That brought the supplies that had the bomb,” Preacher corrected gently. “I realise the distinction is subtle, but it is still there.”

“Not much of a distinction,” Sam scowled. “They brought it. It was from their people.”

“Ah, but Sam,” Preacher said, holding up a finger almost as if chiding her, “you and I know very well, being under the same name guarantees nothing about commonality of purpose.”

Sam’s scowl faded. Point.

How often had she, her father, everyone she cared about, been lumped in with Galt or Lovikov? Why had she expected the PHL to have any more internal unity than the HLF?

Maybe because even you hold them to a higher standard, some part of her said in a voice very reminiscent of her father. You shouldn’t.

No, I shouldn’t, Sam replied to that voice, because they’re no better.

No, because we should be, the voice retorted. Your father knows that. You do too. You hate the mutineers as much as he does.

Sam stopped replying, but she figured it made no difference. The argument was all conjectural.

“So,” Preacher said. “What now?”

Sam sighed. “I don’t know, Tom. That’s all on Dad. If he pulls through, he’ll get us through, like he always does.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Preacher asked, speaking as gently as he could.

Sam didn’t answer that. Fortunately for her, a loud groan from the sleeping Luke distracted her from having to, as he sat up with bed-hair and groggy eyes.

“Did we fall asleep in a church?” he asked sleepily.

“No, you fell asleep in a pre-fab we’re using as a chapel,” Preacher said patiently. “It’s not got enough stained-glass to really be a church, in my opinion.”

“Oh,” Luke said, nodding. “Yeah. That makes sense. I guess.” He yawned. “Sorry, just… tired. Long night.”

“Indeed,” Preacher said, raising an eyebrow and looking at Sam.

“Don’t make me tell you to fuck off in your own chapel, Preacher,” Sam said with a grimace that turned into a grin. “We talked. About Dad.”

“Ah,” Preacher said. “Helpful, I hope.”

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “Helpful.” She let out a sigh. “Hey, Luke, you wanna take a walk through Bastion? I don’t think I got the chance to give you the tour.”

“Will you… will you have time?” Luke asked, hesitating out of both tiredness and worry. “I mean, aren’t you in charge?”

“Ah, it’s been quiet,” Sam said, waving his worry off. “And they’ll know where to find me if they need me.” She motioned to her armour. “I’ve got a radio.”

Luke nodded, smiling easily. “Uh. Alright, then. A tour would be nice.”

“So, that’s the Crane’s house – them and their daughter, now. Richard’s one of Dad’s best guys outside of the Odinsons…”

Sam had taken the opportunity to swap into a simple set of camo fatigues and had let her hair down, and Luke couldn’t help but think that it was a good look on her. Without the armour that made her look twice the size and twice the strength, she seemed… normal wasn’t a word Luke thought really applied to anyone, even before the war, but she seemed as close to it as anyone could be.

“And there,” she added, pointing to another building, a log cabin with an open section complete with deck chair and table, “is where Erin does tattoos.”

“Tattoos?” Luke repeated. “She does tattoos?”

“People like having them,” Sam said, shrugging. “Guess there’s something about feeling a bit more normal, huh?”

“I guess,” Luke said quietly. “I mean, I’ve never wanted a tattoo, so…”

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “How’d a kid like you become a militiaman?”

Luke’s expression soured a tad. “‘Didn’t meet minimum health requirements’.” He sighed. “When the war started I was eighteen. I thought I could make a difference. But I’ve got a heart condition.” He tapped his chest. “Means I can only take so much stress. Any moment I’m under too much stress, boom. Done.”

Sam nodded slowly. “But you couldn’t just not do anything.”

“How’s a heart condition gonna stop me from being a casualty in a genocidal war?” Luke asked. “I escaped on one of the ships they used for reverse-Dunkirk. Landed on the Falklands. Hooked up with the first militia that would give me the time of day.”

He sighed, finding a bench and sitting down, his mind reeling. Sam sat next to him, a sympathetic smile on her face.

“What were they like?” she asked gently.

It was nice to be asked the question. Luke smiled, a host of thoughts running through his mind.

“They were… they were good people,” he replied. “My friends. And now they’re gone.”

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “I wish I could say we’ll make the PHL and the UNAC pay.”

“Yeah,” Luke said quietly. “But you can’t, right?”

“They’re on our side, supposedly,” Sam said with a snort.

“Sure doesn’t feel like they’re on our side,” Luke retorted. “I get that the ‘Fraktion guys we were with were arseholes, but…”

“But?” Sam repeated.

Luke swallowed. “They weren’t just recruiting us. They were asking for any and all HLF militia troops they could get. We were at Nipville, but they were sending others… I dunno, Defiance I think.”

Sam’s face paled, her expression stricken. “Oh no.”

“What?” Luke asked.

“Look,” Sam said, “If there’s any HLF man you should never trust, not for a second… it’s Leonid Lovikov. Whatever he needs that many men for, it cannot be good.”

“I… don’t know anything about him,” Luke said slowly.

“You don’t want to know anything about him,” Sam retorted. She put her head in her hands. “Jesus… between the Empire, the UNAC and PHL, and Lovikov…”

“There’s more, though,” Luke said. “The more I think about it, the more…”

You’ve known all along, Luke? Haven’t you? He thought to himself.

“...The more I’m sure they were just using us as cannon fodder,” Luke said.

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Sam said quietly.

“No, no,” Luke said. “There’s… there’s more. HLF taking over a town? It just… it just doesn’t make much sense. There’s some places in America that’ll work out, but… near Montreal? I just… I feel like there had to be some ulterior motive to us being dragged in, while the MF-”

“Hmmm?”

“The Menschabwehrfraktion,” Luke said. “Name was getting long. I just… I feel like there’s more to Nipville.”

“As if I didn’t have enough to deal with,” Sam sighed. She looked a lot younger out of the armour, Luke thought. So much was resting on her shoulders. “I can believe there’s more to it. Probably Lovikov wanting to do something to increase his standing in the HLF. Man always did have delusions of grandeur.” She snorted. “As opposed to a guy like Birch, who just had regular delusions.”

“Who?”

“Some arsehole,” Sam shook her head. “One of the usual conspiracy theorists who had the worst possible thing happen to them and were proven right. Long story, no interest in recounting.” She snorted. “Also once accused my Dad of killing Algernon Spader because he wanted power. Should’ve kicked him in the crotch when I had the chance. Cunt.”

Luke sighed. “Sorry. All this… must be dumping a lot on your plate.”

“Yes,” she said bluntly. “It is.”

“It must be difficult,” Luke said quietly. “Juggling that many balls.”

She looked up at him. “Yeah. It is. With Dad…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Sorry. Must seem pretty stupid. Here I am, talking to a complete stranger about my problems.”

Luke smiled. “It’s not really stupid.”

“It is,” Sam retorted.

“No, it’s like psychology,” Luke countered. “You know everyone here, you’ve built up what you want them to see from you, and what you think they expect. I’m not someone who has any expectations. I’m just…”

“Safe?” Sam suggested, a twinkle in her eye.

“If you like,” Luke said, shrugging. “Truth be told, I don’t really know much about psychology. It’s just something I heard once, y’know?”

“I know what you mean,” Sam said, nodding. She chuckled again. “It’s weird. The stuff you pick up.”

“I’ll bet,” Luke agreed.

Before Sam could say anything else, a soldier in heavy armour jogged up to them both. Like a lot of the troopers around here, he had runic symbols painted onto the armour, along with a stylised Roman numeral I.

“Commander,” the Reaver said to her.

“I’m not the Commander yet, trooper,” Sam chastised gently. “What is it?”

“A squad from Ex Astris Victoria just arrived,” the Reaver said. “They asked to see you. Uh, well, Commander Yarrow, but…”

“Alright,” Sam said. “I’ll see them.”

She smiled apologetically at Luke. “Sorry, duty calls.”

“No worries,” Luke said with a wave. “Go save the world, Sam.”

Sam grinned. “Can do.”

The leader of the Ex Astris Victoria team was, fortunately, somepony that Sam knew very well, and she grinned as she stepped into her father’s cabin.

“Lucky Strike,” she said easily. “Well, this is a surprise.”

Lucky Strike grinned. She was a Pegasus, with white fur and a mane in various shades of blue, one of the lighter shades reminding Sam of the color of the sky. It poked out from under a battered, patched beanie. She was standing with three other people, presumably members of her team. John Idle was there, too, along with Howard Preston, another Odinson named Joseph Rither, and a couple of other senior officers, including Sandra Kane, an American who’d incorporated her own airborne unit – nicknamed the Valkyries – into the Reavers a long time ago.

