The Zathura was an unexpected hive of activity the next morning, much to everypony’s surprise, Slipshod was sure. He certainly couldn’t have predicted the call to his quarters from Squelch, telling him to be in the briefing room in thirty minutes...dressed in his piloting barding.

He knew that the sage green unicorn had been looking for work for them to do, in order to pad out the resume of Rayleigh’s Irregulars, as well as searching for leads on the Crimson Corsairs. However, he had not expected their employer to not only track down a job so quickly, but to also have found one in the Minos System itself. He’d have thought that there were more than enough local groups willing to take up contracts that pickings would be slim in the Concordat's capital system.

Apparently he’d have been wrong.

“You’re late,” Squelch admonished him in an exasperated tone that touched more than one nostalgic nerve in the changeling as he strode into the briefing room, “take your seat and let’s get this briefing started. Our drop window’s pretty tight and there won’t be a lot of time for questions. So pay attention and let’s only do this once,” the unicorn mare jabbed a hoof in the direction of the chair that Slipshod usually sat in while receiving their mission briefings.

It was all a little surreal, honestly. If he hadn’t known any better, Slipshod might have thought that the last three months hadn’t even happened. Nothing seemed like it had changed. Mig and Tig giggled as they shared some little joke between themselves. Doc Dee was present, leaning back in his chair as he waited patiently to deliver his own rote reminders of the various health hazards that would be present for the operation. Twilight was doing her best to hide a satisfied smile as she cast a sideways glance at a unquestionably health-looking, and far less lethargic, changeling.

Slipshod allowed himself a visible eye roll as he mentally acknowledged the alicorn’s correctness in her decision to send Xanadu to his quarters the other night. Presumably it had been the two of them working in concert that had been responsible for laying the groundwork among the crew to facilitate his reintegration.

One notable difference between today and their previous briefings was the zebra stallion sitting where Valkyrie would have been. It didn’t bother the changeling as much anymore though. Slipshod wasn’t sure if that was because he’d had more time to process her absence, or because Xanadu didn’t feel like as much of an interloper anymore. It would have been a bit much to say that the zebra felt like a genuine part of the crew to him at the moment, but he was certainly far from an unwelcome presence. After this mission, depending on how it went, it was possible that the earth pony might even be willing to fully recognize their new recruit as a bona fide Courser.

Er...well, an Irregular, rather, he supposed.

There was, however, one other creature in the room that set this briefing apart from others in the past: Cinder. Slipshod didn’t know what role she’d be playing during the meeting, if any. The chances were actually pretty high that her only purpose here was simply to be present, so as to be kept in the loop regarding their activities. His understanding was that the star admiral had come along in order to act as a liaison for the Clans when they managed to work out a deal with Victoria Blueblood, and to offer her expertise when they set about drawing up the plans for both the coup to unseat Dominus, as well as the invasion through Commonwealth space.

The dragoness’ being here likely mostly just helped to save Squelch time by not needing to explain what was going on to Cinder later.

He assumed his regular seat. From across the table, Slipshod noticed that the kirin sisters actually did their best to smile warmly at him. There were still hints of unease, and he could feel their inner trepidation, but it wasn’t anything particularly abrasive. It was just...there. Perhaps best likened to him having been diagnosed with a grave illness, and the others not yet knowing how they were supposed to react to the news when broaching the subject with him in conversation.

That probably wasn’t even an unfair comparison, the changeling thought to himself. The crew had learned a fact about him that potentially shifted the very paradigm of their relationship with one another. What was the first thing that they said to each other supposed to be? Were they supposed to come right out and ask about it like, “so, you’re actually a parasitic bug monster; what was it like growing up?”

Last night with Channel Lock and High Gain had gone smoothly enough of course. It turned out that his changeling nature was something that the pair of mares found quite a lot of entertainment value in. There was no reason to assume that would be the norm, Slipshod cautioned himself, but it had certainly proven to be an optimistic start to things. With them too, it had just been about getting past the initial awkwardness and finding the right way to ask him about what he was, and how that might change the way they interacted with him. After that though, it had been smooth sailing.

Not that Squelch seemed inclined to give any such conversation topics a chance to come up during this meeting, as she activated the room’s main display and launched into her briefing, “I’m going to start off by saying that this isn’t ‘technically’ a job. Our goal is simply to be in the right place at the right time.”

The screen shifted to display a collection of maps and intelligence data related to an industrial complex of some sort, “this is the regional manufacturing hub for Delerex Composites Consortium, located on one of the moons of the system’s outermost gas giant. DCC is a relative newcomer to the Concordat, having established this branch only a decade ago.

“Much to the chagrin of their native-born chief competitor: MinoTech Smithing, who has lost nearly thirty percent of its market share in less than a decade since DCC moved in. We’re talking billions of bulls―the local currency, not the citizens―in lost revenue. Now, the Concordat is pretty hooves-off when it comes to the private sector,” the sage green unicorn mare continued, “so there’s not much that MinoTech can do through the courts or litigation to try and curtail DCC’s intrusion into their traditional markets.

“But, they can certainly do other things,” the mare flashed a vicious smirk at the gathered mercenaries.

The screen changed again, showing what looked to be a collection of news articles which all contained headlines outlining a similar theme: the destruction of Delerex Composites Consortium facilities and materials. Pictures accompanied many of the articles. Most were expected images documenting the aftermath of the destruction of the factories, though a fair few looked as though they’d managed to be captured during the raids themselves.

Slipshod couldn’t help but note that the BattleSteeds featured in each of the images all bore similar scarlet markings.

Squelch apparently caught on to his observation, offering him a nod and cocked smile, “that’s right,” she said, “just about every one of those raids was conducted by the same mercenary group. No points for guessing who it was either: the Crimson Corsairs.

“It seems that they made some pretty significant inroads with MinoTech as a preferred contractor. Needless to say, DCC doesn’t like them much.”

“So, what? You found out that the Corsairs are on their way to hit the DCC facility here, and we’re going to go and meet them?” Xanadu asked.

“You’re half right,” Squelch informed the zebra, “the Corsair’s are on their way, and they’ll be landing within the hour. However, we’re not going there to ‘meet’ them.

“We’re going to create an opening for them.”

The screen shifted to display an aggregate list of ship itineraries, “these are the shipping logs for the DCC hub. As is typical for a facility engaged in large-scale manufacturing, they need a lot of consistent deliveries of materials in order to keep up with production quotas,” several rows were highlighted, “one of those consistent deliveries is nitric acid, which they use to produce nylon in order to powder coat some of the alloys they make onsite.

“To save a little on costs, they have the nitric acid shipped in from one of their own chemical plants a couple jumps out. It’s cheaper to pay the jump fees than the mark-up if they bought local―especially since many local suppliers have close ties to MinoTech already, or are outright subsidiaries.

“These deliveries are―and have to be―precisely scheduled. Delays by even a few days can cost DCC millions in lost production time,” one line in particular got highlighted in red, “which is why it really stood out to me when their latest shipment arrived in-system a whole day late.

“Now, in and of itself, this isn’t a huge deal,” the unicorn admitted, “however…” the screen shifted to show more detailed information about the deliveries being made to the manufacturing hub, “I did note that the freighter coming in with the delayed nitric acid shipment is moving a lot faster than it should be. Like, a lot faster. I asked Tig if it was possible that the captain was red-lining the engines to make up for the delay, but…” she nodded towards the cyan kirin, who was already shaking her head.

“Hypothetically, red-lining their engines like that is something a ship’s captain could do, but that’s listed as a Danais-class cargo ship, which uses a Bilkmore C200 drive. They trade off thermo-regulation for reliability. They’ll burn for just about forever with just a yearly overhaul, but if you take them above spec for more than an hour, you’re basically asking for the coils to melt themselves into slag. Going above two gees for even five minutes mandates a complete engine rebuild. Whatever money they’d save making up for the lost day wouldn’t balance out the millions that a rebuild would cost.

“However,” the kirin mechanic grinned and nodded towards Squelch, who had already moved on to the next slide in anticipation of what Tig was about to say, “a Friendship-class DropShip has the exact same dimensions as a Danais. And they can red-line their engines for prolonged periods without any serious problems. That would explain the acceleration we’re seeing on the ship currently headed for the moon.”

“This is a feint. That’s not the ship that DCC’s waiting on,” Squelch informed them, “that’s a Corsair DropShip running a stolen IFF beacon.”

The stallion studied the displayed information, privately praising the merits of a plan based on assuming what amounted to a ‘disguise’ of sorts to reach a target undetected. It held a certain appeal to a changeling. What he didn’t quite understand though was, “how exactly does this involve us? It sounds like they have everything under control,” he pointed out.

“Because it’s a trap,” the sage mare said succinctly, drawing widened eyes from just about everycreature assembled in the room.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s a trap’?” Cinder asked, curious as she narrowed her eyes at the mercenary commander.

“MinoTech didn't actually put out the contract,” Squelch said, “it’s too bold,” the display screen shifted back to show the prior news articles, “these previous hits were at distribution centers and satellite facilities. Annoyances that caused DCC some hurt, sure; but nothing truly provocative. The corporate equivalent to trading insults across the table.

“DCC has been responding in kind with contracts of their own,” she showed off another collage of news headlines that indicated MinoTech-owned properties had been subjected to raids by mercenaries, “but they’ve also avoided hitting anything significant. Neither side wants to escalate this to anything that’ll cost them billions in damages. Nocreature ‘wins’ a fight like that.

“As cheap as hiring mercenaries are compared the value of a manufacturing complex, whichever company ‘loses’ by having their headquarters destroyed is just going to pay out the relative pittance to have the ‘winner’ lose their headquarters too; and then nocreature will ‘win’.

“Mutually assured destruction isn’t profitable,” Squelch concluded, “not at this point. Besides, about twelve hours before the ‘freighter’ arrived in Minos, two other DropShips landed at the DCC complex, registered to a local planetary militia.”

“They beefed up their security,” Cinder said, nodding as she idly rubbed a claw across her chin, “almost like they were expecting something…” then the dragoness frowned, “I thought you said that the Concordat wouldn’t get involved? Why are militia units helping defend the DCC complex?”

“Because, technically, militia units are privately owned by the citizens comprising them,” the unicorn informed her, “and while they are officially ‘discouraged’ from taking ‘mercenary’ contracts, there’s nothing that specifically forbids it. Not on the Concordat's side of things, anyway. The MRB certainly doesn’t like non-affiliated groups taking contracts, but they don’t have the same monopoly on mercenary work in the Periphery that they do in the Sphere.”

Much to Chrysalis’ chagrin, Slipshod was sure, “So the DCC reached out to local militia groups for security to keep that information off the MRB job boards,” this observation earned a nod from Squelch, “and you think the DCC is also behind the contract that the Corsairs took to hit their factory in the system?” another nod.

“The Corsairs represent a genuine threat to their operations. Taking them off the board hurts MinoTech by removing their most effective weapon in this corporate ‘spat’ they have going on.

“It is my strong belief that DCC posed as MinoTech for the purposes of a contract that they knew the Corsairs would take, in an effort to ambush them and cripple their ability to undertake future operations.”

Cinder was scratching her chin with a pensive claw as she took in the presentation, “I can’t help but notice that there’s a lot of speculation at play here,” the dragoness pointed out, “you could be way off the mark.”

Squelch merely chuckled. As though having anticipated the star admiral’s critique, she reached out with her magic and tapped out a series of commands on the conference table’s interface. The display screens surrounding the room all lit up, each one detailing various articles or government agency reports, “it’s not like any of this is classified information,” the unicorn said, gesturing at all of the documentation on display for everycreature in attendance to see, “DropShip and Jump Ship arrivals and departures have to be specifically cleared through Minos System Traffic Control, and are posted at every major spaceport and orbital station.

“Contracts for mercenary companies are curated and posted through the Mercenary Review Board, even out here in the Periphery. While those aren’t necessarily available to the ‘public’, any accredited merc company―like Rayleigh’s Irregulars, for example―is granted full and unabridged access to an organization’s complete posting history. This is so that a company can evaluate who they’re working for, and judge how reliable a client is,” she pointed at one screen in particular, “MinoTech has taken out fifteen industrial sabotage contracts on its competitors in the last six months. Thirteen were taken up by the Crimson Corsairs.

