The apartment might have been significantly smaller than the quarters that she’d been assigned while on the Clan homeworld, but Squelch found them considerably more pleasant to inhabit without the spectre of indefinite imprisonment hovering over her head. It was certainly much more spacious than her quarters on the Zathura. With far more amenities as well, like a jacuzzi tub.

The unicorn mare let out a long, deep, sigh of contentment as she reclined in the warm water, letting it seep into her coat as it never could during one of the water-conserving showers on board the DropShip. For a pony who spent the majority of their lives in space, something like this tended to be the height of luxury. There was a miniscule amount of anxiety nestled in the back of her mind as she considered whether this indulgence had truly been the best first action to take upon arriving on Aether, but the jets of water gently massaging her backside helped to shoo the feeling away.

Theirs was a campaign that would last for many months, if not years. Taking an hour to soak in a bath was hardly going to be what undid it all.

Besides, it wasn’t like she couldn’t get some of her work out of the way while also lounging in the tub. The mare’s horn began to glow as she used her telekinesis to manipulate the nearby controls of the room’s comm panel. The unicorn then waited patiently until a voice responded through the speaker.

“Office of the Captain-General, how may I direct your call?” a stallion’s voice answered.

“Yes, my name is Skywave, Chief Operations Officer with Palomino Dynamics, and I would like to arrange a meeting with Captain-General Moonlight Radiance at her earliest convenience to discuss next year’s contract bids,” the unicorn replied.

“I see; give me a moment please to check the general’s schedule.”

“Take your time,” Squelch assured the reception pony. She hardly expected to be able to get in to see one of the most important ponies in the League in the next day or so; even with using the cover identity that had been created for her. There were sure to be understandable demands on the captain-general’s time. However, Squelch doubted that she’d need to wait more than a few weeks, maybe a month at the outside―

“I can work in a couple of hours for a meeting in August. Will that work for you, ma’am?”

“Yes, that shou―” Squelch shot up in the tub in stark surprise, sending a substantial amount of water splashing onto the floor of the bathroom, “I’m sorry, did you say August? As in nine months from now, August?!” she sputtered.

“Yes ma’am,” the stallion on the other end of the line did a phenomenal job of sounding completely nonplussed by Squelch’s indignant outburst.

“There’s got to be something sooner,” the sage mare liked to believe that hadn’t come out sounding completely like a whine, “I just need an hour or two. It’s important!” even as she spoke, the unicorn felt herself wincing as she considered that it was highly unlikely that anypony asking for a meeting with the nominal leader of one of the massive star nations in the Sphere would stipulate that the meeting was for trivial reasons.

“I understand ma’am, but the captain-general will not be available to take meetings until she returns to Aether in July,” the reception pony explained, “August is the earliest that can be done, I’m afraid.”

Squelch cocked her head, “‘returns to Aether’? As in: she’s not on the planet at the moment?”

“Correct, ma’am.”

The mare sighed and leaned back in the tub again, “well, fuck, I might as well fly out and meet her wherever she is then,” she grumbled, then spoke up more loudly so that the stallion on the call could hear her, “were is she?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that information, ma’am,” he insisted, “now would you like to schedule the appointment or not?”

Squelch pondered the question for several seconds but finally gave a reluctant answer in the negative and ended the call. Somehow the novelty of the jacuzzi bath had lost some of its charm in the preceding two minutes. She’s flown all the way out to the heart of the Our Worlds League, only to learn that the whole point of the trip wasn’t even here!

Though, it was curious to the unicorn that the location of the captain-general was being kept something of a secret. A head of state generally didn’t do much traveling that was ‘off the books’, so to speak. Most times they left the planet, it was to attend to affairs of state, and those sorts of things were typically quite noteworthy affairs that were widely reported on.

That suggested that, wherever Moonlight Radiance had gone off to, it wasn’t to participate in some sort of diplomatic function. A personal holiday was possible. Yet, if that had been the case, then the reception pony would have likely said as much. Vacations were also not exactly ‘state secrets’, even if the pony in question might want the exact location kept confidential so that they could better enjoy their leisure time without being hassled.