“Sam,” Strike said. “Long time, no see. I’d ask how thing are, but…”

Sam shook her head. “Lots going on. But you guys are here for business, right?”

Lucky Strike nodded, and then ushered forward a blue-coated Unicorn mare with a darker blue mane, and a cutie mark of a butterfly. The mare swallowed, looking more than a little nervous.

“Uh…” she said meekly, “hi.”

“Hi,” Sam said, trying to smile reassuringly. “I’m Sam. We’re -”

“The HLF,” the mare blurted. “You’re… you’re not going to shoot me, are you?”

“I told you,” Lucky Strike said, “These are good people. They’re here to help.”

Sam tried very hard not to roll her eyes or sigh. How many people are going to ask us that? It’s like banging a head against a brick fucking wall.

She managed to only sound a little exasperated when she spoke. “We want to help in any way we can.”

The mare nodded. “I… okay.” She took a deep breath. “I’m… my name’s Earnest Star. I was… my family was… at Hadley’s Hope.”

Small shantytown, built out of prefabs, meant for refugees, Sam remembered the tactical briefing from three months ago when the town had been set up. Probably only minimal defences.

“What’s happened,” she asked seriously.

“PER,” Earnest Star said at once. “A stallion… Cairn, I think his name was?”

The report from before, Sam thought, remembering the name from the previous night.

“He and his unit moved in,” Star continued. “Killed or ponified the UN guards that were there. Then they started… started herding people…” She closed her eyes, and looked vaguely like she was going to throw up. “Into… into camps.”

Ponification camps, Sam thought with a wince. She had heard stories – the only thing worse than a standard ponification camp was a Shieldwall-run one.

“You escaped,” she said quietly.

“They killed my family,” Earnest Star said, “But I got out. I… I…”

“We found her near Hadley’s Hope on the way here,” Strike put in. “Thought you’d want to know. We were just on our way to deliver an intel report from the Captain, but…”

“But this takes precedence,” Sam said, nodding. “Alright. I want you to -”

“Uh, ma’am?” a voice interrupted. “You’re going to want to see this.”

Sam sighed, looking at the speaker – a nervous looking man in fatigues, holding a tablet, standing in the doorway of the cabin.

“See what?” she asked.

Instead of speaking, the man showed her the tablet: it was tuned into a news channel showing…

Lovikov.

“Shit, what’s that prick doing now,” she muttered. She turned the volume up, just in time to hear Lovikov speaking.

“...the release of Michael Carter, who is being held unlawfully by lackeys of the Equestrian column, who have unjustly taken command of Earth military movements. Secondly, we demand food, ammunition, and medical supplies for those who live in Defiance and other free HLF settlements…” Lovikov said.

The news cut to a very shaken-looking anchorwoman. “This was the scene just 15 minutes ago, where-”

“It’s worse,” said Sandra. “He’s… look. They’ve taken over a PHL rig in the Atlantic. It’s got guns, too, in case the Solar Empire comes by. And they’re threatening to turn it on Portland.”

“And somehow, it gets worse. The ones they have negotiating are Northwoods, and…” Idle swallowed. “Gardner.”

That bastard, Sam thought, scowling.

“Do you think he’d actually do it?” Sandra asked.

“I know Lovikov,” Idle said. “I know how he thinks. He wouldn’t have gone with this if he wasn’t considering it.”

“And he’s volatile enough that any provocation will set him off,” Preston added. “And Gardner…”

“Gardner has a reputation for being nothing but provocation,” Sam said hollowly. “I know him.” At Strike’s confused frown, she sighed. “He was Captain Striker’s commanding officer when Striker liaised with the PHL R&D dept. Neither of them took kindly to me being there.”

“We have to do something,” Idle said harshly.

“We don’t have the transports and men for two operations,” Preston said. “We’d be hard pressed to get to Portland in time as it is.”

“It’d be two days of driving,” said one of Strike’s team. “It’d all be over by then.”

Idle laughed. “Every day I think that prick can’t get worse, he surprises me.”

Sam frowned. “Everyone except Joe and Howard, out now.”

There was a pause, before everyone left the room.

“Come on,” Strike said to Earnest Star. “We’ll find you a drink somewhere, get you some rest…”

Luke looked up as a group of people left Sam’s cabin, including a Pegasus and a Unicorn. The Pegasus caught Luke’s eye and waved him over.

“Hey,” she said, “get your ass over here.”

Luke obliged, standing up and jogging over.

“You know where there’s anything to drink?” the Pegasus asked.

“Uh,” Luke stammered, smiling nervously, “I’m… uh, new. I think Preacher might know?”

“Right, well, can you take this mare to him, please?” the Pegasus asked. “I need to go get some people together.”

“Uh, right,” Luke said, looking down at the terrified-looking mare. “Gotcha.”

The Unicorn mare smiled up at him. “Uh, hi. I’m… I’m Earnest Star. Nice to, uh, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, er, same,” Luke said, holding out a hand awkwardly. Star took it with her hoof and shook it. They stood there for a moment.

“Uh, come on,” Luke said. “Let’s find Preacher.”

Sam sighed, before looking up at Rither and Preston.

“Speak,” she said finally.

“Your father would want the mutineers dealt with,” Preston said at once. “That would be his first priority.”

“I know what he would want,” Sam retorted. “But you’re telling me he’d rather clean up Lovikov than take out the PER?”

“I’m saying that Lovikov represents a clear and present threat to stability, in a way that this town doesn’t,” Preston said, his tone steady and even. “One town being converted is a tragedy, but it is not a threat to our ability to operate as an organisation in the same way the split is.”

Sam scowled. “You really think this threatens our ability to operate?”

“Yes,” Preston replied at once.

Sam sighed, before looking at Rither. “Your thoughts?”

“PER taking a town is a closer and more immediate threat,” Rither replied at once. “Leaving aside the most obvious fact that we can get to Hadley’s Hope in more force and less time, Portland is going to have a lot of jumpy UNAC forces. Are more HLF really going to be a good mix?”

“We’re on their side,” Preston said.

“Howard,” Rither countered in a sad tone. “They don’t think any of us are on their side. You know that. I know that.” He sighed. “Arthur and Wolfgang, Howard.”

Preston shook his head. “Lovikov can’t be allowed to keep doing what he’s doing.”

“No,” Sam said, nodding. “He can’t.” She sighed. “Alright, Howard. I want a list of people. Twenty tops. I want you and your team ready to go down to the area around Defiance. Properly investigate it.”

“I’ll get the list to you ASAP,” Preston nodded. He sighed. “Do you want me at Hadley’s Hope?”

“No,” Sam replied. “I’m leaving you in charge of Bastion. You keep everybody safe.” She turned to Rither. “I want you to get a strike force together. We’re taking down Cairn.”

Rither nodded. “I’ll need to break out little Bertie.”

“Break out his cousin, too,” Sam said with a nod. “I know Dad’s been…”

She trailed off, and both men sighed.

“He’ll pull through, ma’am,” Preston said quietly.

“Yeah,” Sam said with a nod. “I know, Howard.”

“I’ll get to those preparations,” Rither said, throwing a salute and then walking out of the room. Preston gave Sam a salute of his own, and followed, leaving Sam on her own.

I hope I’m making the right call, she thought to herself. Because if I’m not…

She shook her head. Whatever Lovikov was doing, they couldn’t allow the PER to take a town and convert its population. That was the thing the HLF had been founded to prevent, the thing that every HLF unit was obligated by their standing orders to combat.

Lovikov, she thought, can wait a few days.

Later, when asked, she would never say she regretted that. Only that she regretted underestimating Lovikov.

Of course, later still, when she finally understood what has been happening in Hadley’s Hope, she decided she regretted nothing after all.

Hadley’s Hope.

Yes, this is perfect, this is just perfect.

There were humans who, just a few days ago, had been his enemies. Now they were cheerfully moving a few barricades into place. So much nicer now that they were all on the same side. Over to the other side, he could see Dr Horse speaking with a few of his nursing staff and the guards. Oh, and there was Sun Dere, waiting for him by his tent.

“Commander Cairn-san,” she said, inclining her head. “I’m afraid Commissar Straight Arrow-san is waiting inside.”

“Of course,” Cairn said with a smile. “Why would he not be? Has he…?”

“I’m afraid he is not pleased, sir,” Dere said. She inclined her head further and gave him a meaningful stare. “I don’t think he sees things the way you do, sir.”

