“House Raptor?”

“Nope.”

“House Cheval?”

“It’s taboo on Maresailles, so no.”

“House Satagee?”

“Yes, actually. Both of them, in fact.”

“Both, huh? Right. House Roan?”

“Uh...no; but also yes.”

“What? Okay, you’re going to have to explain that one.”

Slipshod chuckled to himself, idly pulling at the fiberglass fishing pole that was cradled loosely in his hooves. He’d never actually gone fishing before in his life, but when he’d learned the details of this particular operation, and where he’d be spending a few hours with nothing better to do, he’d decided that now was as good a time as any to give it a try. One of the mare’s working in maintenance back on the Galloway frequently spoke about how much she enjoyed sitting on the dock with her siblings and had even offered to loan him her rod for the mission.

The stallion had to admit: so far he didn’t see the appeal. It seemed that all he was doing was just sort of...sitting here. Which is what he’d have been doing anyway. Only now he was doing it while holding an eight foot long pole.

On the other hoof, the maintenance tech had also mentioned that gratuitous quantities of beer had also been present during her own outings. Slipshod was the sort of professional who didn’t drink while on the job, so he’d decided to forgo that particular aspect. He now found himself wondering if that might have been an integral part of this whole ‘fishing’ thing after all…

“Well, it turns out that House Roan doesn’t technically have a ‘daughter’,” he responded over the communications device wrapped around his ear, as the mare that he was conversing with was sequestered almost five kilometers north of his position in order to give him advance warning of any units that might come their way from the local garrison. “So, no, ‘she’ doesn’t have her teets pierced. However, there was a piercing on something else; so it’s up to you how you want to count that one.”

“You’re kidding,” she chortled. Then there was a brief pause on the line as a thought seemed to occur to her. “Hold on, wait, how would you know unless―you didn’t!”

The stallion couldn’t help but chuckle at her obvious surprise. “Hey, I will have you know that, despite those vicious rumors Squelch spreads to the contrary, I am an honorable and respectful stallion of good breeding!” Even as the earth pony spoke the words, his lips were spread in a broad grin that could honestly likely be heard through the mic. “So when I promise a mare a good time, I see the deed through! Even if it turns out that she might not...quite...have actually been a mare.”

“Hahaha!”

“Hey, it would have been pretty awkward of me to have bailed at that point. We’d been fooling around for nearly an hour by the time we got far enough for me to discover the trap.” Even though the mare on the other end of his comlink wasn’t able to see it, Slip still shrugged out of habit as he continued to tease the line a little bit more. After nearly three hours without so much as a nibble, the stallion was beginning to wonder if there were actually any fish in this lake...or even on this planet for that matter. He made a mental note to ask Squelch when they got back on board the DropShip. “At that point, it was entirely my fault; so I just had to swallow my pride and carry on.”

“Oh? And was that all you swallowed that night?”

“A gentlecolt doesn’t kiss and tell,” he insisted primly, though still grinning broadly, “at least not without somepony buying him a bottle of Maker’s Cutie Mark. Seventeen years old, to be specific, if you’re interested in hearing more about that encounter.” Slip pulled up the pole and looked at the bare hook. He frowned at the sight of the wormless curved metal. He’d rebaited it four times already, and he’d made extra certain this last time that the worm wasn’t somehow just wriggling off of it.

Either there was something in this lake eating his bait without so much as twitching the line, or the acidity was concerningly far on the low end of the pH scale. Though that would explain the faint odor in the air that reminded him of the breakfast meal ration packs that were on the ‘risky’ side of their expiration date. In any case, it was hardly like he had anything better to do, so the stallion brought the rod in and went through the process of putting a worm on the hook for a fifth time.

“For now, list another House whose daughters you’ve always wondered about.”

“You could be making all of this up, for all I know,” the mare on the channel with him pointed out.

“I could be,” Slipshod acknowledged, “but you can check the Galloway’s travel logs and find out that we’ve been to every planet with those Houses you’ve listed; and I know you can’t account for my whereabouts during every night we were there.” He paused for a brief moment to let her digest those particular facts, and then ventured in a detached tone, “I mean...if you’re really worried about whose bed I’m sneaking off to while we’re planetside, you could always just keep me all safe and sound in yours…”

“Ha! Talk about needing a bottle of booze―or six,” the mare responded in a tone that wasn’t quite derisive; but the stallion smiled nonetheless.

“What? The heaters on the ship have been known to operate below their rated BTUs; I’m just letting you know there’s an alternative to raiding the linen closet for every spare blanket when that happens. My intentions are entirely honorable!”

“Uh huh. Squelch used a lot of adjectives to describe you when I came aboard. For some reason, ‘honorable’ wasn’t on the list...there was ‘bastard’, ‘gelding’, ‘letch’, and ‘misogynist’. I guess she must have just left out the H’s for some reason…”

“Lies, and slander, and slanderous lies,” Slipshod quipped, his smile waning slightly as the mare listed off words that he had little doubt were genuinely used to describe him by his ex-wife. He never contested them, as he was fully aware that he’d earned each and every one of those adjectives. Much to the dismay of a few ponies on the ship, the stallion didn’t have a similar list of his own. In fact, he knew full well that there wasn’t a pony alive who could honestly say that he’d ever uttered a disparaging word about his ex.