So, they weren’t out doing bureaucratic business, or taking some personal leave―certainly not nine months worth.

That left...military-related actions. Something like a review of the League’s forces would explain the long timetable, but not the secrecy. Reviews were pseudo-public affairs that involved spectacle and parades and such. That implied the reason for the trip was something more sensitive, like a genuine military action. However, Squelch was unaware of any significant actions that the Our Worlds League was involved in directly that would be worthy of the personal oversight of the captain-general.

The unicorn mare floated over her datapad and began to do a little research, on both the League, and its head of state. She’d reviewed her dossier and public file during the long trip to Aether, and recalled a few points that stood out. The current captain-general was a relative newcomer to the role, having ascended only last year with the death of their aunt during a bombing.

Squelch rolled her eyes at the apparent ‘endemic’ of uncle/aunt-nephew/neice related inheritance issues that seemed to plague the leadership of the Sphere. Almost exclusively involving explosives too, for some reason. Didn’t anypony hasten the deaths of their titled family members with poison or bullets anymore? Why bombs specifically? Somepony should really look into that…

Despite her short reign thus far, it was clear that the new captain-general was ambitious. They’d embarked on more than a few internal campaigns within the League in order to consolidate power. Flexing their own personal military experience gained from many years spent serving―and eventually leading―significant portions of the Leagues militia forces.

A very military-minded captain-general was away at an undisclosed location...while the League’s pet mercenary force was engaged in a planetary invasion along the Kirin Confederation border…

Squelch leaned her head back and grimaced, “ah, fuck me!”

She was in exactly the wrong place. Meanwhile…

Victoria Blueblood’s coupe had made the prospect of invasion look positively trivial, Slipshod noted as he looked out over the world of Colton; ‘formerly’ of the Kirin Confederation. In the pegasus mare’s case, the matter of control over the world―and the broader Pony Commonwealth―had been quite easily resolved by a single speech from her uncle and a treaty signing. After all, the matter in that case was largely one of familial inheritance. Most of the mechanisms for Victoria to succeed her uncle had already been nominally in place. She’d just sort of sped up the process.

That wasn’t the case here. Colton was the site of a genuine planetary conquest. Which meant that things were a lot messier where ‘control’ was concerned.

By this point in the fight, most of the heavy-lifting had already been taken care of. Orbital infrastructure―whatever hadn’t been destroyed or damaged beyond recovery during the first hours of the assault, at least―was firmly under the control of Gray Lines Legion forces. Most major planetary garrisons had been subdued, and the capital and governor’s palace had been seized. For all intents and purposes, the ‘invasion’ was over, from a strategic standpoint anyway.

But that didn’t mean that all of the fighting was done.

There was something of a ‘resistance’ and a ‘government in exile’ on the planet now that was still engaged with Legion forces. The fighting was sporadic, and not nearly on the scale of the sorts of battles that had taken place during the initial couple of months. However, only a fool of a general would assume that the conquest was completed while any sort of even loosely organized opposition remained. Which wasn’t necessarily any easy task. The planetary forces were no longer operating in large, concentrated, forces; but rather more dispersed cells.

Combating them meant that a lot of forces were needed for the occupation, and in order to quickly respond to any hotspots of activity. That was why the Legion had seen fit to offer a lot of additional subcontracts to other mercenary outfits, like Rayleigh’s Irregulars, at this point. Their duties would more than likely consist of escorting supply convoys as Colton’s defenses were rebuilt, reacting to ambushes by loyalist forces, perhaps even the odd search and destroy operation if one of their cells was located.

Potentially months of work lay ahead of them.

The deck lurched beneath his hooves, jostling the golden earth pony briefly. A moment later, a mare’s voice crackled over the speaker, “docking complete…” a chorus of muffled metallic thunks could be heard faintly through the nearby airlock, “...hard lock achieved,” High Gain informed the pair of stallions waiting by the airlock.