“Ah, well,” Cairn said easily, “That’s to be expected. Do me a favour, and get Dr Horse, a few Guardsponies and… ooh, a couple of those nice, burly chaps we had with us, there’s a good girl.”

Sun Dere bowed, before trotting off, leaving Cairn outside his tent.

Ah, well, he thought, time to see if I can convince him.

Straight Arrow had his peaked cap off, and he looked dishevelled.

“Commander,” he snapped at once when Cairn stepped into the tent. “I was hoping you could explain the meaning of this… this travesty.”

“Travesty, Commissar?” Cairn asked, tilting his head. “Why, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.

“Don’t you dare bullplop me, boy,” Straight Arrow hissed. “Working with humans?! Stopping ponifications?! This goes against everything we fight for!”

“Some would say that what we do goes against all that made Equestria what it was,” Cairn said. “It’s all relative, you see.”

“That is treasonous talk!” Arrow yelled. “I am this close to ordering your summary execution!”

“Oh, please do,” Cairn said, running a hoof through his mane. “Really, I’ve been on my hooves all day. It would, quite frankly, be a mercy to let me off them for a while. I even sent Sun Dere off to get the Guards, just in case.”

Arrow gaped at him, his eyes widening in surprise.

“You’ve lost your mind,” he finally said. “That’s the only logical explanation for this madness.”

“On the contrary,” Cairn said. “I do believe I’ve found it. For the first time in quite awhile.”

Before Arrow could say anything else, a pair of Guardsponies entered the tent. Arrow grinned triumphantly, not really looking at them.

“Take Commander Cairn away,” he said, “and get me in contact with Shieldwall, he’ll want to look in on this.”

The Guardsponies didn’t move.

“Did you hear me?” Arrow said, looking at the Guards… only to falter.

The two wore the golden armour of the Solar Guard, but they had daubed it in red markings, in a language nopony there could read. Arrow winced slightly as he looked at them, and Cairn felt the irrational urge to giggle.

“Guards!” Arrow tried again, mustering his full authority, “in the name of Celestia’s holy light, I order you to take Commander Cairn into custody.”

The Guards looked at Cairn, who simply chuckled.

“You don’t get it yet, do you, Commissar?” he asked, looking Arrow straight (ha) in the eye. “You serve a little lantern, corrupt at its core, but we few, we happy few, we band of brothers in bondage, have seen the face of the abyss itself. And it has seen us.”

Arrow faltered, stepping back. “What… what have you done, Cairn?”

“Why, we have learned the truth, Commissar,” Cairn said. “There is no light… that can defeat darkness.”

And the two Guardsponies advanced on Straight Arrow…

Ignoring everything the Commissariat had ever taught about holding one’s ground and fighting all enemies of the Queen, Straight Arrow bolted, right then and there, rushing out of the tent as fast as he could.

As he galloped down the main street, he saw the buildings curiously clear.

He dashed to the left, seeing a pony in a green vest – an administrator, Even Sum – who was trotting absentmindedly to what had once been a general store. A secretary mare was walking behind him, and there looked to be a group of ponies standing at the storefront, talking leisurely.

“Sum!” Arrow screamed. “Sum, you, you’ve got to help me!”

“Hmmm?” Sum asked. “Why, Arrow, you look a fright!”

“Sum,” Arrow said. “Raise all the guards you can! We gotta, we gotta do something, they’re… we have to tell someone?!”

“About what?” Sum asked.

“Cairn’s gone mad!” Arrow yelled. “Leading some sort of… of rebellion! A mutiny!”

Sum blinked. “Ah, yes, I see.”

Arrow breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’ve not been seen to, yet,” Sum continued.

“... seen to,” Arrow whispered.

“Yes,” Sum said, smiling. He pulled his vest off, revealing… Arrow swallowed the urge to gag. Markings had been cut into his body, identical to the ones daubed on the Guardsponies armour.

“By the Queen,” Arrow said, looking at Sum… then the ponies at the general store, who realized had been staring at him the whole time, not saying a word. “You’re in on it. YOU’RE ALL IN ON IT!”

“Well… yes,” Sum said, chuckling. “Weren’t you paying attention, Commissar?”

“Ah, there you are,” came the voice of Dr Horse. Arrow turned, only to find the good doctor also had those markings painted on him, covering his lab coat… and his face. Behind him, the ponies from the general store’s porch advanced, followed by a human with those same markings, tapping a bludgeon of some kind against the ground.

“You’re all mad,” Arrow whimpered.

“Why, yes,” Sum said. “I suppose it must seem that way from your limited perspective.

“We certainly could be mad,” Horse added. “But I prefer to see it as a higher sort of understanding.”

“Now,” Commander Cairn’s voice said, and the Commander stepped into the general store. “Shall we have a chat, Commissar? Stallion to stallion? There are a few things I would like you to understand…”

The shadows seemed to deepen all around, and though the moon was full, though they were far from any settlement that could have blocked out the stars, everything grew darker.

Much darker.

And then, yet darker.

Something dark and sudden rushed for Straight Arrow. And oh, how he screamed…

Outside of Commander Cairn’s tent, Sun Dere smiled to herself. She could hear the screaming in the distance, as Commissar Arrow was finally dealt with, and she let out a happy sigh.

Soon, sister, soon, we will rebirth you into this world, she thought. Soon, sister, soon, you will walk in flesh once more, birthed from the essence into which you were taken.

Oh, this will be glorious. I only hope it shall be more… satisfying… than last time.

This time, sisters my sisters, we shall finish our work.

Are you scared? Because I’m scared.

My thanks to Doctor Fluffy, for helping make the scary things even scarier.

Best,
You've got to be the best
You've got to change the world
And you use this chance to be heard
Your time is now
Muse, Butterflies and Hurricanes.

To Harrison Munro, Colonel, First Encounter Assault Recon, PHL R&D attaché.

Subject: Reavers & Other HLF Units

Dear Col. Munro.

I’m going to put this in as plain and simple English as I physically can. I want to be sure that there is absolutely no room for miscommunication between us on this matter.

As you know, it is under my remit to prepare a contingency for any and all potential threats to national and international security. The presence of HLF militias and other questionable groups constitutes that sort of threat. We have allowed tiny little pockets of lawlessness to flourish in places like Defiance or Bastion, and that is an unacceptable destabilizing influence. It’s given the crazy sovcits of my hometown carte blanche. Either these places submit to authority, or we make them.

I want the information about the Reavers, the 1st Skirmishers, Ex Astris Victoria, and all the other HLF that you work with. Their numbers, equipment, locations. And need I remind you, I am perfectly capable of taking this to a higher authority if you choose to be… uncooperative.

In short, asshole, you can’t blow me off anymore. Give me the intel I want or I will end you.

With regards,
Robert Gardner, Colonel, UNAC taskforce.

Interview Record: H. M.
File Codename: “Limiting Factor“.

Interview subject: Earnest Star (E.S)
Interviewer notes: Earnest Star is officially listed as a civilian witness to events concerning file “Limiting Factor“.

E.S: Colonel. Hello.

H.M: Hello, Earnest Star. I wish this was a social call.

E.S: Me too.

(There is a pause)

H.M: Look. Bowman wouldn’t want me to ask this. Lord knows that he’s already reamed Amber a new one time and time again for trying. But I have to know. Did you see anything strange before the attack?

E.S: What do you mean?

H.M: Someone with sudden changes in behavior, outbursts… keeping to themselves, that sort of thing.

E.S: Doesn’t sound like how a spy would act.

H.M: Because I’m not looking for a spy. I’m looking for… well. There was some kind of Presence in that town. The Reavers have corroborated, Hope has, Kraber has… and you’re the only survivor of the original event.

(There is a pause.)

H.M: …the only cognisant one, anyway.

E.S: Alright. I’ll tell you what I can.

(There is a pause)

E.S: When I left, it was normal. Well… normal for a ponification camp. I assume, anyway, I’ve not exactly been to many… sorry, rambling.

H.M: It’s alright. Take your time.

E.S: There… there was just a feeling. A feeling among the prisoners, a feeling among the people waiting to be ‘processed’. A feeling like… like…

H.M: Like what?

E.S: I want to say like we were being watched, but… not quite. It was more like something was… with us. There was one time the six of us were walking through a hallway, and five came out - but nobody knew who the sixth one was. And it wasn’t the last time, either. You’d be in a room with five people and keep thinking there were six, you’d hear a sixth voice – or you’d swear you did. Everyone would say there couldn’t have been, but… they all knew. They all knew it was there. It was whispering in my ear, all the time. ‘Get out. Now. Before it’s too late. Run. Run. Run. Run! Run! RUN…!’