Because he had never done so. Slipshod was a lot of things, and not all of them complimentary; but one fault he didn’t have was that he didn't spread malicious lies just to spite somepony.

And while the earth pony might not have a list of insults that he threw around regarding the mare who commanded their little mercenary outfit, he was careful to avoid any compliments either. He’d been the cause of their falling out, yes, but he was also aware that Squelch was a good enough mare to give him another chance if she thought that he was willing to make a genuine effort to change. There’d been more than one occasion where the two of them had drunk a little more than they should have after getting a particularly nice payout and things had ended up back in her quarters.

After the inevitable ‘frollicing’, the pillow talk started, and the musing about giving their marriage another go…

Eventually they both sobered up, took a cold shower, and remembered why the two of them were much better off as co-workers than spouses and everything returned to business as usual. Which was exactly how it needed to be.

The stallion shook away the creeping thoughts and the feelings that they brought along with them. “Now, come on, make with the House names already, I have a list long enough to keep us going for hours―” an alarm sounded from the interface on Slipshod’s left fetlock. He glanced down at the display, though he already knew what the notification was alerting him to. After all, he’d only set the single parameter. “Oop, never mind. Break’s over, Val!”

The stallion didn’t even wait for an acknowledgement as he tossed the useless fishing pole into the hatch that he’d been leaning back against and vaulted in after it. He grabbed a lever on his way down and hydraulic actuators hissed as the heavy portal was slowly lowered closed until it finally sealed shut. Slipshod landed on the piloting couch below and his hooves began to dance over the consoles in front of him, depressing buttons and flipping switches in a well-practiced sequence that he was now only barely conscious of performing.

Lights blinked on, and a low humming filled the cockpit, fading quickly into the background as an orchestra of beeps and chimes all sounded off to announce the activation of various other systems. The ever-detached cool drone of a synthetic mare’s voice began to make its usual announcements:

REACTOR: ONLINE.

SENSORS: ONLINE.

WEAPONS SYSTEMS: ONLINE.

ALL SYSTEMS NOMINAL.

The golden stallion snatched his nearby helmet from where it was hanging and slipped it over his head before making himself comfortable on the piloting couch. Laying on his stomach atop the padded surface, the earth pony ensured that his harness was secured to keep him firmly in place during the imminent scuffle. Then he set his hind hooves into the steering pedals to his rear as his forehooves gripped the weapon control yokes in front of him.

He grinned. “Alright, babe; time to earn our C-bits! Up and at ‘em!”

Ginger Snap stifled yet another in what was becoming a genuinely embarrassingly long line of yawns. The cinnamon mare frowned as she noticed the mildly annoyed look from the stallion next to her in the turret. It wasn’t like it was her fault that she was yawning! She was getting plenty of rest, but these long drives through the Western Caldera were just so damned boring.

“You sure you don’t want some coffee?” The tank’s commander asked of his gunner.

“That depends. Are you going to actually stop this thing when I have to use the little filly’s room in an hour?”

“Nope.”

“Then, no. I’m fine,” she grumbled. Not that she for a moment believed that coffee would have done anything to help with the preeminent cause of her yawning. A point further demonstrated by yet another of the phenomena, on the heels of the last. “I should have brought some vids to watch.”

“What makes you think I would have let you watch 'em?” Her superior inquired, casting her another cool glance.

“Oh, come on, LT! We make this run every week, and the most dangerous thing we’ve ever come across is a rock lizard―a baby rock lizard. You didn’t even notice we’d run it over until I pointed its guts out to you on the treads when we got back to base!” The mare protested. “I get that these convoys require escorts as part of ‘regulations’, but we both know there’s no practical point to them.

“Canopy doesn’t have any political insurgents, the criminal element isn’t involved in anything above unlicensed gambling and pickpocketing, and besides all that: how is anypony going to be able to offload a thousand metric tons of LRMs? Nopony’s going to try anything! So what if I pass the ride watching some vids instead of looking through the sights at, oh let’s just take a look, eh?”

The mare leaned forward and pressed her face into the tank’s gunnery sights, slowly rotating the turret and listing off everything she saw. “Rocks...rocks...more rocks," she ignored the heavy sigh of her commanding officer and persisted in given her 'scouting report', "sulfur pool...ro―SWEET CELESTIA!”

Just as the mare was passing her gaze over the pool of water that had gathered in the pit of the dormant volcano, she witnessed the usually placid liquid surface parting as a giant metal head in the vague shape of a pony emerged, sheets of water pouring off from its sharply angled surfaces. In the back of her mind, she identified its profile as being some variant of Wild Bronco, a versatile medium-weight BattleSteed that was a common sight in all regions of the Harmony Sphere. They could be configured to support a wide array of weapons depending on the mission requirements.

