Spectrum: Redux

Interlude
Convocation

Written by
Jed R.

Editors/Proofreaders
Doctor Fluffy

“What chance do we have? The question is ‘What choice?’ Run? Hide? Plead for mercy? Scatter your forces? You give way to an enemy this evil with this much power and you condemn the galaxy to an eternity of submission. The time to fight is now!”
Jyn Urso, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story.

Cheerilee let out a deep breath and tried to calm herself. In a few moments, the meeting would begin, and she would have a whole host of new cats to wrangle.

Isn’t this going to be so much fun, she thought sardonically.

She could see them all settling down to their assigned chairs: over to one side, surprisingly unassuming, was the thin, balding figure of Andrew Whitman, President of the United States of America. Next to him, moustache and military precision, was Anthony Merrick, an Englishman currently in charge of the UN Taskforce. Opposite them was a dark-haired, handsome man in a blue two-piece uniform, and next to that was a vidcom broadcaster displaying the image of a blonde woman in heavy armour.

The HLF, Cheerilee thought. She knew that many people still thought the ‘Loyalist’ side of the HLF was worth the time of day, but she had always had her doubts. Commodore Daniel Romero, the dark-haired man, his eyes taking in everything around him, was not someone who engendered trustworthiness. But on the flip side, she knew some people she respected a great deal trusted him: strange though it seemed to her. The blonde woman, meanwhile, was Samantha Yarrow - once a liaison with the various HLF units working with the PHL, and now one of the highest ranking officers of the HLF. She had followed her father’s footsteps, and according to some sources was perhaps the most vehemently anti-PHL Officer in the ‘Loyalist’ camp.

Another vidcom displayed the image of a man in a black and white uniform, a soft smile on his face. This was Colonel Harrison Munro, Commander Of First Encounter Assault Recon and the chief of R&D (and probably the highest ranking R&D Officer left after Northwoods and Hex’s respective… terminations). Sat next to his vidcom, shuffling cards and looking faintly bored by the whole thing, was a man in a green tweed coat, a t-shirt and hoodie slung on underneath. Doctor Bowman, who hated being called by the name, was one of the sort of people that was good in a crisis, annoying every other time. Still, between him and Doctor Whooves, the tan Earth Pony sat next to him, the UNAC had enough clever ideas floating about to ensure they were still in the game. Next to the two Doctors, Manewell Trotsworth adjusted his glasses, looking at some notes in front of him with an expression of permanent irritable consternation. Finally, next to him, was Vinyl, who had at least tried to tidy herself up a little. Not that it had really done much.

“Alright,” Cheerilee said, taking a deep breath. “If this is everyone we can expect, I suggest we begin.”

“Agreed,” said General Merrick evenly. “There’s a great deal to discuss.”

There were nods around the conference table. Cheerilee saw Romero give a little smirk.

“Alright,” she said. “What’s our current situation?”

“The Barrier has stopped advancing,” Trotsworth put in at once. “It has been moving forward at the rate we predicted, so stalling it was a fortuitous happenstance.”

“Congratulations,” Romero said, nodding. “Any joy on pushing it back?”

“Unfortunately… no,” Trotsworth said with a sigh. “We’re not even sure how long we’ll be able to keep it stalled. I’m not optimistic, though.”

“How ‘not optimistic’ is ‘not optimistic’?” Merrick asked, folding his arms. “I’d prefer to have hard numbers, that way we’ve got some idea of how long we have to work with.”

“He makes a good point,” Munro added quietly. “If I have three weeks, I can focus on short term research goals. If I have six, that’s different. If I have nine…”

“I’m not even sure you have three,” Trotsworth said quietly. “I’d estimate closer to two, if even that.”

There were multiple noises of dismay from around the conference table. Yarrow closed her eyes, and Merrick’s expression hardened in distaste.

“Let’s try to have a little optimism, everyone, eh?” Bowman said from where he was sat. “Stalling it even for a short time gives us time, and time is valuable.”

“Time enough to counter this evil that marshals before us?” Romero joked.

Bowman chuckled. “Here’s hoping, Commodore.”

“In the meantime,” Cheerilee said, frowning, “there’s one bit of news that hasn’t been making the rounds as much.” She paused. “Colonel Reiner is MIA.”

That got everyone's attention. Merrick cursed under his breath, Munro blinked, as though he had misheard, Romero’s expression dropped, and Yarrow sat up on the vid on, her eyes widening.

“Definitely MIA,” she asked. “Not PIA, KIA, any of that?”

“Not sure,” Cheerilee said quietly. “His team was confirmed KIA or PIA in Boston, but there’s no sign of Alex - of Colonel Reiner himself.”

“And we’d know if they tried to ponify him,” Trotsworth said quietly. “Because they’d either be parading his newfoal, or parading whatever was left of his corpse.”