(At this point, Earnest Star has some kind of anxiety attack and the interview recording is halted.)

The town of Hadley’s Hope was abuzz with energy: its people – Newfoal, Human, and natural-born pony all alike – moving with singular purpose towards their assigned duties. Soldiers – human and pony – stood guard, armour and flesh daubed in bloody runes. Civilians moved pieces, heading to their assigned tasks. It was all going so perfectly. So perfectly.

“We keep getting messages, you know,” Dr Horse said evenly from where he was standing. One of his eyes was newly ruptured, bleeding across his face, but his tone was perfectly calm.

“Do we really?” Cairn said, smiling. “Who from?”

“Shieldwall’s group,” Horse said. “I had Sun Dere read them all out for me. Basically he’s wondering what our productivity rate is. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was a tad concerned about us.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be very pleased,” Cairn said, grinning wider. “I mean, we’ve done so very much in this town!”

Even as he spoke, a hulking thing that might have been a Newcalf passed him. It was moaning as it walked, its hooves even more misshapen than a normal Newcalf’s giant cloven hooves tended to be. Cairn glanced at it, his smile widening still further at the multitude of runes carved into its body.

“Are you sure?” Horse said, frowning slightly. “What if he’s… resistant? Y’know, like the Commissar was?”

“Oh, nonsense,” Cairn said, still smiling. “I know Shieldwall. Pony of vision. Pony of great vision! So much cleverer than our late Commissar, Oh Darkness take him into its bosom!”

“Darkness take us all!” every pony, Newfoal and human in a fifty metre radius yelled in reply, even Horse, who was still frowning as he said it.

“He’ll understand all of it, I know he will!” Cairn finished.

Horse tilted his head. “But… suppose he doesn’t, though? Couldn’t he be… a problem?”

“Oh, well,” Cairn said, his smile not fading, “then we’ll have to show him! Can’t be a problem if we show him, can he?”

“Show him, yes, that makes sense,” Horse said. His head tilted still further, and something vile and viscous spilled from his eye, creeping along his fur rather uncomfortably less like a liquid and rather more like something cruel, crawling and alive. “How?”

In response, Cairn whistled loudly, and like a flash, one of the Newfoals was there.

“We need to make something special for Shieldwall!” he said eagerly. “Something we can send him, something to make him… understand.”

“Yes,” Horse said, nodding in agreement, “can we do that?”

The Newfoal smiled, wide enough that it’s flesh began tearing around the lips.

“Yesh…“ it said, it’s voice slurred to the point of being unintelligible. “Yesh, weeee can do dat, sirsh. Mossht definitely.”

“How wonderful,” Cairn said, still grinning in turn. “Please see to it that it is sent with all due haste.”

The Newfoal smiled, blood dripping from its lips as it turned and sauntered off. Cairn looked around, seeing if anything else required his attention.

“In the meantime…“ he murmured, looking at his colleague. “Horse, how are our preparations going?”

“They’re going, Cairn, yes,” Horse said, smiling again. The liquid that had spilled across his fur had turned hard, forming a kind of crusty, hard material on his face that looked like a rotten driftwood starfish. His other eye was bloodshot, and tears of reddened water began leaking from it. “Going well, well indeed, most so.”

“Oh,” Cairn said, his grin widening. His own skin began tearing, mirroring the Newfoal (which had wandered over to a few others, including a markedly pristine Sun Dere, who was smiling gently at the ruined thing). “That is wonderful. So wonderful.”

Everything was going so, so well.

Not again.

The thought rang through the mind of one who watched the town of Hadley’s Hope from a distance. It was a pony, or you might have thought so. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was nothing at all. Sometimes, when you blinked, it was taller, sometimes longer, and sometimes it wasn’t even a pony. But that was only when it didn’t focus. And now…

… now it was impossible to focus.

Within its mind, voices raced, speaking with one another. Busy. Busy, so busy. So much to think about, so much beyond this little world and its little problems. And yet, this little world kept drawing it back, pulling at its attention.

For a moment, the figure seemed truly indistinct. Blurred, even.

We cannot allow this, one voice said. We fixed this! We saved this! Why can it not stay fixed?!

We are not here for this, another thought. We did not come into this world just to fix the same things over and over. That is not why we exist, not the only priority we have.

Why, then, if not this? another voice argued. We saved this world because it did not deserve to end in madness and misery, not if we had anything to say about it.

Then what? the first voice said, sounding increasingly vexed. We just keep coming back every time these people destroy themselves? Keep putting aside what we need to do for them, no matter how many times they screw it up? Is that what we do?

The third voice seemed almost to sigh. If we must. Because we don’t give up. We can’t. It isn’t in our nature.

Some things are worth giving up, the first voice said.

There was a momentary pause, and then the figure stilled, no longer indistinct. It was a hooded, Albino Unicorn mare, a sword girt at her side. There was silence, if only for a moment. And then a soft, female voice spoke.

“Perhaps they are,” she said quietly. “And yet only when there is no hope. And we are not there, not yet.”

Luke was profoundly grateful for being sat in a chapel. It was a relaxing space, and after the events of the last day or so, ‘relaxing’ was exactly what was needed. And while she hadn’t said as much, the young Unicorn who he had brought with him certainly look like she agreed.

“Thank you,” the Unicorn – Earnest Star? – said, taking a sip of the flask of water he had gotten for her. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be such a bother.”

“You’re not being a bother at all,” Preacher said, smiling. He looked tired, and Luke couldn’t say he blamed him. “We’re happy to help.”

Luke glanced at him, wondering how an HLF man could be so kind to a pony. He had heard so much hatred coming from the ‘Fraktion men he’d worked with that this was… unprecedented by comparison.

“So, new guy,” the other pony – what was her name? Lucky Strike? – said, smiling at him. “How’s you end up with these misfits?”

“That’s… not a very nice word to use,” Earnest Star admonished gently.

Lucky Strike stuck her tongue out. “They’re my friends, I get to rib ‘em. That’s the deal.”

“How lucky we are, indeed,” Preacher said gently, smiling good naturedly at Strike.

Luke swallowed, his mind suddenly returning to the events of a few days ago. “I was at Nipville.”

There was a moment of silence as this hit the room, like the proverbial cannon.

“With the ‘Fraktion,” Lucky Strike said after a moment. To her credit, she didn’t sound too accusatory.

“My militia unit got called up,” Luke said. He showed Strike his armband. “We weren’t very big. Didn’t know what the heck was going on, and then…“

“And then the UNAC decided to burn you,” Lucky Strike said, her voice hollow. “Yeah, we read the reports.”

Luke nodded, looking down.

“The ‘Fraktion?” Earnest Star repeated, frowning. “As in the Menschabwehrfraktion?”

Luke sighed. “Yes. The Menschabwehrfraktion. We were… recruited, I guess you’d say.”

Earnest Star nodded. “I’ve… heard things.” She paused. “But then, I’ve heard things about all sorts of people, that doesn’t make them true.”

“The ‘Fraktion, regrettably, is usually as bad as they are made out to be,” Preacher said quietly. “We have only very occasionally worked alongside them. For a given value of ‘alongside’, of course.”

“Captain Romero doesn’t think very highly of them,” Lucky Strike said evenly. “By which I mean, he doesn’t think of them. They’re useless at best.”

“Captain who?” Earnest Star asked, frowning.

Before Lucky Strike could answer, the door to the chapel opened and a man in heavy armour entered, carrying a shotgun.

“Preacher,” he said, his voice blunt. “Suit up. We’re moving out and we need you.”

Preacher sighed. “I’ve not been on active combat missions for a few years, Fred.”

“You’re needed for our blessing at least,” the man said. He looked at the ponies, who stared blankly back at him, and he frowned almost imperceptibly. “You can, uh, leave your friends here.”

Without another word, he turned and left the room.

“Well,” Preacher said after a moment, “that settles that it would seem.” He looked at Earnest Star. “I apologise for him. It is very hard for some of us.”

“I… I guess I understand,” Earnest Star said, smiling. “Well, uh… well, no, not really. But it’s alright.”

“It makes sense,” Lucky Strike said with a soft, thoughtful frown. “Loads of people are a little bit… y’know. Uneasy. S’to be expected. Ponies wiped out some of these people’s homes, stole some of their families.” She scowled. “A glare is the least unpleasant thing we could get. With the number of people ponified… families torn apart… honestly, I sometimes think we’re lucky there aren’t more Krabers in the world.”

