"Envelopes." He slapped the board with a marker, drawing another circle around the picture of the rocket. "The air isn't 'rushing to get away'. Things form envelopes. Power, be it magic or otherwise, seems to repel the air, creating an envelope. The more power provided, the stronger the envelope becomes and the less wind actually touches the speeding object. Less air, less friction."

"Why are commercial planes suffering so much then?" asked another scientist, wagging a pen at the first man.

"I have a theory for that, unproven, of course. A hypothesis at best." He drew little lines coming out of the back of the ship. "The source of the power creates the envelope. The increased strain reported by the planes makes perfect sense when you think of it that way. The wings are creating the envelopes, but the main body is not."

A woman suddenly stood up. "The wings are trying to tear away from the plane!"

"And failing," agreed the first man. "The result is drag, and plenty of it, not to mention metal fatigue where the envelope ends."

"The rockets worked..." The second man put a hand to his head. "Because the whole thing is a power source. That explains the color patterns we saw. This is genius, if it pans out."

"Big if." The female shrugged softly. "Did you already share this idea?"

"How could I not. We need a manufacturer on board to help test these things."

Their conversation turned towards specifics, to try planes with dramatically different designs to see if they could get the envelope to encase the entire plane, just like pegasi, griffons, and hippogriffs (how were they not a hybrid species of the former two?!) covered themselves in them.

Mankind would prevail over this new challenge.

"Let's make some hybrids." The tipsy woman slapped the back of the stallion she was standing next to. The pony glanced at her nervously and began to wander away without a word.

"Yer loss." She flopped against the rail, looking out over the ship. She had taken the cruise to get away from it all. Her failed romantic life had driven her to look for other things, trying desperately to piece her life together. "Get it together..." she quietly chastised herself. The drinks she had filled herself with were not helping.

With a soft clip-clop another pony approached. A warm snout nuzzled into her dangling hand and she reflexively squeezed her fingers, capturing the pony.

He squeaked and fell back onto his haunches. "I heard you were lonely," he quickly defended himself.

"Yeah?" She didn't let him go, instead trailing a finger through his fur. "The kind of lonely I am isn't fixed with any party game."

He smiled a little. "We should get to know each other first, don't you think?"

She quirked a smile at that. The ponies were too pure at times. She turned to him, leaning her side on the rail instead. "Look. I'm horny, lonely, and I thought I'd have a lot more going on with this trip. Can you fix that? I promise we can have some pillow chat afterwards about our favorite colors or whatever."

The stallion seemed to consider it a moment, ears flicking down and up. "Do you promise?"

"Do you promise to not be a cheating asshole?"

His eyes went wide, as if the idea was just terrifying to him.

"Answer enough." She leaned forward and planted a kiss on the end of his furry nose. "Now show me how ponies do it."

He led the way back to his room, blushing the entire way. He would do his best to cheer her up, and he would enjoy the process. He didn't get any pillow chat that night, with her passed out sometime during the activities.

Thankfully, she was open to talking when she came to the next day, whispering softly as he nursed her from her hangover.

It wasn't the most romantic of starts, but it was one.

"High Flight." The engineer waved at the flying pony. "Got a moment?"

The pegasus stallion landed, perching on the rail as if it was a perfectly natural place to land despite being narrow. "What's up, Rob? The captain have another sudden new idea?"

"Mercifully not." Rob smiled at the shared empathy of dealing with their captain's ideas. "Come to think of it, maybe yes, but not the usual kind. Look, I'll be blunt. She likes you, High."

High Flight blinked, wings going erect to either side. "Oh! Oh? I... like a friend?"

"She hopes for more than that, but she's too nervous to say it herself, so here I am."

"I... appreciate you just coming out and saying it." High nodded softly, starting to look a little more relaxed. "But it won't work."

"I know, work relationships can be hard, but--"

"Huh? No. I'm not into mares."

Rob blinked softly, thrown off guard. Ponies had gay people?

"I was actually... kind of hoping you'd notice me, since we're admitting things together." High leaned forward, wings fluttering a bit. "You're so dependable, and kind, and smart. Whenever anycreature has a problem, you're right there with some answers, and I appreciate that." He raised a hoof to his chest. "Do you... like stallions?"

Rob could feel his heart hastening. An alien dude was propositioning him. Sure, it was an alien dude he knew pretty well. He'd worked alongside High Flight for over a year at that point, but... "I'm... straight, sorry. I mean, hey, you keep flying that path." He pointed with both hands at High Flight. "You deserve an awesome boyfriend."

High looked disappointed, wings sagging a bit as he stepped off the rail to the platform properly. "Oh... Well, we can still be friends." He wasn't asking, he was stating what seemed obvious to him. "I do like having you around, even if we're never special someponies."