“Morbid,” Doctor Whooves said.

“But a practical point,” Merrick said quietly. “The propaganda coup they’d have with Reiner’s death or conversion is significant: if they had him, they would use him.”

“Which brings us to the question of where he is now,” Trotsworth put in, leaning forward. “If he’s MIA, where could he be?”

Bowman sniffed. “That’s the question.”

“Regardless,” Merrick said. He leant forward. “Even leaving aside Colonel Reiner’s disappearance, we’ve a great deal to consider. Our readiness for Barrierfall is… problematic. At best.”

“Agreed,” Cheerilee said grimly. “My understanding is that Boston is suffering massive shortages of manpower.”

“We’ve no shortage of volunteers,” Vinyl pointed out. “I’ve gone past recruitment centres with lines stretching across blocks.”

“Having the manpower is worthless if you don’t know how to use it,” Romero said curtly. “Lovikov and Grant had men, but they used them stupidly, and now all their men are dead or worse.”

“Who the fuck asked you?” Vinyl snapped.

Cheerilee sighed. “Have you anything positive to add to the conversation, Commodore?”

“A few things,” Romero said, apparently not dissuaded by Vinyl’s tone. “My crew have worked out weaknesses in most of the current Newfoal variants. We’ve determined the effectiveness of psychological warfare on standards, disseminated upgraded specs and frequencies for the ATC series of particle guns…”

“I’ve already had my people going over the specs and deploying updated gear,” Munro continued. “Between our R&D and the Columbia’s efforts, I feel like we’ve got a better chance of dealing with standard potioneers as well.”

“We’ve collated data from three engagements with potioneers,” Romero finished, folding his arms. “In those engagements, we’ve managed to pinpoint a rough rate of progress. Again, we’ve fine tuned our weapon frequencies, and passed on what we’ve learned to PHL R&D.”

“That’s useful,” Merrick said with a nod, “but without the men holding the guns…”

“We can do some reorganisation,” Cheerilee said. “But even so, some of our defence positions will be horribly undermanned.” She turned to Whooves and Bowman. “Can you two take troops from New York to Boston?”

“Can do,” Whooves said at once.

Bowman pulled a face. “I’m not a troop transport, Lieutenant Colonel.”

“Doc, is now the time to be bitchin’?” Vinyl asked.

Bowman scowled at her. “Firstly, don’t call me ‘Doc’. Secondly, I’m not… doing that, I’m merely pointing out that I’m not a troop transport, in both a moral sense, but also a practical sense - I don’t actually have one hundred percent control of my ship.”

“You always seem to for us,” Munro said scathingly.

“You don’t see the detours,” Bowman pointed out.

“Well, you can try for nothing, Doctor,” Cheerilee said irritably. Her expression softened. “Please. We want to be prepared: the more soldiers we have there, the more chance we can save lives.”

She knew that was the key point, and sure enough Bowman’s expression crumpled into a resigned acceptance.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll do my bit. So long as they don’t touch anything.”

“I will impress upon them the importance of keeping their hands to themselves,” Merrick said evenly.

“If I may,” President Whitman put in. “I would like to discuss more long term solutions to the war.” Everyone gave the President their attention, and he cleared his throat. “It is my understanding that we have several plans in place to stymie the Empire’s advance.”

“Not… necessarily,” Merrick said quietly. “We have a… a contingency in place -”

“No,” Bowman snapped at once. “Not that.”

“You don’t even know what -” Merrick began.

“Yellowstone.” Bowman hissed the word like a curse. “You’re talking about using Yellowstone.”

Merrick’s eyes widened.

“How do you know about that?” Cheerilee asked. “We were trying to keep that from you.”

Bowman rolled his eyes. “From me. Seriously.”

“You’ll detonate the super-volcano,” Yarrow said from her screen, her eyes widened. “That would kill what’s left of the planet.”

“Including Imperial forces and colonies in the territories behind the Barrier,” Merrick said quietly. “We end it for all of us.”

“Not Celestia, or Equestria,” Whooves pointed out. “They’ll still be alive.”

“But they will have their prize denied,” Merrick retorted.

“You can’t kill yourselves,” Bowman put in. “That can’t be an option you consider.”

“To save ourselves from ponification?” Munro put in. “I don’t see that as a bad thing. Especially if it spites the enemy.”

“Spiting the enemy isn’t the point,” Bowman said irritably. “There’s more at stake than Earth, more at stake than humanity. This is only the beginning.”

“What do you mean?” Yarrow asked.

Bowman sighed. “There are other lives, other worlds. If you - if we - don’t succeed here, then… then Celestia is free to keep going. To keep going, out, and out, and conquer new worlds. Or new realities. This isn’t the end. It’s the beginning.”

Whitman coughed at that.