Luke winced, and Earnest Star closed her eyes, clearly distressed.

“I understand,” she said quietly. “What was happening in Hadley’s Hope…“ She swallowed. “I couldn’t forgive the people that did that either.”

“Anyway,” Lucky Strike continued. “They’ll probably call us up soon.”

“They will?” Luke asked, blinking in surprise.

“Well, me, anyway,” she clarified, smiling. “But they might want Earnest there to give us some directions.”

Earnest Star took a deep breath. “I’ll… I’ll help any way I can, Miss Strike.”

“Good mare,” Strike said, winking at her. “Just stick with me and we’ll get through this.”

“I don’t have any intel about Commander Cairn,” Daniel Romero said evenly. “And I have no idea what’s going on in Hadley’s Hope.”

Sam smiled sadly. Calling Daniel Romero was a long shot at best: the Captain of the HLS Columbia always seemed to know more than anyone else, and yet, still not enough. Never enough.

Romero was talking to her through comsat, Sam not trusting Skype anymore, not since a particularly vexing mission when she had organised a raid on PER through Skype only to find UNAC and PHL troops already finishing up when they had gotten there. She remembered some stuck-up prig of an officer – one of Striker’s old colleagues, Turner or Price or Mendoza or something – looking particularly smug as he told her that her troops weren’t needed.

Still, they’d all gone back to Bastion and gotten blind drunk, happy that at least the PER were dealt with. That had to count for something.

“I figured as much, Dan,” she said quietly, bringing her attention back to the here and now. “But we need every advantage we can find for this job. I don’t like taking my people in blind.”

“No good Commander does, Sam,” Romero said, nodding. “We’ll do our best to get you the intel. In the meantime, though,” he added, “there’s Lovikov to consider.”

Sam shook her head dismissively. “For you, maybe, Dan. I can’t get my people to him in time, and Hadley’s Hope – and the PER – take precedence.”

“As they should,” Romero said quietly. He nodded. “Alright. We’ll keep you posted.” He paused, his expression uncertain for a moment, which for Daniel Romero was tantamount to a fit of emotion. “Good luck, Sam.”

“Thanks, Dan,” she said. “You, too.”

The vidcom shut off, and Sam let out a sigh. She sat heavily in her chair her father’s chair. He is not dead. Not yet. Not ever.

That was about the only good news they had. Hadley’s Hope was a dead zone. Nothing was coming out, nothing was going in. Not even any PER. Whatever was happening there, it was silent as the grave.

That is a really fucking terrible metaphor to use for right now, Sam thought, grimacing.

Sighing, she reached for her pistol and slotted it into its holster.

It was time to go to war.

“Get those jeeps loaded! Go, go, go!”

Luke watched the soldiers preparing to go with something resembling awe. His little militia group had never been this well equipped, had never been this thorough or this organised. The group that would be going to Hadley’s Hope had already split into fireteams of four or five; there were eight jeeps that looked like modified Humvees, as well as a large 6x6 APC with a cannot turret. The troops, meanwhile, were clad in bulky urban-camo body armour. There were two or three troopers in powered armour as well: even bigger and broader than the regular Reaver armour.

Luke frowned when he noticed numerous members of the group walking over to join an ever-growing circle. The troops in that circle were all in heavy armour, many of them covered in a variety of Norse runes. They were looking at each other.

Luke recognised Preacher, who looked odd in battle armour. On one shoulder plate was a stylised Christian cross, on another was a norse rune. As Luke looked, in fact, he saw religious symbols from across the variety of religions on the planet – even wiccan symbols – all over the man’s armour. It was like he had been trying to fit every God’s personal symbol onto the plate all at once.

“Do we have time for the full version, Mr Idle?” he asked someone quietly.

“Sure we do,” the man he had asked – Luke vaguely remembered John Idle – replied. “We’re gonna want to do this right.”

“Very well,” Preacher said.

Before they could do anything else, Idle held up a hand and made a circling motion to the assembling group of soldiers. At once, all eight of them moved into a circle, standing almost solemnly.

“What are you doing?” Luke asked.

“Quiet, new boy!” Idle snapped. He turned back to the circle of troops. “Don't profane this.”

“Profane?” Luke repeated, frowning. “Profane what? I don’t get it.”

“Please,” Preacher said, raising both hands. At once, Idle sighed turning back to the priest as he lowered his arms, a smile on his face. “We are all of us here for a reason. Whether we know it or not. Now, brothers and sisters, let us pray.”

He lowered his head, and all around the circle this motion was echoed. Feeling awkward, Luke did the same.

“We are all human,” Preacher’s voice intoned. “All given the gift of life, the gift of free will, the gift of potential. This gift is ours, whether from some God, or from the universe, or merely from chance. Whichever we believe, we believe we are human.”

“We are human,” the voices of the soldiers around him murmured.

The silver haired man sighed, nodded, and pulled out a small flask. He closed his eyes, opened the flask, took a sip and grimaced.

“I am Tom Richardson,” he said softly. “And I am human.”

He passed the drink clockwise to Idle, who took a swig, grimacing as well.

“I'm John Idle,” he said gruffly, his voice hoarse. “And I'm human.”

The next man along took the swig and coughed slightly. When he spoke, his voice was young.

“I am Dan Green, and I am human.”

The next in line was a woman. She almost gagged when she drank.

“I'm Ellie Sykes. I am human.”

The next man took the sip quickly, and spoke with a thick German accent. “I am Heinrich Brennen. I am human.”

The next was French, and sniffed the flask with disgust before his sip. “I am Jacques Dupont. I am human.”

Another woman, American, who took the sip with ease. “Jenny Jameson. I'm human.”

A man, quiet, with a soft British accent. “I am David Thames. I'm human.”

Next, the man next to Idle, a quiet man with a brown beard and a heavily receding hairline. “I am Samuel Ellis, and I am human.”

Voices continued in this way, passing around the group of soldiers. More and more walked up to the congregation – there really was no word for it other than that – and took a sip, intoning their names with the finality of a dirge.

And then, suddenly, the flask was in Luke’s hands, and he felt the eyes of every Reaver there on him. He blinked, uncertain how to feel.

“You with us, newbie?” Idle asked him.

Luke looked down at the flask, before looking at the expectant faces. He hadn’t expected this: he’d heard so much about the ritual stuff, and of course everybody knew about Yorke the rapist who’d been blood-eagled and left at a roadside, but…

“It’s alright if you don’t want to,” Preacher said quietly, smiling at him. “But you are welcome among us, Luke. Don’t be afraid.”

Luke nodded, before taking a deep breath. “My name is Luke Scott. And I’m human.”

He took a sip, the liquid burning his throat as it went down. He coughed, barely managing to swallow the vile concoction. As he did so, every Reaver around him laughed, Idle coming up and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Newbie’s first taste of our medicine!” he said, grinning. He looked around. “We’ve got a human here, troops!”

A cheer went up, and Idle gently took the flask from Luke’s hand, winking at him as he did so. The flask was passed back to Preacher, who put it back in his belt. He looked at every member of the group in turn.

“We are human,” he said softly. “And we will make them remember us.”

There was a collective nod from the group, and then they broke apart, moving to their respective trucks and humvees.

Luke took a deep breath. The vile taste was still in his mouth.

“You alright?” a voice asked from behind him. He turned to see Sam standing behind him, her arms folded across her armoured chest.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Just…”

He motioned to his mouth. Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, that stuff is vile,” she said.

“What’s it even made out of?!” Luke asked.

“That would be one of those questions no one wants the answer to,” Sam chuckled, though her expression soured. “So, you’re with us, then.”

Luke nodded once. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m with you.” He smiled. “Wherever this ends up going.”

Sam nodded, her expression becoming more pensive. “Yeah, wherever it ends up.” She swallowed. “Luke…”

There was a sudden clamour from the trucks, and Sam, distracted, turned away from Luke, heading towards one of the bigger APCs. Before Luke could follow, he saw a handful of troops in black combat gear jog past, including Lucky Strike.

“Hey!” the mare said, waving at him. “C’mon, Scott!

Luke winced, before moving over to her. The APC she was going in wasn’t any of the Reavers’ ones, but it was the same model, just painted in a deep midnight black, a symbol Luke didn’t recognise on the side. She entered through the back ramp, and Luke followed.