Slipshod glanced over at Xanadu and nodded. The zebra reached out and depressed the controls to open the thick metal door, granting them access to the large orbital platform that the Zathura had just docked with. The acting commander of Rayleigh’s Irregulars fitfully straightened his uniform, still not particularly fond of the red-on-black color scheme of their company. It somehow looked less garish on the zebra that was here to act as his second-in-command. Officially, that was still Twilight, but the changeling wasn’t about to drag the purple alicorn through a space station full of creatures that didn’t need to know what was really going on with the galaxy.

Not that he believed for a moment that they and their ship weren’t being closely watched by changeling spies at any given moment. Spies that could very easily become assassins if they were given the order.

That was still the part of this whole operation that bothered him the most: keeping their identities in the wake of Doc Dee’s message. Squelch was insistent that it broadly helped their cause to be so visible, because it would keep Chrysalis’ attention on the ship, and perhaps not on the other members of their inner circle who were working to gather support.

Timberjack and Cinder were using Dragoon owned and operated Jump Ships to make their way to the hippogriffs, which meant that they’d be able to take routes that would keep them from being easily tracked by the changelings. They’d be able to accomplish their mission and be on their way back to the Commonwealth before Chrysalis even knew what they were up to. Similarly, it was easy enough for Squelch to travel commercially under a pseudonym without drawing any attention. Though that was made a lot easier if the changelings had little reason to bother looking for her, because they all ‘knew’ that she and her company were somewhere else.

Like participating in a high-profile invasion of a planet with the Gray Lines Legion.

Just because a plan made sense didn’t mean that Slipshod had to like it though.

A young green earth pony mare was waiting on the other side of the airlock, dressed in a crisply pressed mauve uniform with gray accents. A pair of parallel stacked dashes were emblazoned on the uniform’s shoulders. Notably, the mare’s cutie mark was obscured by a decal that bore the same reddish-clouded equal sign. She issued the pair of stallion’s a stiff salute, bringing her hoof rigidly up to the tip of the barret on her head, “Commander Slipshod? Lieutenant Scutch. I’ve been assigned to escort you to your briefing. If you two will please follow me?”

The changeling regarded the mare for a brief moment, probing curiously at her emotions. While he’d worked with branches of the Legion before, he’d never gotten the chance to be in close proximity with one of their officers before like this. She seemed to have impeccable control over her emotions for somepony her age. He wondered if that was something that she’d cultivated herself, or if it was indicative of a standard that Legion officers were expected to uphold?

“Lead the way, lieutenant,” he nodded as both he and Xanadu fell into step behind the veridian earth pony.

The station was quite the hive of activity. Which was hardly surprising, as it had been co-opted by Legion leadership as their orbital base of operations to coordinate the final stages of Colton’s conquest and eventual ‘voluntary transfer’ to League control. As a gesture of thanks for the many long years of fruitful contracts, naturally. A planet-sized gift basket that wasn’t an uncommon gesture from a business to a valued client.

It certainly wasn’t because the Legion was being ordered to annex the planet for the Our Worlds League. That would have been something that could be interpreted as an overt act of war! Which was why it most certainly wasn’t anything like that. This was merely an independent mercenary company looking to plunder a little extra loot and salvage from a non-client world, and then decide that they couldn’t be bothered governing said planet and choosing to pass it on to another party who might be interested in expanding their holdings.

Completely innocent and above-board.

...Which was probably why Slipshod nearly tripped over his own hooves when they finally reached the conference room that had been set aside for the briefing, and he stepped through the door to find Captain-General Moonlight Radiance herself leaning over an operational map. He became quickly aware that he was outright gaping at the sight of the high-profile mare and set about schooling his features appropriately.

Which didn’t at all do anything to quash the stark surprise he felt at seeing Moonlight Radiance here, of all places. Both because of the fact that her presence had the potential to shatter the―admittedly―thin veneer of distinction between the ‘independent’ actions of one of the larger mercenary companies and the Great Houses they almost exclusively contracted to. Something that could very genuinely lead to an outright war between the League and the Confederation.

Between this and the imminent Clan invasion, Chrysalis had to be near apoplexy, the changeling thought to himself.