However, in this specific instance, Ginger Snap was only able to identify one of the weapons that the large behemoth mounted: a large directed magical energy beam sequestered in it’s right shoulder. Given another few seconds, the tank gunner would certainly have been able to correctly identify the rest of the weapons complement as well. Unfortunately, she was not given those few seconds. Her view was quickly obscured by blinding blue light.

Thirty megasparks of coherent energy drilled into the front of the Scorpion Light Tank's turret, and nearly instantaneously flash-boiled the forward facing armor. The occupants were vaporized by the intense heat of the weapon a fraction of a second later. Then the fuel ignited and the armored vehicle exploded. Ginger Snap and her crew were dead before the rest of the convoy even realized that they were under attack.

Slipshop didn’t pause to appreciate the armored vehicle’s demise. He had additional concerns that occupied his attention. Specifically, the three other armored tracked vehicles that also served as the escorts for the munitions convoy that he had been contracted to ambush. While his forward facing directed energy weapon cycled through its recharge phase, the stallion flipped his firing controls over to the six-pack short ranged missile system mounted in the center of the Wild Bronco’s chest, teased the controls until his ‘Steed was lined up on the next tank, and fired. A half dozen smoke trails lanced outward, striking the second tank in rapid succession. Like the first target, it too evaporated in a cloud of smoke and fire as its munitions and fuel combusted.

The crews of the surviving tanks were to be commended for reacting as quickly as they did to the ambush. Likewise, their tactics were well-thought-through. Ultimately futile, given what they were up against, but they still seemed determined to make a good showing of themselves. Autocannon shells and SRMs answered for the deaths of their comrades. The BattleSteed lurched with the impacts and Slipshod was thrown against his harness as its straps kept him firmly in place.

The golden earth pony grit his teeth and used his hind hooves to tilt both pedals as far forward as they would go. The background hum of the reactor began to rapidly increase in volume as more power was demanded of it. Fifty tons of steel and ablative armor didn’t tend to react well when put up against the inalienable laws of inertia. He watched as his ‘Steed’s measured speed slowly rose, his piloting couch jostling beneath him as the four massive legs driving him forward went into action, progressing from a walk, to a trot, through a canter, and finally into a full gallop as quickly as physics and their myomer muscles would allow. Though it was less than five seconds until he was running smoothly across the caldera at a clip of sixty kilometers an hour, it felt like a small eternity as enemy autocannon shells and missiles smashed against his accelerating frame.

Slipshod teased the steering pedals as he lined up his ‘Steed with the tank that had veered left. He had a pair of small lasers that were charged and ready to fire in his left shoulder mount, but those wouldn’t be quite up to the task of cutting through a tank’s armored hide. Those were mostly reserved for lighter targets. However, when one was piloting a twelve meter tall, fifty ton, titanium equine robot, it didn’t always take actual ‘weapons’ to defeat lesser adversaries.

One of the Wild Bronco’s forehooves slammed directly on top of the Scorpion. Its turret’s supports protested for half a second, and then buckled beneath the weight of the ‘Steed, collapsing inward. Munitions stored within ruptured and detonated. Slipshod was already wheeling the ‘Steed around, noting the flashing indicator that informed him that his large magical energy weapon had completed charging back up for another shot. He kicked back on the throttle as he depressed the firing controls. The hind legs of his ‘Steed froze mid-stride, drifting over the hard-scrabble ground behind the rest of his Wild Bronco as the whole machine pivoted sharply. The beam of blue light struck out at the ground and proceeded to carve its way across the surface until it sliced across the back end of the convoy’s last remaining escort. The tank’s engine sputtered, smoked, and then set the vehicle aflame.

Slipshod kept his gaze fixed on the tank, his hoof ready to launch another volley of short ranged missiles in case it wasn’t completely out of action yet. However, the turret of the armored vehicle made no effort to rotate and target Slipshod. The stallion just watched as the top hatch popped open. A gout of fiery smoke erupted out of it, quickly settling into a broiling black column, which was then briefly interrupted by an equine form that was consumed by flames scrambling out. From within the cockpit of his ‘Steed, the stallion could hear nothing of the outside world, but he could feel the pain and the panicked desperation of the pony as he watched them wriggle and writhe atop the turret until finally falling to the ground. There they continued to twist in agony as the fire refused to be dashed by their mad thrashing.

Eventually, mercifully, they went still. Whether because they were truly dead, or had simply passed out from the excruciating pain, it was difficult to tell for certain. If it was the latter, they would surely be dead in short order anyway. In any case, it was pretty clear that the last of the convoy’s escorts were no longer a threat.

All that was left to address now were the dozen or so cargo transports and their highly volatile burdens. Those missiles, Slipshod knew, were being shipped to the garrison north of their position so that they could arm the newly constructed array of air-defense turrets there. Those turrets had been built because the planetary defense forces on Canopy were concerned that some malevolent entity had designs on putting an end to their nominal sovereignty, and they wanted to close up the last few gaps in their air coverage to keep a hostile entity from landing an invasion force.