There were troops in here, most in the same black regalia as Strike. On one side sat a man with a bristling moustache and a red beret, a woman with a fauxhawk and a Norse symbol painted on her Hardball armour, a man with a shaven head and a small scar under his right eye, and another shaven headed man with no particular distinctive marks. Across from them sat a woman with short black hair who was putting her helmet on, and another man in a full set of what Luke presumed was Hardball-X armour - a kind of heavier model of the Hardball suits that was meant to be for ‘tankier’ troops. The fact that he was carrying a large LMG sealed the deal. Next to this man was another pony, an Earth Pony with what must have been one of the later P-220 models of LMG. And then, of course, there was Earnest Star, clad in a basic set of armour with conspicuous holes for a Pegasus that marked it out as a spare set of Strike’s.

I’ve never seen one of those in person, Luke thought, taking a deep breath.

“You alright, mate?” the beret-wearing man said.

“No,” Luke replied honestly. “But that’s not the point, is it?”

“You’ll be fine, kid,” Lucky Strike said, smiling. “We’ve got your back. I’ll grab you some spare kit.”

Luke nodded, and tried to believe her. He looked at Earnest Star, who looked tired and… scared?

“You alright?” He asked her quietly.

She shook her head dolefully. “I don’t want to go back there. But…” Sighing, she gave him a smile. “I can help. So I have to.”

Luke nodded. “I know that feel.”

He really did, and he comforted himself with that as Strike passed him a rifle.

It was time to do some good.

Sam took a breath as she got onto the Humvee.

She shouldn’t have been nervous. After all, she’d gone on missions without her father before. More missions than she’d gone on with him, actually: he’d taken a backseat from missions a couple of years ago, and ever since, she’d gotten used to taking the lead.

But this is different, she thought. Because this time he’s not here.

There was something ridiculously comforting about having your father on the other

“Boss, Comm Check,” Idle’s voice came through her helmet comms.

Sighing, Sam tapped her headset. “This is Odinson Zero, acknowledging. Please try to stick to comm protocol. I say again, stick to protocol, over.”

“Gotcha,” Idle said. “Uh, over.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Right.” Dad, you hired an army of half-professionals, wannabe gunslingers and cowboys, then you had to mold the passable ones and weed out the dumb ones. “You settled in, over?”

“All squads ready to go, over,” Idle said.

Better, Sam thought.

“How many do we have, over?” she asked, speaking quietly.

“Eight Humvees, one of our APCs, and Strike’s team,” Idle said. “Sixty-man team all-told, over.”

“What about Big Bob and Little Bertie, over?” Sam asked.

“Little Bertie’s in reserve, Valk Four is ready to deploy him,” Idle replied. “Big Bob’s got issues. We’ve got him in maintenance now, over.”

“Acknowledged,” Sam said. Disappointing, but she could live with it. She took a deep breath. “They… they expect me to do it, don’t they.”

Idle didn’t comment on her breach of protocol. Instead, she heard him sigh.

“You don’t have to,” he finally said. “It was his philosophy. You don’t -”

“I’m just filling his chair, John,” Sam cut him off. “And that means I do this for him. Not just for me.”

With a grunt, she pulled herself to the top of the Humvee. There was a moment before the assembled troops - those going to Hadley’s Hope and otherwise - turned to look at her. After a minute, there was dead silence.

Sam swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

For Dad.

She unholstered her pistol and raised it up, pointed at the sky.

“What are we?!” she called, loud and clear. Her voice reverberated along the courtyard of Bastion.

And the cry went up, from men, women, and even the few children who had come to watch.

“Reavers!”

“What do we do?!” she asked.

“Ride the road!” they answered.

“Where do we ride the road?!”

“To the road's ending!”

“And where does it end?!”

“VALHALLA!”

“WHAT?!”

“VALHALLA!”

“What do we do when Death greets us!”

“We meet him! We greet him! We punch him in the dick!”

Sam grinned. “We go now into battle! We go now to kill the PER, and avenge those taken from us! And if we die, we die human!”

“Yarrow for the HLF!” came a cry from one of the nearby Humvees. Sam turned, to see John Idle standing atp his own jeep, pointing at her. “Yarrow for Valhalla!”

“Yarrow for Valhalla!” the cry went up across the courtyard. “Yarrow for Valhalla!”

Sam took a breath. ‘Yarrow for Valhalla’. Have I taken command of an army or a cult?

When the world’s ending, a voice that sounded suspiciously like her father’s seemed to say to her, the difference sometimes becomes arbitrary. People need something to believe in when everything they know is about to die.

Sam smiled. “Ain’t that the bloody truth.” She lowered her pistol and holstered it, before bringing a hand to her comms. “All Reavers, this is Odinson Zero. Move out.”

And like a trigger had been pulled, the jeeps began moving, heading out of the gate of Bastion and down the dirt track that would take them onto the main road. And from there…

… from there, Hadley’s Hope.

Impure hearts stumble,
In my hands they crumble,
And fragile and stripped to the core,
I can't hurt you anymore.
Muse, Guiding Light.

To Robert Gardner, Colonel, UNAC taskforce.

Subject: RE Reavers & Other HLF Units

Dear Col. Gardner.

I will be blunt, Colonel. I have been in every way imaginable cooperative with you and just about everyone else with regards any operations against rogue militias, the Carter HLF, and any group that is a genuine, clear and present threat to the war effort. Any effort to deal with these renegade groups is welcome in my eyes, as they constitute an unacceptable distraction from the business of winning the war. I myself have made efforts to support internal Spader-Loyalist efforts to negate and neuter those elements (efforts which are not helped by your actions or those of those under your command).

Your desire to prosecute a campaign of sanctions, military action and other harsh measures against groups that are our allies, however, is untenable. These groups have been, despite the reservations of others, stopgaps in our defensive positions, holding key positions in our strategy and providing key personnel that have been immeasurably valuable, never mind the research that we have received from people like Captain Romero. To lump them all in the same boat because of rogue elements that can be dealt with relatively straightforwardly is, frankly, ludicrous. I will not condone or assist in efforts to damage our positive relationship with multiple valuable assets just so you can pursue your personal vendetta.

In short, asshole, LIKE HELL.

Regards,
Colonel Harrison Munro, First Encounter Assault Recon.

Interview Record: H. M.
File Codename: “Limiting Factor”.

Interview subject: David Elliot (E.S)
Interviewer notes: David Elliot is noted in the Fairport Incident record - in addition to him having been a subject of the Project Harbinger experiment (see file Project Harbinger-Alpha), his psych profile reports contain repeated references to his dreams being ‘esoteric’. This interview shows only part of that.

H.M: Say that again, Sergeant?

D.E: It’s not finished this time. The dream: the dream of the other life isn’t finished this time. It’s like it’s waiting for something, but I don’t know what.

H.M: Sergeant, has anyone ever told you that you’re an odd man.

D.E: Increasingly after Fairport, sir. But Hadley’s Hope was a turning point.

H.M: How so?

D.E: I just… I don’t know. I know that there’s something more to what this is, what we are. What we were meant to become. What I was meant to become.

H.M: Which is what, Sergeant?

D.E: There are two paths. No, more than two, ten, ten thousand, ten billion. But there are patterns. The mare. The man. The mare. Sometimes they’re close. Sometimes they’re far. Sometimes he’s the only hope, sometimes he only finds her. Sometimes she is a warrior, sometimes she is a diplomat.

(Pause)

D.E: Sorry, sir. It’s very difficult to understand. My dreams… they used to be a lot less clear, but they used to be a lot moreso, too.

H.M: You mean… other worlds?

D.E: I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe something worse. (He pauses) Is it worth it, do you think, sir? Is there any joy left when all of it ends the same? Is anything we do, anything we say… does any of it matter, when we never, ever get the ending we truly want?

H.M: I… don’t know how to answer that question, Sergeant.

D.E: It’s alright, sir. I don’t think he knows how to answer it either.

It is time. Leave this place, a voice seemed to whisper in Commander Cairn’s ear. Find me. Make me. Bring me back. Bring me home.

Cairn blinked. He was standing in his makeshift office, looking about the space without really seeing, listening to a voice that no one else could see.

“I see,” he said after a moment. “And… you’re sure?”

Bring me back. Bring me home.

“Well, then,” Cairn said, letting out a breath. He turned, only to find Sun Dere already standing behind him, smiling at him. She was remarkably unchanged - the same smile, the same slightly submissive demeanour. “Ah, Sun Dere. I was about to come find you.”

“Of course, Commander Cairn-san,” Dere said. “We need to leave.”

“We do indeed,” Cairn said, nodding. “We’ll leave a token force here to guard the remaining prisoners, and then we’ll head off.” He nodded. “We have to find her. Bring her home.”