But―and perhaps more importantly from his perspective―there was also the fact that the captain-general was supposed to be on Aether, meeting with Squelch! This had the potential to undermine so many of their plans in so many ways, the changeling thought bitterly to himself. Squelch wasn’t going to be able to negotiate with them and there was now the potential that the League and the Confederation could end up going to war! They wouldn’t get help from either faction against ComSpark if both were fighting each other.

This was bad.

The rosy unicorn mare dressed in the formal regalia of her position glanced up from the operations map to note the new arrivals, “you’re one of our new mercenary groups contracted to help with the cleanup, yes?”

Slipshod stood at attention, but refrained from saluting. The captain-general was his client, not his commanding officer, after all, “yes, ma’am. Rayleigh’s Irregulars are at your service. Where would you like us?” he’d find time to ponder the implications about the mare’s presence on this platform and her involvement in the invasion later. Right now, he still had a job to do.

“You’re timing’s impeccable,” the unicorn commander said, “one of our combat engineering battalions apparently ran into some trouble while surveying a sight for a new dam,” she gestured to the location on the map, and Slipshod stepped over so that he could get a better look at the area. The first thing he noticed was that it was located quite a significant distance from any major settlements. It wasn’t particularly close to any minor ones either, as far as he could tell.

“Why build a dam way out there?” he asked, arching a brow at the captain-general, “there’s nothing to power.”

“Not yet,” she nodded, “but I intend to construct a munitions depot there to help support future operations against the Confederation. The sooner the area is surveyed, the sooner construction can begin. Besides, the area is―well, it was supposed to be―well away from enemy positions. So it should have been perfectly safe,” she flashed an exasperated look around the table at the other members of her cadre present, who all looked as unhappy as she was in regards to the news.

The changeling’s eyes went wide as he once more very nearly gaped at the unicorn. She was planning to conduct future attacks on the Kirin? In fact, she’d very noticeably left out the usual obfuscations. Perhaps as a mistake? The stallion cleared his throat and attempted to find out, “...you mean future independent actions by the Gray Lines Legion, of course.”

The mare snorted, “those were my aunt’s games,” she said, contemptuously, “not mine,” she now turned her determined gaze towards Slipshod, “once I have Colton established as a proper forward supply base, I can finally turn the full might of our military on the Confederation. The Legion can occupy the Nirik Light Pony mercenaries while my forces take decisive actions to secure territory.”

“But that’ll start a war,” Slipshod pointed out dumbly, inwardly wincing. This was just so...not how things were done! How had this pony even managed to get their plan this far along without Chrysalis’ agents stepping in to stop it? This was exactly the sort of thing that the changeling queen’s operative curtailed in the interests of maintaining the Sphere’s general homeostasis.

“So I’ve heard,” Moonlight deadpanned. The unicorn then turned back to the map and redirected the conversation back towards the matter at hoof, “your mission is twofold: protect my engineers, and find out who is behind the attacks.

“Every source I have on the planet suggests that it can’t be Colton Defense Forces, and we haven’t caught sight of any mercenary DropShips touching down in the area that aren’t ours,” she frowned at the map, clearly frustrated by the lack of information, “it’s probably pirates or smugglers, but there’s something off about their tactics. They’re being far too aggressive.”

“Projected enemy strength?” Slipshod forced his own mind back into ‘mercenary mode’. There’d be time to ponder the broader political ramifications of the captain-general going ‘off script’ later. He was here to do a job, first and foremost. Though it was not lost on the changeling that convincing Moonlight Radiance to help them against Chrysalis might actually fall on his shoulders now, instead of Squelch’s.

Great.

“Nothing too serious, or there wouldn’t be an engineering battalion left to save by now,” she smirked, “combat vehicles mostly. Spotty reports of light ‘Steed activity.”

“‘Spotty’?”

“They swear they’ve seen what have to be BattleSteeds, but haven’t been able to pin down chassis for us yet,” the unicorn explained, clearly a little frustrated with the lack of complete intel, “but whatever they are, they can’t be anything too heavy, or our forces would already have been wiped out,” she noted.

“Understood,” Slipshod said evenly, though his own mind was already swirling with very unpleasant possibilities. This whole mission was likely to get a lot worse before it got any better, “in that case, we’ll drop as soon as I get back to my ship. Though I would appreciate a copy of whatever intel you have.”