They were quite correct, it turned out: there was somepony out there who wanted control of this world, and its very plentiful gem deposits. Specifically, the Kirin Confederation, who were eager to acquire more resource-rich territory after their most recent disaster of a campaign against the Hippogriff Combine. The Confederation now found themselves in desperate need of new sources of raw material and staging grounds for their inevitable attempt to reclaim their lost possessions.

Unfortunately for the inhabitants of Canopy, they had just become prime real estate, and an invasion force was less than a month out. Slipshod’s job was to make sure that force had the opening that they needed to land their troops. Ensuring that those air-defense batteries, designed to shoot down such an invasion before it could deploy, were without any missiles to fire at such a force did just that.

Of course, the earth pony wasn’t a monster. Just because the missiles had to be destroyed, he couldn’t see any reason the ponies driving the trucks had to go up with them.

Slipshod engaged his communications system and navigated to the frequency used by the cargo trucks whose progress had been halted by the wreckage of the first tank that he had destroyed in his surprise assault. “Canopy convoy, this is Slipshod of the Steel Coursers, under contract with the Nirik Light Pony. We’ve been hired to intercept this convoy and destroy all the cargo it’s carrying. You have exactly sixty seconds to exit your vehicles and get to a safe distance. That is all.” The stallion cut the line and set a timer. Then he took a deep breath and watched the chaos below as dozens of ponies scrambled to get out of the cargo trucks and run for cover.

The stallion waited patiently for the drivers to get clear of the blast area before using the pair of small red-hued laser cannons mounted in the shoulder of his ‘Steed to burn down the vulnerable strapped-down missiles. In addition to being the more compassionate option, it also meant that word would be passed back that he and his ‘Steed weren’t part of some random raider faction. There was at least a certain amount of professional understanding where proper mercenary companies were concerned. They were hired to do a job, and so they did the job. It was nothing personal, and rarely did the mercenaries themselves feel any sort of malice towards their targets.

After all, yesterday’s target was just as likely as not to become tomorrow’s paying client. Not this time, however. The Confederation had been savvy enough to slip in something of a ‘non-compete’ clause into this contract. It was a shame really. The Steel Coursers knew quite a bit about the coming invasion, and could have negotiated for a lot of additional C-bits from the Canopy government for a contract to help fight off the invasion. A little bit more than the additional bonus that had been paid out by the KLP to cover the ‘inconvenience’ of that non-compete clause; but there was something to be said for passing on a higher payout with a lot of associated risk, in exchange for a smaller payout that came with no additional risk.

After all: dead pilots couldn’t spend their paychecks, no matter how large they were.

Once every transport was a smoldering pile of twisted wreckage, he turned his Wild Bronco around and throttled back up to full speed. Somepony had doubtlessly gotten off a message of some sort to that garrison, and a response force was bound to show up within the hour. Slipshod intended to be well away from here and back on the Galloway by then.

“Gallop One to Peepers, op success. Back to the barn.”

“Peepers copies,” Valkyrie replied over the comm channel, “bugging out.”

The stallion flipped over from the shortwave radio to the comms suite that would allow him to communicate with their waiting DropShip. Being much further away, the signal required considerably more power, as well as a bounce off of at least one of Canopy’s local satellites. As such, despite any encryption that they might use, it couldn’t be guaranteed that what they said wouldn’t be intercepted by parties interested in making the tail end of his and Valkyrie’s mission a little more lively. “Stable, Gallop One. Bonfire’s lit; let the guests know the party can start anytime.”

Another mare’s voice crackled over his helmet’s headset, a little rougher than Val’s had been as the result of less than perfect encryption/decryption setups on both ends. There were clear comms, and there were secure comms; but there were no clear secure comms. “Ro―er, Gall―One. An―party cr―shers?”

Slipshod glanced briefly at his navmap, but saw only the pair of blue blips that represented himself and Valkyrie. While the sensor array integrated into his own Wild Bronco wouldn’t have been able to alert him to much that wasn’t already just about within visual range, his partner’s Parasprite BattleSteed had enough radar and lidar arrays mounted on it that Val could likely have heard a sparrow fart from a hundred klicks away. “That’s a negative, Stable. Things still look invite-only.”

“Underst―Retu―to the―arn. Stable―t.”

He smiled and returned to his direct line with his partner. “Squelch’s waiting at the rendezvous. Race ya?”

“Last one to the Galloway pays for the next bar crawl.”

“You’re on,” the golden pony grinned, redlining his ‘Steed’s engine. The twins were probably going to thwack him over the head for it, but it wasn’t their wallets on the line at the moment. Val drank like she could store booze in her flank. Her bar tab wasn’t cheap!