“Of course, Commander Cairn-san,” she said. “We understand perfectly.”

“Yes, we do,” Cairn nodded. He smiled. “Please go find me one of the UNAC people we took prisoner - maybe that big human, Markham? We’ll need to arrange the defence.”

“Of course, Commander Cairn-san,” Sun Dere said again, in the same tone. “At once. Nameless watch us all.”

“Nameless watch us all,” Cairn repeated, nodding, before turning to his desk. He had one final thing to do.

Stepping up to the desk, he pulled a drawer out and picked up a small crystal - a crystal projector, a kind of emergency contact device that linked to the Totem Prole network. The army preferred only to use them in extreme circumstances. Cairn had never understood why: he had heard some guff about an incident in Fairport having caused the Empire to curb using the projectors (something about an exploding Prole-technician in the heart of Canterlot?), but under the circumstances, he felt justified.

“Prole contact, code Cairn-Seven-One-Seven,” he said. The crystal glowed in response to his words, before gently floating to the middle of his tent. “Put me through to Shieldwall.”

The crystal floated and glowed for a moment longer, before flashing. The image of a pony appeared. An earth pony with a dark blue coat, and a black mane streaked through with green.

He had such pale blue eyes that Cairn almost had to squint to make sure they were still there.

“Commander Cairn,” Shieldwall said. “It’s been a while since your last progress report, is everything alright?”

Cairn smiled. “Hello there, Shieldwall. I’m so glad the projector worked. I was worried we might have issues.”

“You didn’t answer the question, Cairn,” Shieldwall said. “What’s been going on over there?”

“Wonderful things, Shieldwall,” Cairn replied. “Oh, so wonderful they are. But I’m afraid I’m not able to go into too much detail y-”

“No,” Shieldwall interrupted.

“‘No’, Shieldwall?” Cairn asked, sounding disappointed.

“See this?” Shieldwall asked, pointing to the Order of Canterlot medal he wore on the right side of his uniform. “That means I get what I want. And that I can talk like I’m in charge.”

A pause.

“You, however,” Shieldwall continued, “report to me. In the middle of my operation.”

Another pause. Shieldwall seemed to be looking through Cairn.

“You haven’t gone PHL,” Shieldwall said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be contacting me through these channels. But. You’ve done something wrong. I can smell it.”

“‘Wrong’, Shieldwall?” Cairn said, before chuckling. The chuckle turned into a giggle, and through the giggle, Cairn continued. “You… you haven’t seen it, yet, Shieldwall.”

“Earthshocked, then,” Shieldwall said, betraying no emotions in his voice. “Clearly you’ve succumbed to some earth madness. A common psychological hangup of being at war on an alien world. I’m sure we can -”

“Earthshocked?” Cairn continued to giggle. “No, no, no. Nothing on this paltry planet has the capacity to show me what I have seen.” He blinked, and his giggles subsided at once. He looked Shieldwall dead in the eye. “And the things I have seen, oh the things I have seen… perhaps you will understand, too.” He took a deep breath. “We are sending you a progress report with one of our new children, Shieldwall, and you will see, we have not been idle in our time at Hadley’s Hope.”

“What,” Shieldwall said, taking a deep breath, “have you seen, Cairn.”

Cairn smiled. “The report will be most comprehensive, Shieldwall, that I promise you.” He took a breath. “That is not, however, why I have contacted you. I am, regretfully, ordering a withdrawal from this position.”

“On what grounds?” Shieldwall asked, a note of anger creeping into his voice. “You don’t have the authority.”

“I have received orders from above you, Shieldwall,” Cairn replied impassively.

“As far as I know,” Shieldwall hissed, “Celestia herself hasn’t stepped forth from Canterlot to reassign you.”

“I did not say that name,” Cairn interrupted. “I said I am ordered from above you. And I will follow those orders. I am commanded to bring Her back.”

“Nothing is above Queen Celestia,” Shieldwall said. “Adding treason to the long list of your crimes, Warrior Cairn?”

Cairn laughed. “You presume so much with me saying so little, Shieldwall.”

“Because Celestia forbid,” Shieldwall said, sneering, “I stay firm in my duty.”

Cairn raised his head. “There are enemies coming here who will destroy what we have built, but that no longer matters in the grand scheme of things. I have performed my duty in informing you of the necessities of our movement.” He smiled. “I hope you truly enjoy the report I am sending. And I trust when next we meet you will understand things a little clearer. It would be so unfortunate, otherwise.” He giggled again. “In the meantime, Shieldwall, I wish you well.”

He tapped the crystal, pushing his hoof straight through Shieldwall’s projected chest, and the crystal dropped to the floor, cracking as it landed, black ooze starting to seep from it.

Cairn looked up, to see Sun Dere waiting there, smiling at him.

“Sun Dere,” he said. “Are we ready?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Markham is here, Commander Cairn-san.”

“Send him in,” Cairn said, “and prepare the evacuation of all essential personnel.”

Sun Dere inclined her head and left, as a shaven-headed man in a battered, rune-daubed set of UN Hardball armour entered the room. One eye had exploded, the same black ooze leaking from the ruined socket, the same ooze that had now come from so many of their bodies (hidden, hidden, shadows just waiting to be discovered in the depths). The other was grey, staring at Cairn with a blazing fury.

“The will of the Dark?” the human asked without preamble.

“You will remain here and engage the forces seeking to purge us,” Cairn said, smiling. “Give battle to them. Make it convincing. You will not be able to win, of course, but it is worth it to give them the illusion of a victory here. It will buy us the time we need to make Her whole.”

“I understand, Commander,” Markham said. “I will do as you bid.”

Cairn nodded, and Markham left without another word, leaving Cairn alone with the shadows in his tent.

Find me. Make me. Bring me home.

“I will,” Cairn said, “I swear it.”

At the same time as Cairn had deactivated the transmission, on the other end of the projection, Shieldwall’s projector had… reacted. It sparked, the image of Cairn disappearing, and the crystal turning jet black, before imploding with a crunch and falling in pieces to the floor. Black, oozing liquid seeped from the ruin.

“Huh,” Shieldwall said. “It’s not supposed to do that.”

“It just imploded and started bleeding!” yelled Will, his human tactics advisor - a human in green armor, who cut and dyed his hair into a red-purple style not unlike a pony’s mane.

“That’s… not blood, Will,” Doctor Cross Stitch said, looking down at it.

“Whatever it is,” Shieldwall said, “do not touch it. Seal off this room and call a cleanup crew for the…”

A look of confusion crossed his face.

“...blood,” he said, sounding sheepish. “That’s very clearly not blood, but I can’t not think of it as… oh. Something is… not right.”

“What even is that… that stufff…?” Dan, one of the other humans from Shieldwall’s group, said, looking at the ooze. No, he wasn’t looking. He was transfixed. “It’s… so dark. Really. Dark…”

Shieldwall looked away from it at once, before kicking Dan in the pelvis. He flew back about three feet, his focus on the substance disrupted. He lay in a heap, moaning. Shieldwall grabbed a sheet of tarpaulin and threw it over the destroyed crystal without another word, motioning for everypony and everyone to move back.

“Doc,” Shieldwall said. “Move Dan to an observation room. See if his condition improves. If not, ponify him.”

“If that doesn’t work?” Will asked.

“William,” one pony said. “That’s impossible -”

“It’s not,” Shieldwall said, cutting the pony off. “Nothing is on this benighted world.” He looked back to Cross. “And if it doesn’t improve him, just shoot him and burn the body. And don’t use the Composer Crystal. If ponifying doesn’t solve it, nothing will.”

Cross Stitch nodded, before frowning.

“D’you think Cairn’s just Earthshocked?” he asked. “This… this feels different somehow.”

“Maybe,” Shieldwall said. “Whatever happens, configure our totem proles and order our telepaths to put up some psychic static. I’m also going to need to find some reflectatine lining for my helmet.”

“You sound spooked,” said Will. “You really think he -”

“He seemed very insistent,” Shieldwall said. “Too certain. And then there’s that… stuff.” He motioned to the covered crystal. “Something’s amiss here. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to make use of it.”

“And… if we’re not?” Cross Stitch asked.

Shieldwall didn’t answer.

“#The sunshine trapped in our hearts, it could rise again. But I'm lost, and crushed, and cold, and confused, with no guiding light left inside…”

“I love Muse,” Lucky Strike commented, her eyes closed. “I wonder if I can get Haze to do a cover of ‘Supermassive Black Hole’ when I get back to Columbia.”