“The only reason that they didn’t take the other two was because the Corsairs were already booked in other systems at the time. It is also worth noting that those two raids were successfully repelled by onsite DCC security forces. The Corsairs are the only mercs who’ve managed to actually hurt DCC, and they’ve hurt them a lot.

“At the moment, the Corsairs have no other active contracts on file, but are also listed as ‘unavailable for contracting’. So, either they’re working under the table―which is a big ‘no-no’ with the MRB―or they’re working an exclusive contract somewhere. An exclusive contract won’t show up with the MRB until it’s completed and payment is being processed.”

“But what makes you think that this is some sort of ‘fake contract’? Shouldn’t that be impossible to do?” Cinder countered, still sounding unconvinced about the conclusions reached by the unicorn.

“Not with exclusive contracts,” Squelch informed the star admiral, “they still get processed through the MRB, but they’re kept nominally ‘anonymous’. Ironically, this is intended to keep mercenary companies safe from ambushes, so that their targets don’t know that a contract has been taken and accepted against them. But, it also makes it harder to vet the contractor.

“Usually, some sort of code is used for verification,” the unicorn explained, “but any code can be broken with enough time and effort,” this much, it seemed, the dragoness had to concede, nodding ruefully.

“Next time I have an opening on my staff for an intel analyst, I’ll have to keep you in mind,” the star admiral mused, smiling now as she took in the information displayed around her.

“I’ve seen what those jobs pay. I’ll pass,” was Squelch’s dismissive response. Cinder looked even more amused, rather than disappointed, Slipshod noted.

Now the main screen swapped over the show an orbital layout of the manufacturing hub, several points of interest were already labeled, “now for the mission specifics: the main landing pads are here,” Squelch indicated a trio of large circular structures to the north of the facility, “we can’t know which one specifically the Corsair dropship will be cleared to land at, but they’re not too far from one another to matter much.

“Victoria’s plan was to land like nothing’s out of the ordinary, and then have BattleSteeds spill out of the bay doors instead of cargo. Under normal circumstances, this would have been an utterly devastating attack,” she pointed out, earning nods of agreement from all the experienced combat veterans in the room, “as it puts them well inside the defensive perimeter.

“However, with DCC militia units ready and waiting for them, it’ll end up becoming a turkey shoot.”

Slipshod suppressed an internal shudder at the thought of having to face such a thing. Most of the ‘Steed pilots on that DropShip would be hard-pressed to even make it out of the bay doors before being struck down. If one or two of those ‘Steeds went critical…

He idly tallied up in his head the typical crew compliment for a Friendship-class DropShip and wondered how many of the support-side crew would even realize that they’d fallen into a trap before they died in the resulting cascading reactor detonations.

“I assume there’s a good reason why we’re not simply contacting Victoria to warn her about the trap?” Twilight asked, not appearing to be all too happy that Squelch seemed intent on bypassing that option.

Slipshod only now realized that that would have been the most desirable option. It would ingratiate them into the Corsair’s good graces, while avoiding the need to engage in any combat. However, that couldn’t have been the choice that Squelch had made. Otherwise, there’d have been no reason for the three pilots to get suited up as though they were about to go into combat.

It would have been a relatively simple affair for Squelch to have had High Gain call up the ‘freighter’ and relayed to them all the information that she’d collected here. No ambush, no fight.

So why weren’t they doing just that?

“Actually, two hours ago, I did,” the unicorn mare replied, simply.

The response to that revelation was stunned silence. Slipshod’s brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of where this meeting was going. If Squelch had correctly deduced that the contract for the Corsairs was a trap, and reached out to the Corsairs about said trap, then why were he and the other pilots suited up to deploy on a mission? Surely the Corsair DropShip was intent on aborting the landing...wasn’t it?

“What is about to follow is the revised attack plan that Vought and I worked out immediately prior to this meeting,” their employer said as the image of the DCC facility was updated to denote approach vectors and targets, “the Zathura will approach the moon from the far side, so as to avoid radar contact, and make a low-altitude approach across the surface.

“You three,” she indicated the trio of suited ‘Steed pilots, “will be hot-dropped on the southern side of the facility, just inside the defense perimeter. All that should be there are the turrets. DCC has redeployed most of their onsite forces to the landing pads to support the militia ‘Steeds.

“Secure your drop zone, and then take out the facility’s comm relays and main power generators,” two structures were highlighted, only a few hundred meters from the indicated landing site, “this’ll disrupt the base’s communications and coordination capabilities.

“You’re then going to start trashing their primary manufacturing sites here,” another structure was highlighted, “they’ll be forced to redeploy the forces set for their ambush to stop you, and clear the landing pad for Vought’s insertion, because if they don’t, then in just a few short minutes, the Corsairs won’t even need to bother landing anyway, because the facility will be rendered useless,” the unicorn’s lips spread in a predatory grin.

“If they redeploy, feel free to start pulling back to lure them further out of position,” Squelch continued, “try to avoid an all-out retreat if possible though, otherwise they might be able to double-back to the landing pads before Victoria can get her forces off the DropShip. She has assured me that, once her lances are deployed, the Corsairs can handle themselves, so you don’t have to participate beyond that point if you don’t want to.”

Another hungry smile graced the sage green unicorn’s lips, “but she is offering to pay us kill bounties on any militia ‘Steeds that you bring down. So...just keep that in mind.”

The comm panel on the conference table chimed. Squelch reached out with her magic and acknowledged the call, “go ahead.”

“Beginning our approach to the moon now, ma’am,” High Gain’s voice announced over the room’s speakers, “Aileron’s starting his surface approach. ETA to drop site: fifteen minutes.”

“Excellent,” Squelch looked up from the conference table towards the kirin twins, “go ahead and make sure the hot-drop is ready to go. I know we don’t do a lot of those, so double check the preparations and confirm everypony knows their jobs, okay?” Mig and Tig both nodded their heads vigorously before hopping up from their seats and trotting out of the conference room in the direction of the ‘Steed bay.

However, Slipshod was still a little confused about the nature of the operation, and raised a hesitant hoof, “wait, if Victoria know’s it’s a trap, and that the job’s not real; then why is she still going through with the attack?”

“Because it turns out she’s furious that DCC would try to trick her like this. She’s taking it pretty personal, and wants to make it clear to any other organization in the Concordat that this is not something that the Corsairs will tolerate. At all,” Squelch then shrugged and added, “and we’re going to help her because she’s paying us and it gets us an ‘in’ with her to talk about launching a coup to get her the archonship.

“Now go do your system checks,” she waved her hoof at the same door that the kirin had left through, “dismissed.”

Doc Dee cleared his throat from where he’d been sitting at the table, patiently waiting to be able to make his own contribution to the meeting, “so we’re skipping health advisories now?”

Squelch rolled her eyes and waved a hoof in the direction of the seated pilots, “sorry, Doc; advise away.”

The ivory unicorn stallion looked over at them, “double check you suit seals. This moon has no atmosphere, and I don’t want to have to treat anypony for vacuum exposure if you have to eject,” there was a pause as the pilots waited expectantly for more, but it seemed there wasn’t any more, “that’s all. Go.”

Slipshod frowned, but just shook his head and headed out of the room, Twilight and Xanadu following in his wake. They made their way to the ‘Steed Bay, which they found to be quite the hive of activity as techs scrambled over the three BattleSteeds, getting them ready for the hot-drop. They were all wearing vac-suits of their own as they worked, in anticipation of the Bay being opened to vacuum for deployment.

The ‘Steeds were oriented in a ‘forward’ facing direction, matching the DropShip’s own direction of flight. This was in contrast to their usual outward facings, as the ship would not be coming to a complete hover when they deployed. The Zathura would be releasing it’s payload while moving along at the better part of sixty kilometer per hour, meaning that his Crystal Cavalier was going to have to hit the ground as a full gallop or he’d end up face-planting right off the bat. Twilight was likely going to have an easier time of things, thanks to her jump jets.

Mig met them at the entrance to the gantries, motioning for them to pause for a moment. She had already donned a vac-suit of her own, save for the helmet, which was currently balanced on her flank, “just wanted to let you guys know that we’ve made some modifications to your ‘Steeds,” she advised, “nothing major for the most part. The Disciples―or whoever,” she amended with an ambivalent shrug, “provided us with some choice gear,” the kirin was all grins now, teeth showing from ear to ear, “better than Celestia League stuff!

“Twilight,” she began, looking towards the purple alicorn, “nothing much has really ‘changed’ for your Rainbow Dash. You pretty much have all the same weapons you did before, they just shoot further and hit harder. The same goes for you too, Xanadu,” she added with a brief nod in the direction of the zebra. Then she focused her attention on Slipshod.

“Your Cavalier has the most significant changes, but they’re still not revolutionary: basically we swapped out the pulse lasers for large lasers. However, the ones that Cinder’s techs provided to us hit way further out than any Sphere variant you’ve ever seen, and it hits harder than your pulse lasers did. Same with the PPC. Saved us a lot in terms of tonnage too, which was good because those things throw out heat like a damn nova! Let us nearly double the heatsinks you had though, so you actually run cooler than you did before.

“We have some new reactors too which are lighter and more powerful than what’s currently in all your ‘Steeds,” the rosie kirin was now back to addressing the group as a whole, “but we didn’t have time to swap those out. We’ll start that after this mission. With even more tonnage saved there, Tig and I are thinking of slapping on some additional plating, since there’s honestly nowhere else we can mount additional weapons on your ‘Steeds without outright redesigning them, and we’re not feeling quite that ambitious. Yet,” she winked at the trio, wearing a broad smile.

“That’s all I’ve got,” she slipped her helmet off her flank as she stepped out of the way of the ‘Steed pilots, “give ‘em Tartarus!” the mechanic trotted off to oversee the deployment.

Slipshod and the others departed for their respective ‘Steeds along the Bay’s catwalk. The changeling slipped inside his Cavalier, tapping the controls that would close the hatch behind him. He paused long enough to review the display’s assessment on the quality of the seal that had been made, confirming that it was indeed good, and would have no issue holding up to a vacuum. He then took Doc Dee’s advice and gave the various connections of his suit’s components firm tugs to confirm that they were all securely being held in place. Last to go on was his helmet, which he also gave an extra little tug even after hearing the ‘click’ of the locking ring.

“Comm check,” he said into the helmet’s mic, “Gallop One to Gallop Lance, report in.”

The changeling began starting up his ‘Steed as he waited for the other two pilots to respond to his radio check. Twilight was the first to acknowledge, “Gallop Two, receiving loud and clear. How copy?”

“Good, Gallop Two,” Slipshod replied simply, before moving on to Xanadu, “Gallop Three, report in.”

There was a brief pause, and then, “Th...those aren’t actually our call-signs, are they?”

He frowned, “what do you mean?”

“I mean, those aren’t call-signs,” the zebra’s voice was a veritable whine, “ those are designations, at best! A call-sign has character and heart! It’s personal. For example: I’ve always gone by, Xanax.”

“Xanax?” Slipshod repeated, sounding a little bemused as he lowered himself into his ‘Steed’s piloting couch and began to absently tap out the sequence that would power it up.

“Yeah! Way better than ‘Gallop Three’,” the zebra insisted, “Haven’t you ever used real call-signs before?”

“I used to go by, Princess One,” Twilight offered helpfully, though it seemed that Xanadu didn’t find this to be a particularly ‘inspired’ moniker either, if the audible sigh coming over Slipshod’s headset was any indication.

“Yeah, uh, that’s not much better; no offense, Your Highness,” the changeling wasn’t sure if the title had been in mocking or not. Likely not, given what he knew of the newer pilot. Though he had sounded less than impressed by the alicorn’s contribution to the conversation, “but, no, we’re not doing the whole one-two-three thing. We’re going to use real call-signs, okay?

“Like I said, I’m Xanax. Twilight, you’re Twiggie, and Slipshod’s Bug.”