Slipshod finished powering down the ‘Steed and popped the egress hatch. He crawled out and unfastened his helmet with a sigh. He hadn’t quite managed to beat Valkyrie’s Parasprite back to the DropShip. It wasn’t entirely because her ‘Steed was faster though. While her Parasprite could fly across the ground at the better part of twice his own 'Steed's top rated speed, she’d also been about twice as far from the pick-up point. In theory, it should have been a close match. In fact, his ‘Steed would have had a slight edge, since the inertia of his greater tonnage let him crash through trees much more effortlessly, with only a minimal temporary loss of speed. Val would have had to detour to avoid more densely forested regions.

However, he suspected that she had some better terrain data at her hooves than he’d had, as she’d gone a route that should have been heavily forested and slowed her down a good bit, but didn’t. Indeed, she’d actually managed to maintain her top speed as she flew through the valley in a nearly straight line.

It seemed that the locals had installed a highway of some sort in the last few years since the maps he’d been given had been made. That was certainly a point to raise with Squelch where their client was concerned. The intel that they’d been given for this job was supposed to have been the ‘latest and greatest’. Obsolete intel wasn’t generally conducive to successful operations. Obviously, what their employer had could stand to be a good bit ‘later and greater’.

Ah, well. At least he knew it was probably a good idea to hold off on going on any spending sprees any time soon. It appeared that the bulk of his finances were spoken for the next time they made planetfall.

A walkway was being extended to meet him as he stood propped against the open hatch of his ‘Steed. A kirin mare with a rosy red coat and auburn mane sporting a broad smile was at the other end to greet him. “Welcome back, Slip! I see you treated my sweet Widdle Bwonco well,” she said, noting the limited damage to several of the armor plates where the convoy’s escorts had managed to score hits. In the stallion’s experience, emerging from a mission without any sort of scratch was effectively impossible. However, as long as he kept the damage done to the armor he found that the company’s pair of chief mechanics didn’t give him any grief over it. After all, those plates were practically designed to fall off when struck by anything substantial, and were easily replaceable as a result.

What they were likely to have to say to him once they saw what his efforts to beat Valkyrie back to the ship had done to the radiators on his reactor on the other hoof...

“You should see how I treat a mare,” Slipshod replied with a broad grin as he stepped past the scaled equine, coming a little closer to her than was perhaps ‘proper’ where personal space was concerned, but Mig and her twin sister weren’t exactly strangers to him or his forward ways. Honestly, anypony who’d been on the ship for more than an hour was aware. He took a deep breath, relishing the sensation that passed through him as he stepped by her.

For her part, the mare giggled and rolled her eyes. “Oh, we have,” she winked at him, “maybe some other time. Squelch wants Tig and I to get your ‘Steed fixed up ASAP. A JumpShip is going to be heading out of system tomorrow and she wants us to be on it.”

“Your loss.” The stallion shrugged as he continued on down the walkway towards the ship’s interior. He wasn’t surprised by the tacit rejection, nor was he incredibly disappointed. He’d already gotten in a good roll with the pair of kirin shortly after their arrival on the ship once they’d been hired. Since then, he’d considered that box checked and hadn’t seriously pressed the issue. It just wasn’t quite the same with kirin as it was with ponies.

Besides, strictly speaking, he was pretty sure he’d made other plans this evening anyway. He consulted the rota that he used for keeping track of such things. More than once he’d been burned by mixing up who he was supposed to be entertaining on any given evening, and so he'd found it necessary to use scheduling software normally reserved for small businesses that used it to track client appointments. He glanced at the date as he tried to recall which member of the crew was next up.

A quartet of hooves clapped down onto the catwalk just to his rear. The stallion glanced over his shoulder in time to catch sight of an azure pegasus mare removing her own piloting helmet, revealing her closely cropped blond mane and pink eyes. “I wish all of our contracts could be that easy,” Valkyrie lamented as she fell into step beside her comrade. A teal kirin that could have passed easily for a dyed version of the mare that had greeted Slipshod was snapping off instructions to a team of ponies already starting to crawl over a slightly-built bepadel ‘Steed nestled in the stall across from his own Wild Bronco.

Val’s Parasprite was a typical chassis used as a recon platform by ‘Steed outfits, sporting a quartet of radar dishes on its rear that looked vaguely like tiny wings on either side of its bulbous central torso. The pair of medium range lasers that it mounted beneath the cockpit gave it some bite, but it’s true assets on the battlefield were its small size, hundred kilometer plus top speed, and jump jets that let it zip in and out of the engagement zone before most adversaries could hope to react to its appearance.

In this most recent outing, however, she’d been relegated exclusively to lookout duty. While the intel on the mission provided by their contractee had assured them that the convoy’s escort would be minimal and that any responding force would be too far out to give Slipshod and Valkyrie any trouble before they could be on their way back home, no mercenary who’d been doing such work for more than a week was actually stupid enough to take the client’s word at face value. It was a common practice to understate the risks involved in an operation, as that helped to validate a lowball offer.

After all, the greater the danger, the more C-bits an outfit would demand for their services.