The unicorn nodded, “I’ll have the data transmitted to your ship,” she assured him, nodding towards one of her aides as she did so. The pegasus mare that she’d motioned to was already tapping out commands on a datpad.

“Thank you. We’ll be sure to let you know what we find out,” the changeling assured her before turning and leaving the briefing, his striped companion close on his heels. The lieutenant who’d escorted them from the airlock was once more leading the way.

Xanadu leaned in and, in a hushed tone so as not to be overheard said, “you know who the attackers are, don’t you?”

Slipshod began to wonder if zebras were empaths as well as he issued a curt nod, “pretty sure, yeah.”

“And I thought the big players in the Sphere didn’t openly attack each other?”

“They’re not supposed to,” the earth pony confirmed, his expression grim, “this is bad.”

In a lot of ways, that last bit had the potential to be a significant understatement. There was little doubt in his mind that the moment the House Vernal heard that the captain-general herself was directing the invasion of a world controlled by the Kirin Confederation, there would be an official declaration of war. It would be next to impossible for any changeling operative involved in the Confederation’s own government to forestall it. No doubt those agents were already hard at work attempting to coordinate with their counterparts in the League in order to orchestrate a hasty resolution to the conflict. Arranging for some sort of disastrous military action that would force one side or the other to sue for at least a cease fire that could lead to an armistice.

More likely than not, the side that would need to suffer the disaster was the Our Worlds League. As the aggressor, a major military setback that stalled their momentum and derailed their plans for future invasions would put them on their back hoof. The Confederation could press the advantage, retake Colton, and then the changeling bureaucrats on both sides could make their respective cases for an cessation of hostilities, citing that the status quo had been maintained and obviously nothing else could be gained from such costly fighting.

Slipshod now just needed to make sure that the Irregulars weren’t one of the inevitable victims of the ‘military blunder’ that was no doubt in the works even as they spoke. It would also probably help if he could find some way to make sure that Moonlight survived it too, which was going to be much easier said than done. She was exactly the kind of pony that Chrysalis didn’t want in any sort of position of power: ambitious, headstrong, and unwilling to play by the rules of the game that the changeling queen had set in place.

Yet, at the same time, that could make the captain-general an ideal ally for Twilight’s purposes. If the invasion ended up sabotaged, and all of her work undone, there was a good chance that she’d be willing to throw in with the alicorn when it was revealed that the deck had ultimately been stacked against her by ComSpark. A mare like that wouldn’t take kindly to that news at all.

Of course, how easy it would be to keep her alive was entirely dependent on what means of assassination the local changelings opted to go with. If it turned out to be something like, say, blowing up the entirety of the space station that she was on, there wasn’t going to be much that anypony could do about that. If it was something more conventional, like in combat, then maybe there was hope. Only time would tell.

However, at the moment, they had other concerns. Such as dealing with what Slipshod was fairly certain was a changeling force that the engineering company had run into while snooping around out in the middle of nowhere.

“There are two HyperSpark Relay Networks,” the changeling pilot explained to the seated ponies in the briefing room. Cravat was still settling into his role as the ship’s ‘chief medical officer’, and didn’t look to be entirely comfortable sitting in on his first briefing as a member of the company’s command staff. While most of what Slipshod was going to reveal here today would constitute news to just about everypony else, the gray-coated earth pony didn’t have the benefit of having been privy to many of the other world-changing tidbits of news that Slipshod and Twilight had been providing the others over the past few months. Still, he seemed to be taking it well enough in stride. The changeling was only picking up mild levels of anxiety from the medical pony.

“There’s the Primary Circuit, which everypony knows about and is used to transmit about ninety-nine percent of the galaxy’s interstellar message traffic,” Slipshod continued, “However, there is a secondary network of HyperSpark Generators that is used exclusively to relay orders from Chrysalis to changeling agents in the field. These sites tend to be sequestered in out of the way locations that don’t see any traffic. Arctic regions, distant archipelagos, high mountains, that sort of thing.”

“And you think that the Legion engineers ran into one of these secondary arrays?” Twilight prompted.