“Those are a bit on the nose, aren’t they?” the changeling remarked, frowning into his mic as he turned his head in the direction of the striped pilot’s Philomena, despite not actually being able to see it from where he was, as the medium tonnage ‘Steed was stowed directly behind his own Cavalier.

“I have an objection to my new call sign,” Twilight said.

However, it seemed that no objections were going to be entertained anytime soon, as Squelch’s own voice cut into their conversation, “stow it, Twiggie. Bug, we’re two minutes from the LZ. Give me a go/no-go for hot-drop.”

Slipshod couldn’t help but smirk now as he shook his head, eyeing the console in front of him and confirming that everything was registering as operating within spec. He lingered for an extra second on the display denoting the status of his weapons, verifying that the newly installed weapons were reading as fully functional, “Bug is ‘go’,” he replied.

A second later, an audibly disgruntled alicorn reluctantly replied, “...Twiggie is ‘go’.”

Slipshod looked forward to being present for the next opportunity that she and Xanadu had to speak to one another. The zebra, who sounded as cheerful as ever enthusiastically responded with, “Xanax is ‘go’! And wow, I bet this thing’ll punch like a Shining Armor with these new guns!”

“Just don’t think you can take a beating like one,” Slipshod cautioned their newest pilot, reminding him that while the firepower of each of their BattleSteeds had indisputably seen a marked increased, their heightened lethality had not been matched with additional protection quite yet, “stay sharp, and focus on the targets as I call them out.”

“Don’t worry about me, boss! I’ll follow your lead.”

“Copy ‘go’s,” their unicorn employer acknowledged, ignoring the rest of their banter, “sixty seconds to drop,” what followed next was not addressed the the ‘Steed pilots exclusively, but was broadcast for the benefit of the entire ship’s crew, “all hooves: combat status. If you’re not suited up, secure yourself in quarters. Gunnery crews look sharp.

“Opening ‘Steed Bay doors. Standby for drop!”

A klaxxon began to ring out in the bay, accompanied by strobing red lights. Technicians and mechanics, all suited up against the vacuum of space, cleared the way for the ‘Steeds to be deployed. Slipshod’s Cavalier gave a slight lurch as it was winched off the ventral door hatch just enough to allow it to open. Off to his left side, Twilight’s gold and cerulean Rainbow Dash was similarly lifted into the air. Seconds later, the doors beneath her cracked open.

Slipshod’s BattleSteed trembled, swaying on the cables attached to it, as air rushed past him on its way out. Depressurizing the Bay ‘properly’, using the ship’s atmospheric pumps, would have taken nearly an hour. They lost all of the atmosphere in the Bay using this method, but it was certainly far more expedient. They’d be able to replenish whatever air had been lost the next time they made landfall on a planet with a breathable atmosphere anyway, and it wasn’t like the DropShip didn’t have plenty of oxygen stored in reserve tanks in order to recover in the event of an unplanned breach anyway.

He just hoped none of the tech’s had left out any loose tools, because those were probably long gone now.

In a matter of seconds, the sound of the blaring siren died down to nothing, as the air that had been carrying the sound was blown out into space. Then the doors resumed opening until there was enough room for the ‘Steeds to drop through. The changeling’s eyes widened slightly as he managed to glimpse the terrain racing beneath them through the open hatch beneath the Rainbow Dash. With no atmospheric considerations, the Zathura didn’t have to fight against any air resistance, and wasn’t limited to just a thousand kilometers an hour or so. Aileron was free to fly the ship at the same speeds that he would have through open space. Perhaps as fast as a few hundred kilometers per second.

Given that, as Squelch had made mention, they had approached the moon on the far side from the factory, that probably gave them a significant distance to cover to reach their target. Slipshod had no idea how big the moon in question was. Some of those in the orbit of a jovian planet were easily as large as inhabited solid inner worlds, meaning that they could have needed to traverse twenty-thousand kilometers to reach the DCC factory. Maybe even more.

“Fifteen seconds,” the sage green unicorn’s voice warned them.

At almost the same moment, Slipshod felt himself being eased forward on his ‘Steed’s piloting couch. His Cavalier―as well as Twilight’s Rainbow Dash―were swaying towards the boward end of the ‘Steed Bay as the DropShip’s inertial dampers failed to counter all of the deceleration being applied to the ship as it was slowed for the imminent drop. They would need something far slower than the barely subluminal speeds that Aileron had been skimming the moon’s surface at if their ‘Steeds were going to survive making landfall, after all.

“Five seconds…” just beneath them through the ventral hatch, Slipshod spied brief flashes of emerald and sapphire light as energy weapons fire was exchange between the ship and the ground defense stations that they were approaching. The Zathura shuddered. Different lights began to flash in the ‘Steed Bay, warning the crew of potential hull breeches, “Drop!”

Slipshod through his throttle full forward at the same instant that the cables released. He imagined that it must have looked like quite the spectacle to see the Cavalier’s legs flailing wildly in the air as he fell to the ground. It was certainly an odd sensation to be in freefall like he was, as it made it difficult to tell if his ‘Steed was falling ‘down’ through the DropShip’s ventral bay doors, or if the ship was lifting ‘up’ away from him.

Given that the Zathura’s engines flared brightly at nearly the same moment he was clear of the Bay and hurled the ship out of sight into the blackness of space in a matter of seconds, the changeling suspected that it may actually have been a little of both.

He didn’t have much more time that the passing second to appreciate the swift departure of their DropShip as the ground rushed up to meet him. His Cavalier’s actuators squealed and protested as they sought to cushion the impact, even as they continued to flail in their running motion. The gyro was pushed to its limit as if fought to keep the massive BattleSteed upright. There wasn’t much that Slipshod could do to help those systems though, and so he left them to triumph and set his ‘Steed right, or fail and plunge him headfirst into the ground.

Instead, he focused on what he could control: calling out their most imminent threats.

While the facilities mobile defenders and their militia BattleSteed reinforcements might be on the far side of the complex, kilometers away, waiting to catch Victoria and her mercenaries coming out of her DropShip, that still left the static defenses for Rayleigh’s Irregulars to deal with. His sensors detected several nearby, which had only moments ago been engaged with their DropShip. However, the Zathura was now far outside their range, and so the automated turrets were realigning themselves with the unidentified BattleSteeds that had effectively ‘materialized’ inside the defensive perimeter.

“Xanax, left side; I’ll take right,” the changeling lance commander snapped, already heaving his charging ‘Steed to the right as he spoke, “Twiggie, hit the comm tower with your missiles!”

“We’re going to talk about that call-sign,” the alicorn threatened, even as her Rainbow Dash’s jump jets ignited, lifting the heavy ‘Steed high above the nearby structures so as to give her a clear line of sight on the factory’s communication’s hub.

“I look forward to it,” Slipshod lied as he lined his targeting reticle up with the closest turret and opened fire with a quick succession of striked from the four medium-range energy weapons mounted in the Cavalier’s chest. They sliced neatly into the turret, detonating it soundlessly and scattering the debris into the powdery surface. He then flicked over to the newly-installed heavy energy weapons in the shoulders and snapped off a shot at a much more distant turret.

He winced away from the unexpected brightness of the beams. He’d expected them to be the same sharp indigo color as a typical Harmony Sphere weapon on that type. However, these twin lines of light were very nearly violet, and at least twice as bright as was typical. They were also quite obviously far more powerful, passing clear through the distant turret and carving furrows into the ground beyond.

Unsurprisingly, that turret exploded as well.

The map display in front of him showed that Xanadu had dealt with the pair of turrets near him just as efficiently. His ‘Steed’s sensors were showing that other perimeter defenses existed as well, but they were much too far away to pose any kind of threat to them. Perhaps later they could be dealt with, but there were targets of a much higher priority that required their attention at the moment.

“Comm tower is down,” Twilight informed him as her ‘Steed touched down, it’s jump jets feathering it in for a gentle landing.

“Good. Next target’s the generators,” Slipshod consulted the map and compared it to the layout from their earlier briefing. He tapped in a few commands and sent out an update to the others, “should be at Nav Bronco. Form up on me and let’s head there. Stay alert for those militia ‘Steeds. We have no idea what sizes we’re facing, or when they’ll show up.

“In the meantime, feel free to blow up anything that looks valuable or important along the way,” he added, “let’s put as much pressure on those ‘Steeds to chase us out as we can.”

The other two pilots acknowledged his orders and quickly fell into formation in the wake of his Cavalier as he guided through the facility. They moved quickly, knowing that it was already quite likely that word of their arrival had reached the facility’s defenders before their comm array was reduced to slag. Blazing columns of light lept out from the three ‘Steeds as they trotted along, carving into various structures and machinery. Each blast easily amounted to hundreds of thousands―if not millions―of c-bits worth of damage for Delerex, Slipshod knew.

Somewhere, the changeling suspected that there was a site director who was losing his absolute shit over what was happening right now; all the while mourning the loss of whatever ‘performance bonus’ they might have otherwise stood to receive at the end of the year.

“Generator in sight,” Slipshod announced as he rounded a warehouse that Xanadu was trashing with machine gun fire, “let’s see what one of these does to it,” he murmured as the newly installed Clan Prismatic Projector Canon was charged up. He fired.

The results were...fascinating.

A Harmony Sphere PPC’s blast resembled a helical coil of rainbow-patterned light, twirling its way to its target. That was not the case with this new weapon, it seemed. There was not the single helix, but a pair of them, each winding in an opposite direction and criss-crossing over one another. The colors too were significantly different, looking much darker and sharper than normal. Slipshod soon realized that this was because the new weapon was not expelling a prism of separated light, but rather what looked like a spectrum of paint pigments, on the order of cyans, magentas, and yellows, and their corresponding complementary colors.

The double-helix drilled into the side of the massive fusion reactor which served as the primary source of power for the large manufacturing facility, melting effortless through the thick reinforced concrete walls and piercing into the generator within.

A moment later, the structure was blasted outward in all directions as the reactor detonated. The small sun inside that had been powering the factory effectively went ‘nova’, vaporizing anything nearby in a flash of light. Whatever material existed outside this immediately lethal area was thrown outward with enough force to create a shockwave that was visible even in a vacuum.

Explosions were far more dangerous, and had a much longer reach, outside of an atmosphere. There was no air here to act as a buffer, or impeded the debris being hurled outward. Shrapnel didn’t lose velocity, or bleed off as much of its heat. The moon’s gravity would drag it down eventually, but not quickly enough to spare the closest structures.

Buildings were ravaged by chunks of steel and concrete the size of houses, hitting with the full force of the explosion which had shattered the generator initially. Predictably, those buildings lost nearly all their integrity in short order, and started collapsing of their own accord, unaided by Slipshod or his companions.

The ‘Steed pilot turned his Cavalier in order to shield his cockpit as some of the debris from the exploded reactor reached them. They struck his ‘Steed with the force of autocannon rounds, but the ablative plating was designed to absorb and mitigate such damage, so he wasn’t overly concerned.

“Something tells me they’re not going to have much trouble finding us,” Xanadu remarked sardonically.

“Good. That’s kind of the point,” Slipshod pointed out. He scanned the sensor readout once more, looking for any signs that the militia ‘Steeds or the facility’s organic defenders were making their approach yet. The zebra was correct that there should be little doubt as to where he and his lancemates were, and should thus be quite easy to find. Hopefully they’d also caused enough of a ruckus to draw off a significant number from the landing pads.

“Let’s start withdrawing all the same,” the changeling said as a followup, “slow and steady. Keep up the infrastructure destruction though.”

He pulled his Cavalier back into a slow reversal, using his newly acquired heavy energy beams to cut through nearby buildings and demolish expensive-looking equipment. Beside him, Xanadu’s Philomena was spraying thirty-caliber rounds into some holding tanks, spilling their liquid contents out onto the ground. Twilight’s Rainbow Dash belched out another stream of missiles, lobbing them skyward so as to bombard numerous structures in the distance. Those smoke trails should help to guide the defenders right to their location, Slipshod noted with an appreciative nod.