In this instance though, it seemed that the information on responding forces that they’d been given had been more or less right on the money. That was probably because this was only the opening salvo in what was going to become a more protracted campaign by the Kirin Confederation to seize control of the world of Canopy. Now that the local government knew that a threat to their sovereignty existed, they’d be more alert to future attacks and step up the escorts on future convoys. Not that it was going to help them in this case. They’d never be able to replace those lost LRMs in time to do any good, and the Confederation wasn’t concerned about any of their other supply shipments.

Yet.

None of that was going to be the Steel Coursers’ problem though. With only the pair of ‘Steeds at their disposal, their outfit wasn’t suited for serious confrontations or protracted battles. Which meant that there wasn’t much more that they’d be able to do in this campaign other than a few additional raids or harassing actions. Both of which became much riskier endeavors when the target was mobilized to fight a war and wouldn’t be able to tell what attacks were just meager little raids and which ones were genuine pushes by enemy assault forces. The last thing they needed was to be conducting a raid on a munitions depot, only to be intercepted by a lance of heavy or assault-class ‘Steeds anticipating a serious attack by heavier forces.

Which meant that their work in this system was done, and it was time for them to move elsewhere in order to seek out work that was within their means to do safely. Probably deeper in the Kirin Confederation interior, honestly. As the Nirik Light Pony started moving more of their forces to Canopy for the conquest, that meant that their ability to police the systems already under Confederation control would be reduced. A perfect time for insurrectionist elements to pop up that were the ideal targets for lower-tiered ‘Steeds like theirs to combat.

Ultimately, where they went off to next was Squelch’s decision though. After all, the Steel Coursers was her outfit and the Galloway was her ship. So she called the shots.

“You and me both,” the earth pony smirked, “speaking of ‘easy’,” he eyed the feathered mare up and down, “you’re sure I can’t convince you let me keep you warm sometime?”

“Never more so,” the pegasus responded easily. “I have higher aspirations than becoming a notch on your bedpost.”

The stallion did a deliberately poor job of feigning exaggerated mortification. “Gasp! I would never marginalize you like that, Dear Lady! Besides,” he added with a waggle of his eyebrows, “I don’t even have a bedpost. I log my paramours in a ledger that I keep in my breast pocket." He tapped a hoof against the front of his jumpsuit. "That’s how us professional ‘letches’ do things.

“But, as you wish. I shall not trouble you on the matter further...until tomorrow, at least,” Slipshod flashed his fellow pilot another brief grin, noting her own thinly veiled amusement. He knew that she wasn’t likely to acquiesce to his overtures any time soon. She wasn’t the kind of mare to go for casual sex; but he also knew that she was still a little flattered by his flirting. It felt good to be wanted, after all.

“Assuming you don’t freeze to death before then,” Valkyrie snorted dryly before changing the subject, “I’m heading to the mess. Care to join me?”

“Ooh, wish I could,” the stallion winced, “but it’s Thursday, so I have other plans.” He turned his head to a nearby unicorn mare that was carrying a bag of tools towards the berthed ‘Steeds. “Channel Lock,” he smiled broadly at the mechanic, twirling about to bring himself right up to her side, “you sneaky little devil, trying to pick up an extra shift when you and I already made arrangements for tonight…” he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek.

The nearby pegasus pilot watched with a mildly bemused expression as the strawberry hued mechanic returned the gesture without hesitation. She smiled at the stallion, “I’m just dropping these off for Tig. Go ahead and wait in my quarters and I’ll be there in a few minutes. You still remember the door code, right?”

“Of course I do,” Slipshod said smiling at the mare and giving her another peck. Though he did allow that he didn’t ‘remember it’ so much as have it noted in his appointment log. He visited a lot of quarters on the ship, and was hard-pressed to remember which codes went with which ponies as a result. “See you soon!” And with that, the mare resumed heading for the mechanics swarming over the nearby ‘Steeds. Valkyrie noted that there seemed to be an extra spring in her step.

She looked back at the satisfied stallion with a bewildered expression, “I could have sworn that you spent the evening with that earth pony electronics tech on Thursdays…”

“You mean High Gain? That’s first and third Thursdays. Channel Lock is second and fourth Thursdays.”

The mare quirked a skeptical brow. “And what about the fifth Thursday, if there is one?”

Slipshod grinned broadly at the pegasus. “They’re bunkmates. Bunkmates who, after a few Salty Diamond Dogs, are up for doing pretty much anything together.

“It works out for all involved.”

The mare pilot’s eyes widened in surprise, wandering briefly after the unicorn mechanic who was talking with the cerulean kirin before returning to the beaming golden earth pony. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I believe the word you’re actually looking for is: irresistible,” he corrected playfully.

“Oh, I can resist you plenty.”

Slipshod cocked his head to the side, looking at the pegasus. “Aren’t you the least bit curious why so many ponies on this ship don’t though? I mean, two dozen ponies can’t be wrong...right?”

“It is not ‘two dozen’,” Valkyrie corrected tersely, though she did admit―privately―that the number he had just given wasn’t far off the mark from what she’d observed.