"Let's not change that." He delivered a gentle patting. Ponies were too nice to pet. They also took rejection surprisingly well. At least, this one did. He had to find out how Sea Flower would take it... "I'll break the news to the captain."

High hissed softly. "I do not envy you there. Good luck, alright?" He spread his wings and took off to take care of other business.

"Do you understand what you are signing up for?" The stern-faced man was facing the cute-faced otter. "This is not an easy job. This is not a forgiving job. This is... How do you put it..."

"Serious serious," finished the Lutrai, clasping his hands together. "I understand that. I am ready. I will fight for my new country and protect it from anything that threatens it."

The fuzzy potential recruit was a resident alien. He was 18 years old. He had... the otter equivalent of a High School degree. "Alright, look... I'll let you get examined, and you can take the test. You fail, that's on you. I'll give you credit for being willing to take it. This is a hard path you're stepping onto, and it never gets that much easier."

"Serious serious," echoed the Lutrai. "I know that. Warriors don't have it easy... but I am ready."

He brought down a hand on a firm slap on the otter's shoulder. "Then make us proud." With a sudden rough shove, he sent the otter staggering towards where he could get examined.

He'd have to pass a test, a written one, long before he'd be allowed anywhere near any physical trappings of even a recruit. He could fail those and be turned away. That interview had been a step.

"It's been over a year!" angrily shouted a sea pony, glaring at her ruler. "Over a year! Where are my friends?!"

"We are still searching for them," assured Novo with gentle placating motions of her hooves. "We are scouring every inch--"

"--Of the sea!" The sea pony twirled in place, gesturing wide. "They're not in the sea! Why haven't you asked the humans? They're good at looking. Make them search the land."

Novo let out a soft sigh, bubbles escaping her. "The humans are in a transitional--"

"--I don't care what they--"

"--I am still your queen," roared Novo suddenly. "I understand you are upset, and you have every right to be, but you will not take it out on me. Now..." She gently composed herself and her smile returned. "I will see what can be done."

The plea to help find the lost Seaquestrians was one of the first issues to cross John's desk. Of course, he knew exactly where the lost sea ponies were... He smiled softly in consideration. It was a chance for decisive action that would set his term to the right tempo.

It would also have other effects...

It was perfect. He quickly made a call. He had military to be commander in chief of.

He got those wheels turning and reached for the next in the stack of things waiting for his eyes.

A new bill. It was a relief plan that Crane had been pushing but didn't get through in time. It was dense with economical actions to help the country recover. He could strike it down, make noise about 'doing it right', and start from the bottom...

But his people were expecting him to help them. The bill looked good. He signed it. He was John Rason, president, who was also a changeling. He would do it right.

Next; a bill that would have declared a portion of the land Alaska had claimed without approval as unclaimed territory, to possibly later become its own state if it met the requirements.

But the people living there were already Alaskans, and saw themselves as that. Telling them they were suddenly in a property of the USA, but not Alaska... John frowned thoughtfully, considering the angles there. Another state would also skew the balance of power, since it would mean 2 more senators if that happened.

He put the bill aside and reached for other documentation. He had to know more before he could vote for or against this bill. He was president. He would do it right. His people were hoping he would. He could feel that hopeful love seeping in directionless, from the people across the country. "Get Interior in here," he ordered with a press of a button. He had questions, and they needed answers.

They wouldn't know what hit them. Prowling through the underbrush, trained combatants stalked their target. They could see the compound up ahead, guarding their rescue targets.

The defenders had guns. They also had tails more often than not, but that didn't change much.

With silent signals, the teams were in constant communication, encircling the target completely, lines of fire being drawn as snipers readied their shots.

"Good to go," came over their shared comm.

"On three."

Their targets knew nothing until one of their sentries crumpled to the ground with a new, likely fatal, wound.

Another turned suddenly, only to collapse a moment later, screaming and clutching at the side of his throat. The sniper had missed.

"Go go go!" It was no longer time for subtlety. They knew where their targets were.

With smashed glass, half a dozen marines hit the ground hot. A few of the defenders were intelligent enough to immediately throw up their hands and drop any weapons they had. Those were ignored as the rest were taken down with brutal efficiency.

"We have one casualty."

They were armed, they would fight back, and they had, firing wildly through a wall and catching one of the marines before others could charge the room and bring the perp down.

A marine cut down the ropes that kept the prisoners dangling there. "You're safe now."

The liberated hippogriffs appeared to be in a fog, as if they couldn't even grasp the idea that their torment, having persisted for so long, could possibly be coming to an end.

The prisoners, injured, and rescued targets were all ferried away to safer lands.

Author's Notes:

Consequences.

For every action, a response. Such is the literal rule of the universe. So far as we know, it remains true in this new world with a few headscratchers.

What will the response be to what is happening in this chapter?

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