An audible alert drew his attention to his sensor display at the same moment that his alicorn lancemate announced, “Contact! Derpy, bearing one-oh-eight!”

Slipshod’s eyes snapped back to his cockpit’s viewport as he guided his Cavalier around to face in the indicated direction. He immediately spotted the rotund little BattleSteed ambling towards them. He locked onto the newly arrived target and glimpsed the more detailed readout that his targeting computer was giving him regarding the enemy’s loadout. He felt his lips pull into a tight grimace. While the broadly discounted ‘Steeds tended to be overlooked as ‘serious’ threats by civilians who didn’t know any better, experienced pilots recognized that, while Derpies might not have a lot of weapons mounts, the one that they tended to have was worth being wary of.

Many were the novice ‘Steed pilots who found themselves wondering where they’d gone wrong as they punched out of their dying BattleSteed after having been dealt a devastating blow by a Derpy’s oversized type-twenty autocannon. They also tended to have enough plating to endure in a brawl even against a heavier opponent.

Though, even then, that was usually only when they faced off against one heavier opponent. Opponents that weren’t outfitted with more advanced weaponry either.

Slipshod was pleased to see that he and his lancemates were all equally well-informed about the threat posed by the light-tonnage ‘Steed as his twin beams of cyan light were joined by a third from Xanadu, and Twilight’s Clan-series PPCs, all converging on the Derpy’s right shoulder, and the large-bore cannon mounted there.

It was highly likely that the militia pilot had not anticipated anything remotely approaching that level of firepower waiting for them, or they certainly wouldn’t have made first contact alone. Though, in fairness, a Derpy could usually survive an alpha strike or two against typical opponents.

However, it seemed that no Harmony Sphere BattleSteed had been designed with Clan technology in mind. Slipshod was keenly aware, more than perhaps anypony other than Twilight, the quality of firepower that Chrysalis and her changeling forces would have at their disposal, having retained the more sophisticated technology of the Celestia League which had been lost to the rest of the Sphere. Which meant that the changeling was quite cognizant that nothing in Chrysalis’ arsenal would be able to match what Flurry heart and the Dragon Clans would be bringing with them during their invasion.

As Cinder had pointed out, the biggest hurdle that the Clans would face would simply be the far superior numbers that the Sphere could bring against them. Even the most powerful weapons in the galaxy could only fight so many targets at once. If the forces of the Harmony Sphere were willing, they’d be perfectly capable of saturating the battlefields with enough vehicles and BattleSteeds so as to overwhelm the Clanners. The losses would be staggering, true; but Slipshod doubted that his former queen would shed so much as a tear over the cost in lives to keep her domain secure.

The Derpy reeled and staggered as it was pounded mercilessly by the devastating fire from so many powerful weapons all at once. It hadn’t even been able to get the interlopers in range of its heavy gun before the weapon had been melted into useless slag. Realizing their grave mistake, the militia pilot quickly started reversing out of the engagement area. However, Slipshod was not feeling inclined to allow the pilot to return and inform their compatriots of the disposition of his own lance. He flicked over to his ‘Steed’s PPC and lined up the weapon with the Derpy’s cockpit.

The squat little BattleSteed fell over soundlessly, it’s head a smoking ruin.

“Movement left!” Xanadu warned, “negative sensor contact, but I see movement on the west ridgeline!”

“Acknowledged. Twiggie, get some elevation and see if you can get a missile lock,” the changeling said, resuming his own ‘Steed’s slow backwards withdrawal towards the perimeter, “Xanax, get on our right flank,” except for the one heavy energy weapon, the zebra’s Philomena didn’t have a lot of range to work with where his weaponry was concerned. He was much more effective at close-in fighting. While Slipshod’s Crystal Cavalier could engage at range, he needed line-on-sight with his energy weapons. Twilight’s missiles wouldn’t necessarily be immediately thwarted if those targets tried to duck behind the ridgeline.

“Moving and engaging,” the purple alicorn confirmed, her ‘Steed’s jump jets firing off and carrying the Rainbow Dash away, “identifying one full lance: pair of Riflemares and a pair Breezies. Locking onto a Riflemare...tone...missiles away!”

A torrent of forty missiles streaked from the Rainbow Dash’s launchers, leaving Slipshod’s sight in short order. Their destination was far outside his own line of sight, so he didn’t concern himself much with where they were headed. Instead, he focused on what that lance of ‘Steeds was likely doing so far out on their flank like that. At the extreme distance that they were at, even the Riflemares couldn’t hope to engage, and it didn’t look like they were going to try and get in closer any time soon. More than likely, they were trying to circle around and cut the Irregulars off from a possible withdrawal.

Only the Breezes were actually fast enough to get out in front of any of their group’s ‘Steeds, of course; but there was no way that the militia pilots could have known that before getting any detailed readings on the composition of the force assaulting the DCC facility. Even now they were probably too far out to get a hard lock on Twilight, and it was even money on how many of them would be able to recognize an ancient design like a Rainbow Dash on sight. Unless they happened to be BattleSteed enthusiasts like Mig and Tig were.

If the Irregular lance wanted to withdraw, they could. It was highly doubtful that those two Breezes had any intention of getting inside the energy weapon range of him and Twilight without the support of heavier ‘Steeds close at hoof. That being said, if they retreated too soon, then those militia forces could go right back to the landing pad and reset their trap. Their job was to keep the enemy occupied and out of position for as long as possible. So he wasn’t going to give them the order to withdraw, not yet.

But he was still going to do his best to keep them from getting encircled, and he knew that the militia lance along the ridge would not be the only group trying to get past them. He eyed the terrain on his map, looking for another likely avenue that he’d have taken a lance down if he was the one trying to get behind a more powerful adversary. He identified a likely route and then plotted a new nav point, sharing it with Xanadu, “Xanax, follow me to Nav Haybale. I think we’re going to find more ‘friends’ that way.

“Twiggie, keep that other group from feeling too ignored, will you?”

“Every time you call me that is one more hour I’m going to spend with you two strapped to chairs, reciting the poetry Fluttershy composed while dressed as a goth when she was running Rarity’s Manehattan boutique,” the alicorn promised him in an eerily flat tone.

“I don’t know what any of what you just said means,” the changeling told her, not feeling particularly concerned about the purported ‘threat’ in any meaningful way, “but I’m going to take it as a ‘aye aye, captain’. So you have fun and comm us if things get too lively.

“Xanax, on my six.”

“Movin’, boss!” the chipper zebra acknowledged, “and don’t worry about Twiggie; the name’ll grow on her.”

“That’s four,” the alicorn said, ominously.

Slipshod snorted and threw his ‘Steed into a canter, winding his way through both intact and mangled structures. He didn’t add to the carnage any further though, as he was hoping that they’d be able to surprise any group trying to flank them on the eastern end of the complex, and so didn’t want to provide any unnecessary indications of his location.

That plan seemed to have been one that was shared by the militia pilots, and both turned out to have been equally effective. The changeling found himself missing Valkyrie’s sensor and forward observation capabilities a great deal at this particular moment. Had the pegasus mare been here, he had no doubt that his current predicament could have been avoided entirely.

As it was, Slipshod was grateful that he did not appear to be the only one who was surprised upon rounding the corner. He did make a mental note to remark upon the Cavalier’s excellent deceleration capabilities as he had managed to bring his heavy ‘Steed to a rather abrupt stop and avoid actually ramming into the Royal Guard which he now found himself confronted with.

The militia pilot at the helm of the medium ‘Steed had likewise been able to arrest his ‘Steed’s movement moments before a collision. Both BattleSteeds seemed to be entranced with each other, likely as a result of mirrored shock being experienced by both pilots. It probably didn’t actually last for much more than a second or two, though it had certainly felt like quite the long while in the moment.

“Hey, what gives―?” Xanadu’s consternation-filled remark crackled across his helmet’s headset as the striped stallion demanded an explanation as to why Slipshod had come to such a sudden unanticipated halt. His targeting computer must have updated with the information being fed to it by the changeling’s Cavalier in that same moment, because his tone abruptly shifted to a lightly shocked, “―oh.”

This seemed to be enough to spur Slipshod back into action at least. Not that there was a lot that could really be done from a tactical standpoint that could be interpreted as particularly ‘clever’ in such a situation. The stallion reached out with his hoof and slapped at a macro that just about every BattleSteed had, but which he hardly ever found reason to use.

Now seemed like a good time though.

The Crystal Cavalier instantly unleashed all of its weapons simultaneously upon the smaller ‘Steed in front of it. No longer set to chained fire, four beams of iridescent viridian light cross from the chest of the heavier metal behemoth and drilled into the neck of the Royal Guard. Mounted just above them, the pair of recently swapped in Clan-developed heavy energy beams had little trouble melting away several tons of armor plating from along the militia ‘Steed’s back and withers, slicing neatly through the thinner dorsal armor and into the internal components beneath.

The PPC, however, which was mounted into the tip of the lance mounted on the Cavalier’s right side wasn’t quite able to gimbal inward enough to score a hit at such close range. The helical projection of destructive energy sailed harmlessly past the Royal Guard...but managed to strike the Derpy that had been following behind it. The dumpy little ‘Steed was rocked by the blow, and even Slipshod’s own interface experienced some residual effects as a result of the far too close impact, but it survived without too much issue.

The same could not be said for the Royal Guard.

One of the heavy energy beams must have found one of the ‘Steeds ammunition magazines. Whether it had been the one for the autocannon rounds or the LRMs, Slipshod couldn’t be sure. Perhaps both had been breached. It hardly mattered. Both contained very volatile munitions, and both were usually nestled relatively close to the reactor in a ‘Steed like this. Fusion reactors and detonating explosives didn’t mix very well.

The right side of the Royal Guard blew outward along its barrel in a torrent of orange flame a half second before a purple pulse of energy ripped up through its back. The pilot tried to inject, Slipshod saw, but something went wrong. One of his medium energy weapons which had hit the Guard’s neck must have crippled some part of the ejection system, and only half of the thrusters meant to carry the cockpit and the pilot to safety fired. The result was an ejection which didn’t send the pilot skyward, but instead flipped them hard over to the side and sent them slamming into the ground with an impact that had enough force behind it to completely shatter the little pod.

At least it had been a quick death. Quick enough that it was even possible the pilot hadn’t had enough time to realize that something had gone horribly wrong before they were merged with the regolith.

While the Royal Guard’s pilot may not have been able to get off a shot of their own before ejecting from their dying ‘Steed, their death did not go entirely unavenged. Slipshod was reversing as quickly as he could, but again the lack of an atmosphere demonstrated how accommodating it could be to powerful explosions and greatly increased the ‘danger zone’ of a ‘Steed experiencing a reactor breach. A siren warned the changeling of dangerously high heat levels that his systems were experiencing, and just about every forward-facing piece of plating was registering as being in the yellow, at best.

“Enemy lance!” Slipshod was yelling into his mic as he tried to reverse out of the confrontation, “one down, two up; Derpy and a―” he quickly tabbed through the target to get a glimpse of the silhouette return, “―SneakyShy!”

Two lighter-tonnage BattleSteeds, to be sure, and even together they wouldn’t necessarily have been a huge threat to his Cavalier in a typical engagement, but he had several factors working against him at the moment. Both were in close enough to use their weapons effectively―to include especially the Derpy’s oversized autocannon, while his own ‘Steed was dangerously overheated, and using even one of his medium energy weapons risked putting him over the edge and triggering a reactor shutdown. As a result, he was effectively defenseless against them for the next hoofful of seconds, and was showing them a facing of his ‘Steed that had seriously damaged plating already.

At the very least, he needed to give the two militia BattleSteeds undamaged armor to shoot at.

“Moving to flank!” Xanadu announced, taking the initiative. Slipshod spared only a moment to admit to himself that that was a sound course of action. There was an even chance that the enemy pilots didn’t even know that the Philomena was there, as they couldn’t possibly have seen the smaller ‘Steed past his own Crystal Cavalier from where they’d been positioned, and the Royal Guard’s pilot certainly hadn’t been granted the opportunity to relay its existence if they’d been aware of it.