“I do,” Slipshod nodded, “Moonlight Radiance is confident it can’t be a local defense force, it’s out of the way, and while the forces on the ground can’t get a positive ID on the ‘Steeds they’ve spotted,” he reached out and brought up a blurry image that was purported the best intelligence that the teams on the ground had been able to get of the alleged BattleSteed, “they have a lot of features in common with a Twittermite,” a second image appeared on the display next to the photograph. This one was a hastily compiled computer model of the aforementioned ComSpark light ‘Steed that Slipshod had created from memory after he’d gotten a look at the image.

“It’s a light ‘Steed. But packs a lot of punch for its weight, thanks to ComSpark using quite a few ‘lost’ technologies like endo-chrystal skeletons and extra-light reactors. It means that they can mount three pulsed medium energy cannons, in addition to a five-pack LRM,” he glanced at the other two pilots at the table, “not too big of a threat for Twilight and me, but you’ll want to mind your tail, Xanadu. If it outflanks your Philomena, it can do you some serious hurt,” the zebra nodded soberly, well aware that his was the most vulnerable ‘Steed of the three of them.

“It’ll also be equipped with an ECM, so be ready for it to ‘pop out of nowhere’ if our sight lines aren’t good.”

“How many are we likely to be facing?” Twilight inquired.

“Shouldn’t be more than a pair,” Slipshod replied, “these facilities don’t have the same kind of serious garrisons that Primary Circuit relays do, in order to help keep their imprint smaller and less noticeable. However, there’s likely to be a significant combat vehicle element as well and with this terrain,” the changeling brought up a satellite image of the boreal forested region that they’d be dropping into, “sight lines are going to suck. There’s every chance that they’ll have something lying in wait, engine off, so that our sensors won’t see it until we’re almost right on top of them.”

Both Twilight and Xanadu were wearing mirrored frowns at the news, each being fully aware of how undesirable the terrain was for ‘Steed combat against an enemy that was likely to try to capitalize on guerilla tactics.

“On the other hoof, this also represents a golden opportunity to get our hooves on some serious intel,” Slipshod said, turning his attention now to Blood Chit, who was now also the head of the company’s security element as well as its recovery team, “if we can find that relay, and take it intact, it could be a huge boon to our invasion efforts. Records of ComSpark force movements, covert operations, maybe even the identities of some of their operatives in the region.”

“They’re not going to let it fall into our hooves easily,” Twilight noted, and Slipshod nodded in agreement.

“We won’t have the personnel to garrison it on our own,” he acknowledged, “but if we save enough of the engineering battalion, then maybe. In any case,” the stallion turned once more to address the crimson pegasus, “I want your ponies suited up and ready to drop the moment we clear the area. Your mission will be to take the main reactor as quickly as possible.

“Before they have a chance to scuttle the whole complex.”

At this point, an uncomfortable silence had descended over the occupants of the conference room, which was only broken by Blood Chit, “do you honestly think just two dozen ponies can shoot their way to a HSG reactor before they can overload it?” then he added, as though the idea only just then occurred to him, “and exactly who’s going to secure the reactor itself? None of us are engineering techs who’d know what we’re doing with one,” he pointed out.

Slipshod’s gaze shifted to the kirin twins. Each of whom was suddenly looking a little bit paler. When neither of them spoke up unprompted, the golden earth pony reminded them, “we’re probably not going to get another chance to get our hooves on this kind of intel. Thanks to Dee, Chrysalis knows just about everything there is to know about us and the Clans. Now we can balance the scales.”

The pair of kirin looked at each other for a brief moment, then Mig spoke up, “earth, unicorn, pegasus?” she asked. Her sister nodded, her expression just as reticent. Both mares squared up as they turned to face one another and took preparatory breaths, “and...one, two three!” Mig counted off, each number being accompanied by a clap of their hooves, which then moved to a slap on their knees, and finally meeting each other's hooves between them. On the last count, their horns ignited and a pair of apparitions manifested in the air between them. A horseshoe in front of Mig, and a wing in front of Tig.

