“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. 😃