An emerald beam cut through the vacuum just in front of Slipshod’s cockpit before swinging wildly around as the SneakyShy’s pilot recovered from the shock of seeing their companion struck down in front of them and made an effort to exact revenge. The line of destructive energy scored only a glancing hit that lasted for a fraction of a second before the charge was depleted. The damage inflicted was negligible. Their follow-up with a six-pack of SRMs was slightly more so.

Slipshod’s cockpit was rocked as five of the six rockets managed to connect with his ‘Steed’s ablative plating. It sent a few facings into the red, but it didn’t appear that anything had managed to penetrate. He still wasn’t in a position to respond though, and he could see the Derpy was moving in order to line up a shot on him as well.

The changeling pilot grimaced, noting that he was wedged rather neatly between two large buildings, which was greatly limiting his maneuverability. He was effectively limited to just going forward and reverse, and he’d instinctively chosen the option that had seemed like it would get him to safety the fastest. In hindsight, this might have been a mistake, as it had also been the slowest of the two options, and actually prevented him from presenting the undamaged facings of his BattleSteed for far longer than might have been the case if he’d opted to push through.

He was committed now though. If he tried to change tacks and accelerate forward, he’d just end up bringing the Cavalier to another stop before it could get back up to speed in the other direction, making him more of a target, while still keeping his most vulnerable armor sections directed towards the enemy.

Jump jets would have been really nice to have right about now…

Four more hard-hitting explosive rockets lept from the SneakyShy and raked themselves over his ‘Steed’s chest. An alert flashed, noting that the last few segments of plating had been blown off of the left side of the Cavalier’s chest, leaving the much less robust internal components exposed. One of the medium energy cannons was also no longer responding to firing controls. Mig and Tig were likely going to have words for him about that.

Slipshod’s gaze shot to the readout of his reactor’s current temperature. It was still dangerously in the red, his ‘Steed’s heatsinks having difficulty radiating the heat out into his airless surroundings without gases to convect it away. Radiating was a much slower process. However, if he didn’t defend himself in some way, heat retention was going to be the least of his troubles after a couple more SRM volleys. Or if that Derpy lined up a shot on him with that AC-twenty…

The changeling snapped off a shot with one of his heavy energy cannons. The cyan beam scoured the SneakShy, melting away plating and burning out a limb almost completely. The light BattleSteed staggered and quickly veered away, obviously not too keen on sustaining another hit like that one.

For Slipshod’s part, he watched as the internal temperature of his reactor spiked into the critical range. A synthetic voice wanted him that his ‘Steed was about to shut down entirely. That would be significantly less than ideal with one enemy unit still facing off with him. With a frustrated snarl, the stallion reached out and tapped in a hasty override code, listening with bittersweet relief as the computer responded to his command by keeping all of the systems online.

Had his suit not been sealed against vacuum, he was positive that his nostrils would be getting irritated by an acrid burning smell of overheated polymers and semiconductors. He certainly didn’t want to risk the consequences of firing off another shot like that until he was at least back down into the orange-hued ‘caution’ heat index readings. The Derpy’s cannon only might kill him. A reactor melt down would absolutely do so.

His eyes locked out of his cockpit in the direction of the barrel-chested light ‘Steed that still posed an immediate threat to him, trying to gage how much longer it would be until it fired. Slipshod frowned, however, as his view was filled with orange dots of light flashing through the vacuum around the militia BattleSteed. He traced those flashes of light back to their source, and his brows rose in mild surprise as he spotted Xanadu’s ‘Steed trotting into sight behind the enemy and opening fire.

“Peekaboo, motherbuckers!”

Even with the more powerful Clan weaponry, his Philomena lacked the punching power to down a Derpy in short order, even from behind; but his assault from the militia pilot’s undefended flank looked to very nearly panic the individual. For several seconds, it looked like they didn’t know if they were supposed to press forward, or turn around to confront the new threat. Their indecision gave Slipshod all the time that he needed to recede to the leeward side of some nearby structures as he waited for his temperature to drop back down to much safer levels.

Not that it seemed that he was going to get a whole lot of respite, as Twilight snapped out a warning over the radio, “I’ve got incoming,” the purple alicorn sounded outwardly calm perhaps, but Slipshod was far better at picking up on the more subtle timbres of a pony’s voice, and he picked up on the much more serious concern that she was feeling, “a lot of missiles are headed my way. Hundreds,” she cautioned, “breaking off my attack and taking evasive action.”

The changeling looked northward and, sure enough, he was able to pick up the vapor trails of the LRM volleys that were arcing from the direction of the landing pads, and where nearly all of the DCC facility’s defenders had been gathered. To include any LRM carriers that might have been among the garrisoned combat vehicles, he realized. The stallion cursed under his breath. Those were going to make things considerably more difficult, even as they withdrew. As long as at least one of the militia BattleSteeds could maintain sensor contact with them, those carriers would be able to rain down indirect missile fire.

Slipshod briefly considered what few options they had. Retreating was certainly one, but it would be quite risky under the current circumstances. Those LRMs had a long reach, and would be able to harry them for kilometers as they withdrew. A lot of damage, some of it even potentially crippling―especially for Xanadu’s much less protected Philomena―would be coming their way, unopposed. Going on fighting as they were certainly wasn’t a more appealing option though. With artillery support well within range, those militia ‘Steeds didn’t have to brawl with their lance. They could hang back, their quicker and more maneuverable light ‘Steeds keeping out of weapons range while still directing LRM fire. There was no doubt that the Irregular lance would ultimately lose such a fight.

Those carriers had to go, it was as simple as that.

“Xanax, I assume you can handle these two on your own?” he asked over his mic.

“As long as this Derpy doesn’t butt-check me I should be fine, boss,” the zebra assured him, “what’ve you got in mind?”

“I’m going LRM hunting. Twiggie, keep that other lance interested.”

“Five,” was her only reply. Slipshod rolled his eyes and then briefly consulted his map to plot a route for the landing pads. It would only take him about a minute to get there. The changeling’s mind flashed with memories of an earlier mission which had consisted of a similar attempt by him. He hoped that things went much more favorably this time.

After all, those militia elements had most certainly deployed more than just the two lances to defend the facility. If he ran into a couple of them, there could be problems. On the bright side, the trip across the operational area would give his Cavalier all of the time it needed to cool back down to optimal levels. So, he would at least have the ability to defend himself if he did encounter any trouble.

The Crystal Cavalier galloped between warehouses and factories, ignoring the various blips that popped up on his sensors, warning him about the occasional automated turret which was tracking him as he passed through their field of fire. Most consisted of lighter weaponry, and didn’t pose too much of a threat as he was only within their firing range long enough for them to take a single shot, which missed more often than not as his ‘Steed slalomed lightly around the buildings. If a turret happened to be directly in his path, he’d blow it away with a pair of viridian shots from his medium energy cannons, but he otherwise conserved his heat for what he was expecting to be a rather intense fight once he got to the landing pads.

There was no way that the militia had deployed all of their forces to handle the unexpected assault. They’d have recognized it as a feint if they had any amount of real battlefield experience. Obviously, they couldn’t afford to ignore it completely, not after the catastrophic damage that he and his lancemates had inflicted only a minute after landing, but three ‘Steeds didn’t require a couple companies to contain.

At least, that had to have been what the local commander of these militia units must have assumed. Not that it would have been an unfair assumption, of course. Slipshod certainly would have considered two lances to be more than sufficient firepower to deal with a single, ‘understrength’, lance of attackers. He would, like the militia commander, have also been operating under the assumption that the enemy was using equipment and BattleSteeds approximately comparable to his own. The idea of facing a pair of rare, heavy-tonnage, Celestia League era, ‘Steeds that represented the pinnacle of martial engineering at the time, outfitted with weapons that were more advanced than anything that anycreature in either the Harmony Sphere or the Periphery had ever conceived of, simply wouldn’t have crossed his mind.

In that same vein, Slipshod would also have not considered doing what he was planning had those not been the specific circumstances. It would have been ‘reckless’, to say the least…

Had the changeling been sitting in the cockpit with any of the militia pilots, he suspected that he would have sensed both their surprise, as well as their incredulity, as the four lances of assembled BattleSteeds and the nearly division-sized element of combat vehicles, witnessed the single Crystal Cavalier emerge from the cramped quarters of the factory complex into the much more open and exposed spaceport. That shock bought him a few seconds of peace, and Slipshod intended to take full advantage of it.

He largely ignored the militia BattleSteeds―though he did still note that half of them were large enough to meet or exceed the weight of his Cavalier―his first concern was the row of LRM carriers which were lined up in an open field approximately five hundred meters off to his left. The changeling grit his teeth and used the steering pedals to tease his ‘Steed in their direction, still keeping himself at a full gallop.

The surprise wore off as he was toggling the lance-mounted Prismatic Projector Cannon. Beams of light, explosive shells, vapor trails, and even tracers, saturated the space between him and his intended targets. He suspected that a similar view would have existed behind him. His piloting couch trembled as more than a few of the torrent of shots managed to find their mark despite his expedient movement. There was no help for it though.

He targeted the furthest missile platform and fired. Before the double-helix of destruction had crossed the entirety of the distance to its target, Slipshod was already swapping to his shoulder-mounted energy cannons. The PPC struck home and easily detonated the LRM carrier that it had been fired at. The explosion framed his next target almost perfectly as twin columns of cyan light bored their way through it. Chain fired medium energy cannons lanced outwards, one after another, as the third missile launcher entered their much greater effective range. It didn’t detonate in the same spectacular fashion, but its launchers were left obviously non-functional.

None of his weapons had time to recharge in order to be used against the fourth and final LRM carrier, but a charging BattleSteed hardly needed to shoot most combat vehicles in order to destroy them. The massive missile platforms might have weighed as much as lower-end heavy classed BattleSteeds, they possessed effectively no armor. They were really little more than bulk cargo transport that had been packed with as many missile launchers as could reasonably be mounted to them. A shoulder-fired SRM placed in the right location would have been enough to cripple one of them.

The hoof from a seventy-five ton Crystal Cavalier was more than capable of crushing the entire front end, and the crew there that controlled it.

Slipshod, wisely, chose not to linger and admire the aftermath of the carnage that he’d just wrought. The militia ‘Steed pilots had taken full notice of the Cavalier wreaking havoc in their midsts, and were all now very intent of getting rid of it. A couple dozen tanks of various shapes and sizes were joining in effort as well. His ‘Steed’s right-side plating, which had been mostly unscathed prior to engaging with the LRMs, was now reading as being in the red in far more locations than it was not. He maintained his run, but heaved hard to the left. While this meant that his rear-facing armor was now taking hits, it was still mostly unmarred.

That did not remain the case for long.

The stallion wasn’t about to turn and engage with the forces here, and nor was he convinced that he’d survive a withdrawal back to the relative safety of the factory complex. Instead, he sought out the meager shelter offered by the spaceport’s traffic control tower, wagering that DCC would frown very heavily on the wanton destruction of their property and the killing of their employees by the very same militia forces that they hired to protect those things.

His theory proved to be correct, as the incoming fire abated almost immediately. However, Slipshod was fully aware that this was not a condition that would endure forever. It would be an incredibly trivial task for the enemy to flank around both sides of the tower and surround him. He likely had less than a minute before exactly that happened, at which point he would be, in a word: fucked.

“I don’t suppose I can get a little help over here?” he asked over their lance’s comm frequency. He tried to keep as much apprehension as he could out of his voice, but his success on that front was markedly limited.

“Sorry, Bug,” Xanadu replied, “still tangling with the duo over here. The SneakShy’s being frustratingly wiley!”

Twilight’s own negative response followed immediately afterward, “I can send missiles your way if you get a lock for me, but I’ve only had time to down one of the Riflemares. The missile fire only just stopped. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“What are friends for?” the changeling deadpanned sarcastically, “no, but seriously, I’m in pretty deep, so if either of you could get here and dig me out―”

A new female voice that Slipshod didn’t recognize interrupted him, “shovels incoming!”