“It could be, with your help,” he quipped in return with a sly look. Then he chuckled and trotted off, “but maybe some other time. I already have a date tonight, and a gentlecolt doesn’t keep a mare waiting!”

The blue pegasus watched the ‘Steed pilot trot off gingerly before shaking her head. His reputation as a rake had been one of the first facts about the crew of the Galloway that she’d learned upon signing on with the Steel Coursers. So she’d been properly prepared when the earth pony made an inevitable pass at her. What she hadn’t been prepared for was the fact that it seemed like most of the crew didn’t mind his antics. None of the mares who frequented his bed even seemed to mind that they weren’t the only mares he took to bed!

Well, with the exception of Squelch, anyway. Though, even on that front, the mercenary company’s owner and commander was rather cool on the subject of where and with whom Slipshod slept. It had taken the pegasus by no small amount of surprise when she eventually learned that the two of them had once been married. Less surprising was learning that the reason for their subsequent divorce had been infidelity on Slipshod’s part. Even then, while the spurned unicorn mare had a great many colorful names at the ready to call her ex, Valkyrie never recalled there being any ingrained malice behind them. It was almost like some weird little game that the two of them had going on.

Made all the odder by the fact that she couldn’t recall the earth pony ever using anything even approaching a derisive label for his former spouse and current boss. Their animosity felt almost...obligatory, in nature. To the point where Valkyrie was fairly certain that, were Slipshod not such an overtly promiscuous horndog, the pair could have long since reconciled their differences and gotten back together again.

Slipshod was a good pilot, an amiable crewmate, a handsome stallion, and―by all appearances―a thoroughly passionate lover. Which meant that, after dinner, Valkyrie resolved to douse herself with a vigorous cold shower so as to quash any of those niggling little interests in finding out what all of the appeal was that drew so many other ponies into his hooves. Sometimes she preferred that he were a rebukeable asshole. It’d be a lot easier to brush off his flirting that way. While there was no chance that she’d let him follow her back to her quarters sober, and she was confident that she’d literally die of alcohol poisoning before she was ever drunk enough to do it either, she was still just a tiny bit annoyed at that part of her that blushed when he made his passes at her.

At times like that, it wasn’t hard to see why Squelch had been delusional enough to actually marry him.

Speaking of their employer, the emerald unicorn mare was sitting at one of the galley’s tables when Valkyrie trotted in. She was sipping at a mug of coffee floating in the silvery magic aura of her telekinesis while she read over a pad in front of her. The unicorn glanced up briefly at the newly arrived pilot and nodded an acknowledgement before returning her full attention to whatever it was that she was reading.

Unlike some mercenary commanders that Valkyrie had worked with over her career, Squelch didn’t pilot a BattleSteed herself. In fact, to the best of the pegasus’ knowledge, the company’s owner didn’t even know how to. Certainly something of an oddity in this business. It was fairly typical for commanders to ride with their pilots, sharing in the risks as well as the paydays.

Indeed, Valkyrie knew of quite a few pilots who would never have accepted employment with the Steel Coursers because they’d have felt that a boss like Squelch was ‘cowardly’. 'Leaders lead from the front!', and all that. Personally, the pegasus saw Squelch as more of a mercenary company administrator, while Slipshod unofficially bore the mantle of the more typical ‘Steed commander. His...vigorous...flirting off the job notwithstanding, the earth pony was all business once the flak started flying, and was a perfectly competent pilot in his own right. Between them, Squelch and Slipshod made for two halves of a well-rounded whole. The unicorn found the work, and the earth pony got them paid for it.

While she might not have known how to even power on a ‘Steed, one thing that Squelch was very good at was finding contracts. And not just contracts, but good contracts. Valkyrie had no trouble acknowledging that. A lot of mercenary commanders who were more focused on being an ace ‘Steed pilot than much else―not that that wasn’t a good focus to have when one’s life depended on their skill behind a control yoke―often just sort of...wandered the galaxy waiting for the right work to fall onto their haunches. Squelch, by contrast, spent hours every day pouring over as many news reports as she could get her hooves on, getting a lay of the stellar-political landscape and steering them exactly to where there were contracts that just seemed to be tailor made for their outfit.

This mission was the latest such example.

Seemingly without any sort of rhyme or reason, Squelch had the Galloway catch a ride on a JumpShip headed for New Neighpone. Literally, the day after they’d arrived in orbit of the planet, a contract was put up by the Nirik Light Pony on behalf of the Kirin Confederation asking for a small outfit that could conduct a convoy raid on Canopy on short notice. It very well could have been a stroke of luck for the Light Pony that the Steel Coursers were there, as it seemed like the information regarding the LRMs and the newly built launchers was something that they’d only just learned about, and could have made their intended conquest of Canopy a lot more difficult. It would certainly have been a lot more costly. Not something the Confederation’s retained mercenary company was looking forward to in the wake of a string of recent defeats by the Combine’s Aris Highlanders.