“With all due respect,” he asked, his expression apologetic, “why should we care for those other worlds before the wellbeing of our own? If we can’t win this war, I say, death is preferable to eternal mindless servitude.”

Bowman scowled. “Then you abrogate responsibility for untold trillions of lives, untold trillions of men, women, children. Are you prepared to do that?”

Whitman held his gaze, before smiling. “I don’t know, Doctor, that’s the God’s honest truth. I don’t want my people condemned to eternal slavery, but I can’t honestly say I want to condemn others to it.”

“And you thought I wasn’t being positive,” Romero commented, smirking.

“There is another alternative,” Trotsworth put in. “The Manehatten Project -”

“No!” Bowman yelled this time. “What is it with you people and picking all the insane plans?!”

“I’ve never heard of this,” Merrick said, frowning.

“Neither have I,” Whitman added.

Cheerilee scowled at Trotsworth. “Professor Trotsworth should never have brought it up.”

Trotsworth shrugged apologetically. “The President brought up wanting alternative plans for the long term. Manehatten is one.”

“Please explain it,” Whitman said shortly, giving Cheerilee a silencing look. “I’ll decide what alternatives I wish to pursue.”

Trotsworth took a deep breath. “A weapon of mass destruction. Potentially the most deadly weapon of mass destruction ever devised.”

“Poetic,” Romero said, his tone deadpan.

“Accurate,” Trotsworth retorted. “In theory, given enough Equusite crystal and enough raw magical power, we can create… well, the basic premise is, a superlaser.”

Whitman blinked, Merrick sat back in his chair, and even Romero’s smirk disappeared.

“Colonel Munro?” Whitman asked.

“We…” Munro began. He looked as shell shocked as the rest. “We had some experiments on weaponising crystal. Some were, uh, co-opted in the EHS disaster…”

“It could work,” Romero put in. “Take a hell of a lot of crystal to make a working WMD out of it, but shaped right, you could -”

“Wipe Canterlot from the face of existence,” Merrick finished. “Destroy any number of high value targets with ease.”

“That was the theory,” Trotsworth said, nodding. “There are limitations - obviously, we’d need a delivery system, and we’d need to figure out what we’re targeting: Equestria… would not be a feasible target.”

“If we reverse engineered the Fillydelphia’s portal tech,” Munro said thoughtfully, “then we could launch a surgical strike on Canterlot. It’d take… well, I don’t know how long, to be honest. But with our ace in the hole helping -”

“Would ae help?” Vinyl asked. She looked uncertain.

“This is all ignoring the fact that the Equestrian resistance would never allow us to destroy entire cities,” Cheerilee said tiredly, “which is why I tried to nix this plan. Like it or not, we still need them.”

“We don’t answer to Harshwhinny and her people,” Merrick retorted. “Theirs is not the culture at threat of extinction.”

“Inter arma einem silent leges,” Whitman said quietly. “Abominable as ending the war that way would be, it would end the war. Especially if we killed the Queen.”

“Even if you ignore the moral implications,” Bowman put in, his voice tightly controlled, “the fact is there are too many things stopping this from being a successful plan.”

“You can’t get the crystal, you can’t get the delivery system, you can’t reach your target…” Whooves listed off.

“Someone only says ‘can’t’ when they haven’t tried,” Romero put in with a wry expression. “We have to win this thing, Doctors. You said it yourself: we don’t, she just keeps going, getting more and more people converted into her slave-soldiers as she goes. We stop her now, it’s over.”

“Hey,” one of the soldiers by the door suddenly said, his voice hushed but still loud enough to be heard, “you can’t just -”

The sound of ringing metal, like a sword being drawn, sounded through the room, and everyone’s eyes suddenly turned to the doorway, where the soldier was backing down in the face of an angry looking Japanese man with a bushy beard and a cropped haircut, clad in a robe over a set of battered Hardball armour from the start of the war. Next to him, wearing what looked for all the world like a raggedy dressing gown over a set of loose fitting clothes, was a man with long hair and a beard who looked incredibly cheerful.

“Hey there,” he said, waving a hand. “I’m Jim. This is Hiro. Thought we’d stop by.”

Cheerilee’s eyes widened. “Colonel Mifune. What… what are you doing here?”

“Escorting Jim,” the stern Japanese man said. He looked around the room. “I would advise you all to listen to what he has to say.”

“Hey, man, don’t sweat it,” Jim said, holding up both hands in a placating gesture. “We’re all pals here.”

“What do you want?” Whitman asked, not unkindly.

“To tell you what happened to your pal Alex Reiner,” Jim said.

Cheerilee felt her heart skip a beat. “He’s alive?”

“We think so,” Jim said, smiling awkwardly. “Little hard to tell, but we’re pretty sure he got where the lady was sending him.”

“What lady?” Cheerilee asked, frowning. “Where is he?”

Jim’s awkward smile stayed. “Well. That’s the funny part.”