The confusion lasted just up until his sensor display, which had up until this moment effectively been a swath of red as the enemy surrounded him, lit up with a dozen new contacts. All of which were a calming, friendly, blue.

Vought Corsair had arrived.

He wasn’t sure at first how and where the mercenaries had come from, as the display made it look like they’d simply materialized out of thin air. Of course, BattleSteed sensor displays were designed for combat that was taking place on a nominally two-dimensional battlefield, and didn’t necessarily interpret altitude very effectively. It wasn’t until beams of sapphire, emerald, and chromatic light, began to rain down from above―and thankfully onto the enemy―that Slipshod looked upwards.

A dozen BattleSteeds emblazoned with scarlet paint, most with outsized retro-rockets bolted to their sides, glided down on plumes of smoke, raining fire from above onto the unsuspecting militia lances and defending combat vehicles.

Front and center of the airborne assault was a SaddleMaster. Heavily modified compared to the variants that were typically seen operating in the Sphere, Slipshod was immediately able to tell. The typical loadout for such assault ‘Steeds only allowed for a single PPC. This one had two, bolted to either side of the BattleSteed’s barrel on gimbals that allowed them to pivot with quite a bit of flexibility. Right now, those gimbals were angling the massive projection cannons downward, a torrent of coiled rainbow light beating on hapless militia and DCC units.

Slipshod would have loved to be privy to the enemy’s communications network traffic as the surprised garrison tried to reconcile what was happening and figure out where the assault was coming from. It was quite obvious from the fact that just about every one of their forces were out of position, that the units waiting to ambush the Crimson Corsairs had at least expected the DropShip to land first before unloading its complement of ‘Steeds. In fairness, airdrops like this were not super common. If a location was too well-defended or too inaccessible to land a DropShip at for a typical ‘Steed deployment, then most commanders regarded the operation as something as a ‘suicide mission’, as there would be little to no hope of an exptraction if things went sideways.

In this current example, had Vought Corsair dropped her forces onto the factory complex like this, with the local security and reinforcing militia elements ready and waiting to receive her, the changeling doubted that half of her mercenaries would have made it to the ground intact. However, right now those same forces were distracted and out of position. There were also considerably fewer of them present than had been fifteen minutes ago. An insertion like the one she was performing now would have a significantly better chance of succeeding.

Red blips vanished from his sensor display in concert with the dozens of nearly simultaneous fireballs illuminating the moonscape. Combat vehicles, whose armor was already considerably lacking compared to that of a BattleSteed’s, was even less effective at protecting them from topside threats. Single strikes from even medium energy cannons were enough to dispatch most of them. The militia ‘Steeds weren’t fairing much better. Their ablative plating was thinnest on top, and most of them also had quite a bit of difficulty achieving the kind of elevation that they needed to respond with their own weapons.

Slipshod estimated that half of the forces on the ground had been either destroyed, or effectively taken out of the fight, by the time the Crimson Corsairs finally landed. The outpouring of weapons fire didn’t abate in the slightest now that the scarlet-tinted mercenaries were on the ground either. Meanwhile, there were considerably fewer defending units who could effectively respond.

Those that were left had also seemed to forget entirely about the Cavalier that they’d had pinned behind the traffic control tower.

“Thanks for the assist, Vought,” the stallion grinned as he throttled back up and whipped out from behind his cover, lining up his weapons on the backside of a JagerMare. The heavy ‘Steed possessed a lot of firepower, to be sure, but had achieved so by sacrificing a significant amount of protection. Especially in the rear. Twin beams of cyan light from his new overpowered Clan cannons right up its tailhole cracked the reactor casing almost immediately, “whatever you’re drinking, I’m buying!”

“Eh, it was no big deal,” the mare’s voice assured him, “we were just in the neighborhood. Thought we’d drop in and have some fun. Though―and for no particular reason I’m offering this information―I’m partial to Bloody Mares. Two olives. Lemon wedge. Rutabaga in place of the celery stalk.

“Hardly even know why I mention it.”

“I’m never going to stop being disturbed by how easily you ponies can banter like this in the middle of a battle,” Twilight cut in. A moment later, her Rainbow Dash also made an appearance in the landing pad melee. Her BattleSteed’s paint was scoured and scuffed in a few places, but the ‘Steed looked otherwise to be no worse for wear. The alicorn quickly set about targeting limbs and weapons, obviously still looking to avoid causing outright death to the militia pilots. Slipshod felt his lips instinctively pull taught into a frown, but figured he could forgive the―former―princess her eccentricity. It wasn’t like there was a convoy full of innocent lives on the line this time.

“It’s a classic deflection technique used by pilots to reduce stress,” Xanadu chimed in. Slipshod caught sight of his much more battered looking Philomena plodding out of the factory complex, though he still continued to add what friepower he had to the fight all the same, “I can’t remember if deflection through humor was a B.B.B.F.F Spinner thing or something Cart Tongue wrote about. It was one of those old-timey brain-ponies though.”

“Actually, I think it was Frond. Spinner’s work focused mostly on behaviorism and operant conditioning―what the fuck am I doing?!” the purple mare blurted, “why am I debating psychological theorists in the middle of battle?!”

“Cognitive deflection during a stressful situation,” Vought Corsair quipped, Slipshod noting the tinge of amusement in the mercenary commander’s voice through the radio static.

“Very funny,” Twilight shot back. There was a brief burst of static as the alicorn swapped over to a broad-band broadcast so that every receiving unit in the area could hear what she said next, “all DCC and Concordat Militia units: you are instructed to power down your vehicles and ‘Steeds at once and surrender! Comply, and your lives will be spared.”

“Spoilsport,” Corsair muttered, though the changeling didn’t get the impression that the mare would violate the terms of the surrender if the defenders offered it. She was a mercenary after all, and would likely exercise her right to claim the spoils of the fight. Which meant that the more BattleSteeds that she could take intact, the better the price she could negotiate for them when she sold them right back to the planetary militias on the local market. Whatever satisfaction that she might have gotten from killing the same adversaries that sought to entrap her was be greatly outweighed by her chance to wallow in the indignity of those same opponents being forced to effectively beg her for the chance to buy their former ‘Steeds off of her for whatever overinflated prices she deigned fit to charge them.

Though, that was all contingent on those pilots actually opting to surrender in the first place. Slipshod watched his sensors expectantly. For several long seconds, nothing much on it changed, save for the loss of signal contact that came with the destruction of yet another combat vehicle. It seemed though that, eventually, sanity won out. A few, then a few more, and then suddenly every remaining active sensor contact vanished from the board as the combatants accepted the terms of the offered surrender and powered down.

With an almost surreal suddenness, the fight was over.

“This is Major Pain,” a gruff male voice came of the same open frequency that Twilight had used. The changeling idly wondered if that first part was a rank or part of their name, “we surrender,” the resignation was palpable.

“That is very much appreciated, major,” Twilight said, managing to sound perfectly polite and cordial, despite the otherwise tense circumstances that they’d all recently found themselves in, “please remain where you are as arrangements are made to transport you and your personnel to the factory’s habitation modules,” the mare swapped back over to their internal frequency, “Call up the Zathura and let Squelch know that she can land. Miss Corsair, feel free to do the same with your vessel. We’ll work out who gets what spoils then. Does that work for you?”

“It’s ‘commander’, not ‘miss’,” the other mare responded tersely, then, “and, yeah; that’ll be fine. I’m also led to believe that you guys have some other matters that you wanted to discuss with me?”

“That’s correct, commander,” Twilight acknowledged, “matters that we believe will be of a particular interest to yourself.”

“Color me intrigued. I can’t wait to hear all about it,” there was a brief pause, “Crystal Skull Vodka for my Bloody Mare, by the way. If you have it. Grey Cockarice is fine though if you don’t.”

Anypony who’d actually met Victoria Blueblood would have been forgiven for not recognizing her in the visage of the scarlet pegasus mare who was currently sat, comfortably reclined, in the conference room of the Zathura. In her youth, the Commonwealth heir had looked just as pristinely white as her uncle, and her expression very nearly mirrored Dominus’ in its seriousness. A meticulously trimmed and coiffed citrine mane, hooves polished to a mirror shine, and an ivory coat brushed until it glistened. She’d been almost a work of art in her appearance.

A far cry from the mercenary commander currently leaning back in her seat with her hind hooves kicked up on the table and a tall glass of a blood-red cocktail held in her pinions. Her now golden hued mane was shaved down on one side and swept over the other, exposing an elaborate tattoo etched below her left ear. Piercings covered her ears and her brow, ranging from simple gold studs to silver bars. The mare looked more like a pirate than a respectable mercenary, if Slipshod was being honest.

Of course, it was just a look, the changeling realized. An exceptionally well-crafted one, to be sure, but a facade nonetheless. Her baby blue eyes might have danced with feigned frivolity, but beneath them was a coolness of collected thought that betrayed a mind that some might have erroneously called: ‘manipulative’. Slipshod regarded it as ‘adaptive’.

Vought Corsair recognized that to be Victoria Blueblood was dangerous. Deadly, perhaps. So she could not be that mare. Her life depended on adopting an identity that could never, and would never, be conflated with her old life. A lifetime of being taught how to be diplomatic in a Court setting, putting on affectations for the benefit of those from whom you wanted to extract as much as possible while giving up as little as necessary, had translated quite well into adopting the art of deception. Vought Corsair was a projection of who Victoria knew that she had to be―of who the creatures around her expected her to be―in order to make her way in the Periphery.

It was an almost―almost―changeling-worthy transformation. Certainly as far as any non-changeling would be concerned.

Deep down though, she was still that same well-schooled and collected mare who had spent her youth learning politics and art. Perhaps she’d been tempered by the last two years spent fighting, yes; but that hadn’t changed who she was at her core. If anything, it had only galvanized it.

The crimson pegasus caught the stallion’s stare. Internally, Slipshod sensed her brief flickers of unease and worry. She seemed to recognize that he was doing more than merely ‘looking’ at her, but she couldn’t possibly know exactly how deeply into her psyche he could delve. All the same, she recognized a need to distract him, or at least let him know that she recognized his attention. She flashed him a wry smirk that had none of the mirth behind it that she was projecting, “you’re a better barpony than you are a ‘Steed pilot,” she quipped, swishing her drink around in its glass as she took another appreciative sip, “you should consider a career change.”

The barb was meant to put him off. It might have even worked on a stallion who couldn’t sense how on edge she was. The changeling’s lips spread in an effortless smile. Unlike the pegasus, he no longer felt a need to hide who he was after all. That change in his lifestyle had turned out to have a profoundly freeing effect on him stress-wise. Meanwhile, Corsair was still very much worried that she’d lose control of her carefully crafted facade at any moment and give away everything about who she was. That constant distraction held her back, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

It seemed to irk the mare somewhat that he hadn’t been at all put off by her attempt to jab at his ego, but once again her expression didn’t slip. By all appearances, she took the comment in stride and turned her attention instead to the sage green unicorn seated across from her, “Squelch, right? You, on the other hoof, have a lot of talent. Great job spotting that trap,” this time her feelings matched her words, the mare’s praise genuine. The relief she was feeling was kept in check though. Likely just a negotiation tactic more than anything else. It was never smart in a negotiation to let the other party know that you felt you owed them anything, after all, “my organization could always use a brain like that.

“We offer competitive rates…” Corsair let the offer hang in the air, flashing the unicorn an inviting smile.

“I’m sure you do,” Squelch nodded, “but I’m afraid that I’m already under contract at the moment,” the disappointment on the scarlet mare’s face was genuine, but there was also a curiousness bubbling beneath it. She was surely wondering why, if Squelch was currently working for a client, that she’d take on the risk of helping out another mercenary outfit. She certainly couldn’t fathom a reason why she herself might have been a part of any existing contract. Not one that involved helping her anyway.

“A shame,” Corsair said, shrugging as she took another sip of her cocktail, “I assume then that you’d like a bigger share of the salvage? I could argue that, without my intervention, your forces would have been wiped out, and so it’s really you who owe me, but I’m not that crass. I’ll up the divide to a fifty-fifty split.”