Most mercenary outfits in the area would have been hard-pressed to make the time table being demanded if they were already involved in other contracts, and there wasn’t time for the word to go out on ComSpark and hope to hear back from any outfits before that narrow window to act closed for good.

Cue the Steel Coursers, who were already in the system and ready to catch the next available JumpShip to Canopy with ‘Steeds perfectly suited to do the job being asked of them. Squelch had still played up the ‘short notice’ and ‘inconvenience’ angles during the negotiations though, in order to wring a little extra money out of the deal. It wasn’t like the Confederation had much choice though. It was either pay the rate that Squelch was asking for, or resign themselves to a more costly and protracted invasion.

This wasn’t the first time that Squelch had placed the Galloway exactly where it needed to be either, just the most recent example.

Valkyrie picked up her dinner from the serving line―oat burgers and hayfries―and made her way back to the table where her employer was sitting. While their professional relationship was one of ‘employer and employee’, they’d become fairly good friends in their own right in the six months since she’d been hired on. “Heya, boss. Find any leads for us yet?”

The green unicorn lowered her coffee and regarded the pegasus for a second before sliding the pad over so that Valkyrie could glimpse its contents. “A couple. Increasing bandit activity in the Periphery along the Pony Commonwealth border. TimberWolf’s Dragoons won’t be interested in wasting their own forces’ time chasing after small-fry like that. They’ll want to subcontract out. Why assign veteran pilots to crush small-time raiders when they can offer aspiring mercs a fraction of what the Commonwealth is paying them to do it, and just pocket the rest for sitting on their flanks?”

She flipped the display to the next screen. “Meanwhile, over in the Our Worlds League, Rover Consulting Group, LLC released its quarterly financials, and it looks like they’re buying up a lot of stock in Ferrous Holdings, a large mining conglomerate in the Sirius Cluster.

“Not in and of itself all that odd. Buying and selling shares in other companies is pretty much all that Rover Consulting does, but if you look more closely at who’s on their board of directors…” Another screen, and a biography of a rather dignified looking diamond dog wearing a monocle came up. Squelch pointed at a specific part of the dossier. “...we find that one of them is also on the board for one of Ferrous’ chief competitors in the region: Argent Extractions.

“This reeks of hostile takeover.”

Valkyrie glanced over at her employer, “and you think it might get ‘extra’ hostile?”

“It always does,” the unicorn mare pointed out with a wry smirk, “but they rarely want to go too big on that front. Makes investors nervous if they think a company’s looking to get involved in an outright conflict. War can be profitable, sure, but only if your company is selling war materials and isn’t having their own assets blown up in the process.

“Neither side’s going to be hiring a lance of assault ‘Steeds any time soon, but one of them might splurge for a medium ‘Steed in order to make a point. Either as part of a raid, or to repel one. Either contract would be right up our alley.”

The unicorn tabbed to a fourth screen. “And then there’s the current patriarch of one of the minor Houses in the Federated Moons. His health’s taken a turn for the worse and he’s not expected to last another month. The trouble is that he has no direct heirs, and there are no fewer than six cousins who are positioning themselves to make claims.

“Now, it is a minor House―a very minor one―which means that nopony’s got the kind of C-bits to bankroll genuinely serious firepower, but one or two might be able to afford to bring on some light ‘Steed groups to help with their bids,” Squelch shrugged, “I’m not usually one to get involved in politics, but a six-way fight is likely to drag on for a while, which means opportunities for long-term contracts.

“There’s also the chance that, if we happen to pick a losing side, we could just end up being hired on by whoever beats our employer. We might be able to ride it out all the way to the end, no matter who ends up winning.”

Valkyrie regarded the unicorn for a long moment before prompting, “...But?”

The emerald mare sighed, “But...these kinds of things tend to get very personal for the clients. Whoever does eventually win is going to want to make sure there aren’t any claimants that pop up later to bother their heirs.” She frowned, “I have little doubt that we’ll be asked to assassinate an entire family at some point, foals and all. Probably at multiple points, with a six-way fight going on.

“I run a mercenary company, not a familicide service.” Squelch looked over at her pilot, “you kill who you have to out there on the battlefield. That’s part of the business. But I pay you to fight other soldiers and ‘Steed pilots who knew what they were getting into and are there by choice. I don’t pay you to burn down civilians in their homes.”

The unicorn turned back to her pad and floated it back across the table, studying its contents with a frown. “...I’m probably going to opt for the corporate spat over in Sirius. The bandits will probably be bothering the Commonwealth for months. We can help sort out the hostile takeover and likely be done quick enough to still find raider-squashing work.”

Valkyrie thought for a moment and then nodded in agreement. “Sounds good to me, boss.” Not that the pegasus thought that she was genuinely being consulted on the matter. Like Squelch had just said: she was paid to fight. Strategizing was the unicorn’s job. She settled down to eating her meal before another thought occurred to her, “what world will we be going to exactly?”

“Canis. Why?”

The blue flier grinned. “Just wanted to know where I needed to look up bars at. Somepony has graciously ‘offered’ to cover the tab on my next outing!”

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