The latter kirin cursed under her breath and turned back to the table in disgust, looking in Blood Chit’s direction, “...I’ll deal with the reactor,” she said in a tone that was devoid of any enthusiasm at the prospect. Then she glanced towards Slipshod, “I don’t suppose the same model is used for these secret HyperSpark Generators that is used for the public ones?”

“They’re identical in every way,” the changeling assured the ‘Steed tech. That news seemed to relieve the kirin. A little. She obviously still wasn’t thrilled at the notion of following an armed security team into a fortified position. Neither was Blood Chit.

“That still doesn’t answer my question about whether or not my team can actually even get her that far,” the crimson pegasus pointed out, “we’re not shock troops, Slip. We’re just not equipped for a genuine bunker breech like this.”

“I know,” Slipshod assured the recovery team leader, “and I’m not asking for you all to make some sort of suicide run in order to get this intel. I’m hoping,” he stressed, “that the appearance of three BattleSteeds in the area snooping around will draw out nearly all of their own security forces, and you’ll all meet minimal resistance.

“But as the pony leading the op, I’ll leave whether or not to go through with things up to you once you see what you’re up against. If you don’t think you can’t do it, then withdraw.

“Just know that what we could learn from that facility could change the course of the invasion; and maybe determine whether or not casualties are in the millions...or the billions.”

Blood Chit snorted, shaking his head at the changeling even as a wry smirk appeared on his lips, “you’re making it really hard for me to say ‘no’,” he narrowed his eyes in feigned suspicion, “are you playing off my emotions?”

Slipshod beamed unabashedly at the other stallion, “it’s a commander’s job to motivate his ponies to do what needs to be done to accomplish the mission,” he pointed out, “and I know you well enough to know what motivates you.”

“Fair enough,” the pegasus conceded.

“Well what’s my motivation to go through with this?” Tig piped up plaintively.

He waved at the other two ‘Steed pilots, “we do our best to make sure you get a slightly-used, no longer quite mint condition, Twittermite to play around with,” he grinned at the kirin mechanic, “you’ve never gotten to see an extralight reactor before, have you? You’re in for a treat,” he winked at her, noting that the cyan mare’s demeanor had already brightened significantly at the mention of new tech to play around with.

“...it’s a start,” she said, doing her best to―poorly―hide her excitement.

“I thought it might be,” Slipshod allowed himself and the others one more moment of pleasant reverie before he was forced to direct the room back to the serious matter at hoof, “Doppler will be scanning the area from orbit to try and find the HSG. Val’s modifications give our sensors a lot more sensitivity and precision than just about any other DropShip in the Sphere. They may be nearly invisible to the casual observer, but we’ll be looking for them,” he looked back towards Blood Chit again, “to include checking the area for hostile signals. If the HSG’s still crawling with vehicles even after the ruckus us ‘Steed pilots are making, Aileron’s not gonna try an insertion.

“Like I said: the intel would be nice, but we’re not going to throw away lives if we’re not confident it can be done successfully,” the pegasus gave an acknowledging nod, and Tig looked a little more relieved.

“Everypony clear on what we’re going to try and do here?” the changeling scanned the room, and was pleased to be greeted by a see on nodding heads, “good. Blood Chit, get your ponies suited up. Twiggie, Xanax? We’re dropping ASAP, so let’s get to our ‘Steeds,” he was already heading for the door by the time the purple alicorn could cast her glare at him. He was able to feel her ire though. Something that she could hopefully productively channel in the enemy’s direction.

Slipshod was more focused on keying his comlink into the bridge of the Zathura, “Aileron? We’re heading for the ‘Steed Bay. Begin making our approach. Has High Gain managed to reach the engineering battalion to get the latest on their situation?”

“Yes, sir,” the ship’s pegasus pilot replied, “they’re currently engaged with the enemy, trying to conduct an orderly withdrawal from the area, but it sounds like they’re getting pounded pretty bad. Could turn into a rout at any moment.”

“Understood. Put us down where we can cover their escape,” the earth pony’s pace picked up to a trot. He heard the hoofsteps of the other two pilots picking up in tempo as well as they overheard the conversation that he was having.

“You got it, commander!”