Squelch didn’t react to the offer. Instead, she and Slipshod shared a brief look. The changeling felt his employer’s barely contained excitement at what she anticipated her next words were going to do in terms of disrupting the other mercenary commander’s demeanor. Truth be told, Slipshod was also looking forward to seeing what it did to the mare’s otherwise well-schooled features.

“Actually, I do have a counter-offer in mind,” the unicorn began. Vought Corsair’s expression registered little more than polite interest, mentally preparing herself to negotiate a new compromise; out of propriety if nothing else. Nopony simply accepted terms that were dictated to them when there was no leverage being applied, after all. She didn’t particularly care about the salvage, as this contract had been about optics rather than monetary gain. Her ‘true’ compensation had come in the form of financially ruining the company which had conspired to entrap her, and demoralizing the militia units that had enlisted to help do so. Money was just icing on her schadenfreude cake.

“Oh?”

“You keep everything,” Squelch began. Internally, Slipshod felt the brief―almost reactionary―sense of grief in the business-minded mare as she effectively ‘gave away’ one of the biggest windfalls of her mercenary career. It easily amounted to tens of millions of c-bits worth of material and would have effectively more than doubled the value of her whole company.

However, that feeling passed as she reassured herself that this act of charity was in the furtherance of a goal that would see her receiving a phenomenally bigger payout from the League-in-Exile once they’d been restored to power. As Slipshod understood it, Twilight had basically written Squelch a ‘blank check’ in exchange for her services, allowing the unicorn to ask for just about anything she wanted as compensation when Chrysalis was defeated and all of this was over with. In that way, she could look at giving Victoria the BattleSteeds as more of an ‘investment’ than a ‘loss’, “and in exchange we’ll supply you with about a hundred tons of the most advanced weaponry that the galaxy has ever seen.”

Slipshod felt the cognitive equivalent of a drive chain slipping off the gears in Victoria’s brain. For just the briefest of moments, the crimson pegasus was absolutely positive that she’d misheard the other mercenary owner. Then, when she replayed what had been said in her head, and realized that she hadn’t, her brain scrambled to try and find out if perhaps she’d overlooked something incredibly important about the encounter that she’d somehow managed to miss than would make any of what had just been said make sense.

When she couldn’t manage to do that, the scarlet feathered flier carefully placed her drink on the conference table and slowly withdrew her hooves from its surface, assuming a far more dignified posture as some of her old self bled through the facade that she projected, “I beg your pardon? You...what?”

Slipshod chortled. Even some of the Commonwealth heir’s refined accent from her previous life had bled through in her shock. Squelch too seemed to be enjoying rattling the other mare with such an unexpected turn in the conversation, “you’re going to need it more than we will,” the green mare said matter-of-factly, “it still won’t quite be enough to defeat Dominus’ Royal Guard outright,” she acknowledged, “but it will be with the backing of the Timberwolves.”

That shock mixed with fear now, the changeling felt, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” her old accent was gone, replaced once more by the one that she affected as part of her cover identity. She was quite a bit more wary now too, “I don’t have any business with Dominus, the Commonwealth, or the Dragoons. Let’s just call it a sixty-forty split and part ways―”

“Opportunities multiply as they are seized,” Slipshod informed the pegasus coolly, “and you would be a fool to let this one pass you by.”

Suspicious blue eyes narrowed at the golden-furred stallion now as the pegasus regarded him for several long, silent, seconds. Then, finally, “they who wish to fight, must first weigh the cost; and anypony knows that the cost of fighting the Commonwealth would be very high,” she said, her expression the most serious that it had been since she’d walked in, “even if I added in all the ‘Steeds that we salvaged from today to my forces, the prospect of taking on my―” the pegasus abruptly caught herself and cleared her throat, “taking on Dominus Blueblood’s forces would be tantamount to suicide.”

“Only if you were forced to conduct a true invasion,” the changeling countered, “but that would hardly be necessary. If you strike the palace complex outright, bypassing everything else, you could enact a fait accompli. Dominus would be deposed, and his heir,” Slipshod flashed a knowing look at the mare, feeling her barely concealed surprise, “would be primed to assume the archonship with only having to win a single battle.

“The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting,” the changeling offered a tiny shrug as he added an addendum to the quotation, “or, at least as little fighting as necessary.”

“...who are you? How could you possibly know what you know?”

“Slipshod Lackadaisy,” the stallion replied simply, watching realization dawn across the pegasus mare’s face, “I believe you knew my father?”

Grief now, an outpouring of it like the changeling hadn’t expected. The mare genuinely regretted what had happened to the family of his cover identity. She was a good pony then. There was no faking what she was feeling right now. The guilt, the anguish. The memory of an entire family line that had very nearly been wiped out for the simple crime of trying to help her to do right by her nation’s citizens. A sympathy for the pain of loss which she assumed that Slipshod must have been feeling as well for the loss of his ‘family’.

In that moment, all pretenses vanished. The entire reason for the persona that she was affecting had evaporated. What was left was a mare whose composure and elegant demeanor clashed garishly with her otherwise rambunctious appearance, “my sincerest condolences for your loss,” she said, sounding subdued. She could barely even bring himself to look at the stallion right now, “your father was a good stallion. The best, even. I never…” the mare swallowed and let out a deep sigh, “he deserved better.

“I am sorry.”

“He knew what he was getting into,” the stallion said, likely a lot more easily than the real Slipshod would have been able to in the same situation. The ponies who’d been executed hadn’t been members of his family, of course. He’d never actually even met them. He certainly wasn’t keen in wallowing in melancholy over their deaths with this mare; not while they had far more pressing matters to discuss.

“What’s important,” he went on, determined to steer the conversation back on track, “is that you understand that we’re here to give you a second―much better―shot at the archonship, with a lot more resources backing you up.”

“I assume that you’re referring to the Dragoons?” the pegasus asked skeptically, receiving a nod from both Slipshod and his unicorn employer. Victoria shook her head, ruefully, “there’s nothing that I could possibly offer Timberjack that would compel him to forsake his contract with my uncle in order to help me,” she added firmly.

“There’s nothing that you could offer them, that’s true,” Slipshod conceded, earning himself a scowl from the pegasus, “but we have it on good authority that the Timberwolves answer to a ‘higher power’ than their contract with Dominus,” he glanced over and shared a look with Squelch, who in turn depressed a button on the conference table’s console.

“Star admiral? If you would care to join us?”

Slipshod idly wondered if he was deriving too much pleasure from the abject shock of other ponies. In any case, it was patently evident that, whoever Victoria might have anticipated seeing walk through the door, a dragon had not been it. Let alone one dressed in the officer attire that bore an exceptionally strong resemblance to the uniforms of the Celestia League. It was enough of a surprise to cause the pegasus to briefly lose her sense of composure, her jaw hanging agape as she stared at the cobalt blue dragoness.

“Admiral Cinder,” Squelch said by way of introductions, “I present to you the Pretender to the archonship of the Pony Commonwealth, Victoria Blueblood. Commander Blueblood, this is Star Admiral Cinder of the Celestia League-in-Exile. She has a proposition that I think you would very much be interested in hearing.”

Two hours―and an abbreviated history lesson―later, cocktails had been replaced with coffee as a crimson pegasus wrestled with the fundamental restructuring of everything in her life that she had previously taken as the gospel truth. To her credit, she was taking things remarkably well, given the circumstances. That appraisal wasn’t just in regards to her outward composure either. Slipshod noted that, emotionally, she was very diligently processing and evaluating everything that she’d been told and was doing a remarkably commendable job on integrating it.

If anything, some of the revelations that she had just been subjected to had even had the effect of relieving several of her previously deep-seated internalized shortcomings. She’d spent the better part of two years second-guessing herself, mentally chastising herself for whatever it was that she believed she’d overlooked or done wrong that had gotten her original plot discovered and her co-conspirators executed. Learning that she’d been outed by a cabal of changeling spies that neither she nor even her uncle had even known existed, and thus could not have had a hope to plan against, helped to alleviate that burden from her conscience. At least now she knew that it hadn’t been a failing of hers.

The changelings were to blame for that tragedy.

Slipshod was of mixed feelings about how strongly they wanted to stoke that particular fire. Especially before it had been revealed that he was one of those same changelings. Not one which had been directly involved in the sabotaging of her coup, but one who had incidentally put the metaphorical final nail in the coffin of the Lackadaisy family dynasty through the real Slipshod’s death. Albeit, many years before she’d brought the rest of the lesser noble family into her plot.

One galaxy-shattering revelation at a time, he and the rest of those in the inner circle of decision-makers had decided. First they’d get Victoria acclimated to the idea that changelings were a thing. Then they reveal that she would actively be working with one. Hopefully that would be a pill which would become significantly easier to swallow once they’d helped her secure her throne.

“So, to summarize,” the crimson pegasus began, speaking quite steadily despite how surreal an experience this all had to be for her, “the Timberwolf’s Dragoons―who are actually an advance reconnaissance force for the League-in-Exile―will help me secure the archonship for myself...in exchange for my letting a massive invasion force pass through Commonwealth space uncontested, in order to launch an assault on Queen Twilight―I’m sorry, Queen Chrysalis―on Equus?”

“That’s the gist of it, yes,” the star admiral said with a shallow nod, “with Timberjack’s help, we can smuggle your forces right to the capital without Dominus being the wiser. A brief scuffle with the palace garrison and the throne’ll be yours for the taking.”

The pegasus snorted, smirking at the dragoness, “you make it sound almost too easy.”

“If you were anypony else, it wouldn’t be,” Slipshod pointed out, “Dominus has no children. You were the heir apparent before your purported ‘death’. The population of the Commonwealth would be welcome to your return,” the changeling flashed his own rueful smile now, “I can imagine that the bulk of its government administrators would breathe a sigh of relief too, given that the succession of the archonship is kind of up in the air right now.

“Bureaucrats hate uncertainty like that. The last thing any of them will want is some sort of civil war as the more ambitious of them vie for control after Dominus’ death.”

To this, Victoria added her agreement. However, there was still one point that she was wary of, “and what about Chrysalis? She stopped me before. Why wouldn’t she again?”

“I don’t think that Chrysalis really ‘objected’ to you assuming the archonship ever,” the stallion explained, though admittedly he was operating under quite a lot of his own speculation and conjecture in this regard. Still, he did know some things in regards to how his former queen tended to operate her shadow empire, “it was more that your timing was inconvenient. You were the heir apparent. Someday you were going to take the throne. Chrysalis doesn’t want instability in the Commonwealth. If it collapses, it throws the Harmony Sphere’s balance off, and she doesn’t want that. She needs all five of the major powers intact.

“If you seize the throne before she can do anything about it, Chrysalis won’t remove you. At least not until her agents have had time to mold a new heir that can be sold to the public,” he noted the sour look that the pegasus adopted at his mention of that possible outcome, but he wasn’t about to insult her intelligence by trying to insist that nothing like that could happen. Besides, “and we’re not going to give her time to do that,” the stallion pointed out.

“Her agents will have to support your ascension. Undermining it would weaken the Commonwealth and embolden its enemies to attack it,” Cinder pointed out, “as long as you don’t do anything that Chrysalis perceives as an imminent threat to her plans, she won’t move against you.”

Slipshod blinked in mild surprise as he sensed a newly formed ball of worry from within the pegasus. Not the same general concern in regards to their talk up to this point, but something much more specific. He narrowed his gaze at Victoria, cocking his head, “...you think that you do threaten her plans somehow? But we just told you that―”

“You said she wants to maintain the balance,” the pegasus corrected gently, though she was a little put off by how perceptive the stallion had been of her mental state, “that she wants all five of the major powers at each other’s throats all the time, but without one achieving any real advantage over the others,” both the dragoness and the earth pony nodded, “...then I assume that she will take exception to whom I have taken as my consort.”

The other three creatures in the room all exchanged confused looks. It was Slipshod who finally posed the question though, “and that would be…?”

“Nacht Belle.”