Luke was sat in an ill-fitting set of Hardball armour they’d found in one of the APCs storage compartments, cradling an unfamiliar assault rifle with an incredibly long carry handle, and didn’t answer. As much as the beret-wearing man (whose name was Marcus Schaefer) had tried to explain the thing-

“Ever used a G36? Well, the G2A2’s not too different… Rakow marketed them with these tiny Beta-C mags. Great capacity for the size, but the springs can be unreliable. If you have the chance to use STANAG mags, do it - I’d prefer some reliability over an extra 15 shots.”

- Luke still felt as though it was a foreign object, one he was almost afraid of.

A week ago I was using a crapped-out M16, and now I’ve got something that looks like it came from a sci-fi movie, he thought. How had his life gotten so out of control?

Hell, this whole situation was out-of-control. These other people were all professionals. He tried to remind himself of their names: Samuels and Kent, the shaven headed men (Kent with the scar, Luke reminded himself), Payne the woman with the fauxhawk, ‘Jiffee’, which was the only name the dark-haired woman had given from beneath her helmet, Dietrich the man in Hardball-X armour, and the other pony, Milk Pail (“With an ‘I’,” he had said).

“You alright, kid?” Lucky Strike asked. He looked up, to see her staring at him. “You been awful quiet.”

Luke pursed his lips. “You’ve asked me that, like, six times. I’m fine. Just… this is bigger than most action I’ve seen.”

“Can’t imagine there’s much in the way of action in a militia unit,” Schaefer said from his seat.

“Yeah,” ‘Jiffee’ said. Her voice was light and lilting, a sort of strange hybrid of various Gaelic accents. “What is it you lot got up to?”

“Apart from being burned alive by flamethrower tanks, not much,” Luke said dolefully.

There was a pause as this statement settled over the APC like a shroud.

“Geez, kid,” Payne said from her seat. “Buzzkill or fuckin’ what?”

Luke gave her a mirthless smile. “We were lucky. Until we weren’t. I… kind of don’t want to trust to luck now.”

“We’ll be luckier today,” Lucky Strike said, smiling. She winked. “It’s in the name, after all.”

“Yeah,” Luke said, nodding.

I mean, it’d be pretty hard to be less lucky than I’ve been, he thought, sighing.

“Cheer up,” one of the shaven headed men (scar, so Kent) said. “Lucky’s seen us through worse.”

“Hey!” called the driver (a Texan-sounding man apparently called ‘Joe’, which was all the introduction Luke had gotten from him). “We’re comin’ up on Hadley’s Hope, an’ all the Reavers’ trucks’re slowin’ down!”

Lucky Strike nodded. “Gotcha. Let me get Sam up on the horn.”

Luke frowned. “Why would we be slowing down?”

“Because as much as some of the Reavers are direct enough to think that charging in like warboys is a good idea,” Schaefer said from his seat, as Lucky Strike messed with her headset, “Officer Yarrow will want to be a little more… nuanced.”

“Odinson Zero, Columbia One,” Sam’s headset crackled. “Come in please, over.”

Sam smiled, tapping her headset. Her Humvee had stopped, and she had stepped out, helmet on, to get a look at the situation. They were on a hill just above the town of Hadley’s Hope, looking down at the town in the distance.

“Columbia One, Odinson Zero,” she replied. “Reading you five by five, over.”

“Roger that,” Lucky Strike said, a slight tinge of mirth in her voice. “So what’s the plan, Sam, over?”

Sam pursed her lips. “Direct assault would seem unwise. We don’t know the state of the town’s defences, if any. And there might be hostages. Over.”

“Agreed,” Strike said. There was a short pause, before she spoke again. “I can have my team scout ahead, see what the best angle of approach is, then you can punch through, over?”

Sam nodded thoughtfully. That did sound like a good plan… but there was an element of risk. Strike’s team could well find themselves caught out in the open and overwhelmed by superior numbers. Especially if there were Newfoals.

Risk is part of the game, her father’s voice said. We’re not here to be safe, Sam.

Sam sighed, but her father’s words had been right then and were even more so now.

“Columbia One,” she said after a moment, “recon the target, find us the best avenue of assault, and see if there’s anything esoteric waiting for us. No unnecessary risks, Strike. Over.”

“Wilco, Odinson Zero,” Strike replied. “Columbia One out.”

As she signed off, Sam let out a deep breath, before switching her comms to a wider channel.

“All units, hold position,” she said. “Comm check, Over.”

“Spotter One with Alpha, five by four, over,” Idle’s voice came in, managing a modicum of professionalism.

“Odinson Five with Beta, five by five solid, over,” a woman named Karen Greene said. Greene was one of Dad’s Odinsons that Sam Yarrow had never had the privilege of meeting before - for a group that tended to be the best people Maximilian Yarrow knew, they were oftentimes not people Sam got the chance to know.

If I’m going to be in charge, Sam thought, I have to fix that.

The rest of the units - Gamma, Delta, Epsilon and Zeta (the APC) - responded promptly as well, and Sam took a breath before speaking, steadying her nerves.

You’re the Commander, she thought to herself.

“All units,” she said. “Columbia One is on recon. We’re holding here and awaiting their signal. Over.”

“Wilco, Odinson Zero,” Idle said. “Want us to set up a perimeter, over?”

“Negative on that,” Sam replied, taking a breath. “What I want is you to hold your position, be very quiet, and watch from here for activity. When we breach, it’ll be one point, and we all need to hit it together. Over.”

“Understood, Odinson Zero.” Idle took a breath. “This the usual smash, grab, scorch procedure, over?”

‘Smash, grab, scorch’: smash the defences of a PER held position, grab any and all survivors you could save, and then scorch the PER’s position with extreme prejudice. Sam took in a deep breath.

“Not sure,” she finally said. “We’ll see what Columbia One says. Odinson Zero out.”

She tapped her comm, before activating her helmet’s binocular function, zooming in on Hadley’s Hope. The shantytown seemed quiet, but that meant nothing. There could be stealth spells, hidden compartments, or just an awful lot of Newfoals cramped into buildings, ready to leap out and tear anyone who came near the town to pieces.

Lucky, she thought, you’d better live up to your name.

“Alright,” Lucky Strike said after a moment, looking thoughtful. “We’re on recon, which means we’re going to have to get out.”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” Earnest Star said quietly. “There were Royal Guardsponies among the PER guarding us. They… they looked like they knew what they were doing.”

“I understand that,” Strike said patiently, before smiling. “Fortunately, I know what I’m doing, too.” She turned to the driver’s cab, where Joe - shaven headed, Hardball-armour clad and with a classic sheriff symbol painted on his chestplate in white - sat. “You’re obviously guarding the APC.”

“Yes’m,” Joe said. “Happy to.”

“As for the rest of us,” Strike continued, “we’re going in.” She looked at Luke and Earnest Star. “I’m sorry, this is somewhat deep-end work. Ms Star,” and here she focused on Earnest Star, “we might need you out there, but you’re not obligated to -”

“If I can help you stop them,” Earnest Star cut her off, “then I will.”

Lucky Strike nodded, a smile breaking out on her face. “That’s what we all like to hear, Ms Star.” She looked around. “As for the rest of us, we’re going to go quiet. I’ll lead in. Ms Star, you’re with me.”

She looked to Schaefer, who looked grim. Not that Luke could blame him: there was an awful lot that could go wrong with this.

“Schaefer,” Strike said, “you’ll take the rest of the team, find a spot, and wait for my signal. We’ll take a single outer building first, use it as a staging post. From there, we’ll aim to disrupt their sentries, cripple their defence, and then signal for the Reavers to break through.”

“Sounds a lot easier than I thought,” Luke said out loud, before clapping a hand to his mouth as everyone looked at him. “Uh, sorry, just…”

“No, you’re right,” Strike said with a small nod. “It is a lot easier sounding - but it’s also easier said than done.” She looked around the APC at each of her troops. “Cairn’s supposed to be a professional. Royal Guard Veteran.”

“Fuck,” Jiffee swore.

“That means,” Strike continued, “that we might be walking into an ambush, or he might have extra defences we’re not anticipating.” She looked around the APC, meeting her team’s eyes one by one. “Anything is possible in there.”

There were murmurs of acknowledgement from each member of Strike’s team. Luke took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before looking down at his rifle.

Well, Luke, he thought to himself, you wanted to get out there and fight. Here’s your chance.

Originally was going to start the battle for Hadley’s Hope here, but there’s a lot of material to cover, so that’s going to be a separate chapter (or two!) now. Hope you enjoy.