Both ponies gawked at the pegasus, while Cinder only looked mildly confused. It was Squelch who spoke up this time, “Natch Belle...as in the younger brother of Menulis Belle, First Prince of the Federated Moons. That Natch Belle?”

“What’s he even doing out here in the Periphery?!” Slipshod sputtered.

“He isn’t,” Victoria corrected, “we met before my self-imposed exile. On the field of battle, actually,” this raised a few intrigued eyebrows, which prompted a wry smirk from herself, “knowing how to pilot a BattleSteed is practically a requisite for a prospective ruler, don’t you know? I spent a stint with a subsidiary of the Dragoons for a year. Long enough to ‘get my hooves wet’ at any rate.

“During that time, we attacked a Federated Moons forward supply base, which was being guarded by the Third Belle Guard...commanded by Nacht Belle. We surrounded them and forced a surrender,” a melancholy smile spread across her lips as she relived the memory, “he was in our custody for nearly three months while a ransom was negotiated. We were all civilized ponies, so he wasn’t confined to a cell for that time. He was the heir to one of the Great Houses, and so I gave him a comfortable cabin on the ship. I stopped by quite frequently, playing the ever-so-gracious host.

“He was quite pleasant to talk to, actually. We found that the two of us shared a great many views in regards to the state of galactic affairs, and the seemingly endless fighting that had been raging across it. The two of us developed a healthy respect for one another.

“Then...eventually...we developed something...more,” Slipshod felt an inrush of quite a few very powerful emotions from the pegasus. Suffice it to say, the changeling found himself feeling quite sated for the day where his need for love was concerned. Victoria cleared her throat and wiped the blush from her face as she resumed speaking, “we hatched something of a plan to unite our Houses and form a new alliance between the Commonwealth and the Federation.

“It’s what led me to plotting the coup to overthrow my uncle. I knew he would never condone it. And I certainly didn’t want to have to wait until after his death to pursue it. That could have taken decades, with millions more dying in the skirmishes between our nations,” she lamented.

The mare looked back to the earth pony, “I approached your father about my plan to depose my uncle and marry Natch, in the hopes of forging a sustained alliance between the Commonwealth and the Federation. He supported the idea. I wouldn’t have gone to him if I thought it would end the way that it did. I’m sorry.”

Again the stallion felt nothing of the sorrow that he suspected the real Slipshod would have at this moment. Which was perhaps for the better under the circumstances. A more personally invested pony might have sabotaged what they were trying to accomplish here, “you wanted peace between your Houses,” he countered, giving the mare a warm smile to reassure her that he harbored no ill feelings for her; because he didn’t, “so did he. I know he wouldn’t have regretted dying for a cause like that.”

Which, given what he knew of the real Slipshod’s father was likely a true enough statement. He had been an idealist. Strictly speaking, had no coup been plotted by Victoria, there was every likelihood that one of Slipshod’s first missions on behalf of his former queen would have been to arrange for an ‘accident’ for his father in order to speed his own ascension to the head of the family and nip those sorts of ‘unsavory’―for Chrysalis, anyway―ambitions in the bud.

This revelation did answer some questions though, the changeling thought to himself, “you’re right though,” he acknowledged towards the pegasus, “Chrysalis wouldn’t want that alliance to happen. The last thing she wants would be genuine, long lasting, peace between two or more of the Great Houses. You marrying Nacht would upset the dynamic she’s established.”

“So she would oppose me if I assumed the throne,” Victoria concluded unhappily.

“If we gave her enough time to, she would find somepony to usurp it from you, yes,” he admitted, “but that’s not going to happen anyway, because in less than a year after you take over, the League-in-Exile is going to take Equus,” Slipshod pointed out, “that’s nowhere near enough time for her to establish a clear heir apparent, even behind the scenes. Not one with enough political support to be uncontested anyway.”

This seemed to relax the crimson-hued mare significantly. However, it seemed that the star admiral was keen to move on from more personal matters to more immediate concerns, clearing her throat, “now that we’ve cleared that up, perhaps then we could get an answer to our proposal?”

“The answer as to whether or not I’ll let you help me claim rule over the Pony Commonwealth from my detestable uncle in exchange for allowing you to free the Harmony Sphere from the tyranny of a hidden cabal of manipulative shape-shifters?” the mare asked, with just a touch of mirthful incredulity.

Well, when she phrased it like that…

“Yes,” she relented in giving the dragoness a definitive answer, though she was still smirking quite broadly, “I accept your offer.”

“I think it’s utterly adorable!”

Slipshod was torn between the mirrored desires to both roll his eyes in annoyance at the alicorn’s gushing and join in on the ‘mare-talk’ as he basked in the joy that was radiating outward from the purple mare as she revelled in the recounting of the success of the earlier negotiations. Though, there was nothing that ultimately precluded the changeling from doing both, so he opted to do both, snuggling up against the zebra’s warm side as he did so. He’d ceased paying much attention to the vid that was playing for the three of them a while ago. Not that the film wasn’t of particular interest to him, it was a passable experience with a decently acted cast of characters, but it was hard for him to focus on it with so much positive emotion flowing around him.

Who could possibly focus on a movie while being served such choice cuisine?

Much like his own changeling nature, the existence of Twilight as the returned and true ruler of the defunct Celestia League was being kept from Victoria until she’d had time to process the first few profound revelations that she’d been presented with. Strictly speaking, the less that the pegasus mare knew, the safer the invasion of Equus would be. They wouldn’t be able to keep changeling agents away from her once she was installed as archon, and so they had to assume that anything that she was told had a chance to be passed on to Chrysalis once her uncle was deposed.

Fortunately, they’d be able to let Victoria do most of the heavy lifting without taking too much direct action themselves. The Irregulars’ part in the immediate plans now consisted of little more than getting Victoria and Cinder to a meeting with Timberjack so that the commander of the Dragoons could receive his new marching orders and escort Victoria to the Pony Commonwealth's capital. At that point, it would be best for all if neither the Dragoons, nor even the Irregulars, help with her assault on the palace complex. The more that she could do on her own in that regard, the more legitimate her claim would be in the eyes of the public.

As it was, the young mare would enjoy every conceivable advantage. The BattleSteeds that had been surrendered largely intact after the fight at the Delerex Composites facility let Victoria bring her fieldable strength up to nearly a full regiment, which put her on numerically equal footing with the units that would be guarding the palace propper. However, thanks to the resources of the League-in-Exile Cinder was offering, Victoria’s forces would be fielding superior weaponry compared to what the Archon’s guards had at their disposal.

The fighting would be intense, but with more powerful weapons and the element of surprise on her side, Victoria should be able to achieve a decisive victory.

“You don’t think ‘love on the battlefield’ is a little overdone?” Xanadu asked absently, rubbing at his chin as he pondered his own question. “Never mind the slightly questionable morality of developing feelings for your prisoner. That’s a very unbalanced power-dynamic. You could argue that she took advantage of him. If they actually ‘did’ anything during those few months, it’d be legally classified as ‘rape’ in a lot of Periphery star nations,” the striped stallion pointed out.

Twilight’s mood soured almost immediately at that thought, which evoked a grimace in the changeling a second later as his ‘meal’ abruptly ‘spoiled’ in an instant. Slipshod flashed his pillow a sharp glare, accentuating it with a sharp snort.

“Sorry,” their newest ‘Steed pilot apologized, offering a conciliatory smile, “just sayin’...”

“Well I choose to think that those two had a much healthier―and more power-balanced―relationship than that,” Twilight insisted hautilly, “and not just because of the political implications that it has. I mean, those are very significant, yes, but I don’t want to cheapen what those two might have for each other by pointing out how beneficial to us it might be.”

“If Chrysalis caught a whiff of their conversations, it’s definitely why she stopped Victoria’s coup,” the changeling said, still a little disappointed that his pleasant repast had been cut short, “the last thing she’d want is an alliance between any of the Great Houses.”

“But it’s such a promising start to a new Celestia League,” the alicorn emphasized, “a demonstration that centuries of animosity can be put aside in an effort to build bigger and better alliances. If those two could come together, why not the other three too?”

Slipshod found himself feeling slightly more content now as the purple mare’s hope for the future replaced her earlier feelings regarding the morally-ambiguous origins of Victoria’s love-life. The changeling did issue the zebra a look that defied him to sour Twilight's newfound positive outlook. Xanadu, wisely, kept his mouth shut and his attention on the vid screen.

“What do you think they’ll call the unified star nation once they make it official?” Twilight mused, “I mean, I guess the easiest thing to change the name to might be...the Federated Commonwealth?”

It was Slipshod’s turn to frown and flash a dubious look at the alicorn, “those are both just words for kinds of groups,” the changeling pointed out, “wouldn’t that basically be like calling it: the Organized Organization?”

“Well it’s certainly better than calling it the Pony Moons,” Twilight countered, “tell me, with a straight face, that the first thing you don’t think of when you hear that is flanks,” the stallion acknowledged that, of the two presented options, the former was certainly the more aurally pleasing, in spite of its redundant nature.

The door chime interrupted their semantic discussions on hypothetical future star nation names. Twilight responded with a polite, “come in.”

All three were rather surprised when the door opened to reveal a thestral mare standing in the corridor. More so when they noted that her expression looked to be particularly cross. Slipshod specifically was trebly shocked when he sensed that the bat-winged mare was directing her hostility towards him. He’d barely even spoken to Rigger Brush since they’d returned from Clan space. What could he have possibly done that had upset her?

“You,” the thestral seethed, jabbing a leathery wing in the changeling’s direction and fixing him with a look of such intense disgust that the stallion very nearly lost his disguise in his shock. Rigger stormed into the purple alicorn’s quarters, seemingly oblivious to anypony else in the room, her gaze fixed on the stallion.

Twilight might not have been an empath, but she could certainly recognize an angry mare when she saw one. Xanadu, similarly, had somehow managed to cease being Slipshod’s pillow in an effort to be somewhere in the small room that wasn’t in the thestral’s path, “excuse me, but if there’s a problem, I’m sure that we can discuss it like civilize―”

The batpony shifted her glare to the alicorn now, which had the rather astonishing effect of silencing her mid-sentence, “this. Doesn’t. Concern. You,” Rigger growled slowly at the purple mare. Slipshod sensed that he’d just lost the protection of the royal mare, which didn’t bode all that well for him, he felt. The stallion swallowed back his fear and made an attempt to stammer out something―anything―that might stem the ire the mare was feeling towards him.

He just didn’t know what he’d done wrong! Which made it distinctly difficult to apologize for it was…

“You,” Rigger Brush reiterated, leaning down as she refocused her golden eyes on the changeling, her lips pulling back to reveal rows of an uncomfortably large number of pointy teeth. There was no way that thestrals were true herbivores, like their other equine cousins, Slipshod decided. Which begged the question as to what the bulk of the diet of ancient batponies had consisted of?

The knowledge that the various species of actual bats which didn’t subsist off of fruit dined almost exclusively on insects was not sitting very well with the arguably ‘bug-adjacent’ changeling right now.

“...Y-yes?” Slipshod managed to get out in his best effort to try and defuse the situation. Objectively, not a good effort; but the best that he apparently could manage at the moment as he frantically processed her outpouring of emotions to try and latch on to what specifically was upsetting her and find a way to address it.

“Channel Lock told me you can change your voice to sound like whoever you want,” the thestral said, still holding the changeling with a piercing look. Slipshod blinked, uncertain how to respond, as she seemed to be quite angry about something connected to that topic, but he eventually nodded, “and she said that you told her you can change your whole body too?” Another hesitant nod, “to things other than ponies?” A third, no less confused, nod.

“You mean to tell me,” the thestral seethed, “that all this time, you’ve had me sketching a mere pony, when I could have been drawing anything in the galaxy?!”

Wait; what?

Her wing shot out, snagging the stallion by the collar of his uniform as she proceeded to turn around and march staunchly for the door, dragging the profoundly stunned earth pony behind her, “you’re coming to my room right now! I’ve been wondering how I was going to get a minotaur to model for me since we got here!”

As he was pulled out into the corridor, Slipshod noted that his ‘friends’ were far too busy laughing to help him.

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