Slipshod felt the deck beneath him dip almost imperceptibly as the ship’s inertial dampeners fought to mitigate the DropShip’s sudden―and rapid―descent towards the planetary surface. It didn’t impede the progress of the three of them making it to the cockpits of their respective ‘Steeds though. They were being rotated from their inward facing stowed orientations to their outward deployment orientations even before the hatches were closed and sealed. Slipshod’s hooves flew over the control interface, starting up his Cavalier. His helmet went on as the familiar synthesized voice of his BattleSteed’s computer sounded out the activation of the critical systems so that he could conduct a hasty radio check.

“Gallop Leader to Gallop Lance, report in.”

“Xanax reads you Llama-Cider, Bug!”

There was a long pause before the purple alicorn’s resigned response finally sounded out over his helmet’s integrated headset, “...Twiggie reports all systems go...Bug.”

The changeling’s lips split into a smile, “Understood. Stable? Gallop Lance ready to deploy.”

“Copy you, Gallop Lance,” answered High Gain, who would be acting as more than a mere liaison between the Zathura and the ‘Steed pilots on the ground now that Squelch was elsewhere. She would be their direct orbital coordinator and source of intelligence on the area of operation. Slipshod would still retain unilateral operational control, and would be her authority as well, but it still behooved him to heed any recommendations that she might make, as she’d be the one with access to a lot of information that he simply wouldn’t have while they were on the ground, “tangos will be to DropsShip’s three o’clock upon landing. Mostly armor and long range support units. Scorpions and Strikers from what I can see.”

“Any sign of those ‘Steeds?”

“Negative. Nothing that immediately shows up on the ship’s sensors,” the earth pony admitted, sounding a little apprehensive at her lack of information, even though all knew it wasn’t a failing on her part. Not only were the light ‘Steeds in question fitted with hardware that aided in masking their signatures from anything beyond direct line-of-sight, the fact that they were designs that didn’t officially ‘exist’ meant that the ship’s sensor suite would be unlikely to classify any emissions that it did pick up from them as ‘Steeds in the first place.

Chances were actually pretty high that one or more of those ‘combat vehicles’ could very well be a Twittermite that had been misclassified by the computer, “Understood,” he assured the mare before directing his comments back towards his lance, “remember: those Twittermites have ECM. Don’t rely on you HUD; keep your eyes peeled for signs of movement in the trees. They might be able to hide from sensors, but they are still ten meter tall robots.”

“Will do, Bug!” the zebra pilot assured him.

“Twiggie, I want you to hang back and use Xanax to target their own long range support units. I’ll move in close and take out the armor pursuing the friendlies,” Slipshod said, laying out the plan of attack, “Xanax, watch your back. Don’t get drawn in too deep spotting for her. If there are a pair of Twittermites out there, they’ll be able to overwhelm you before we can reach you if you’re too far away, and it’ll be almost impossible for you to get a lock that Twiggie can use to help you, understand?”

“Okay, Dad!” the striped stallion replied in a faux exasperated tone, “this isn’t my first skirmish, you know?”

“But it is your first time going up against ‘Steeds of this design,” Slipshod countered sternly. He knew that the zebra was skilled. Being able to hold off those Gildas as long as he had back on Capensis had made that fact evident, but sometimes even skill could be soundly outweighed by technological superiority, especially when the pilot in question didn’t completely understand the nature and extent of that superiority. ComSpark’s technological edge was almost on par with that of the Clans, from what the changeling had seen. Both having managed to make what amounted only to incremental improvements on what had been in existence during the height of the Celestia League.

Even with three centuries to work with, this wasn’t entirely unsurprising, Slipshod supposed. Advancement was spurred onward most aggressively by necessity. Where weaponry was concerned, that meant that more efficient and potent weapons were typically developed to overcome―or at least achieve―an advantage over what the other side held. Presuming a firm research and development infrastructure existed, and wasn’t being routinely ‘interrupted’ by a malevolent changeling cabal intent on retaining their own technological superiority.

In any case, without any true adversaries to fight and evaluate the capabilities of their war materials, neither the Clans, nor ComSpark, had seen much opportunity to make leaps or bounds in warfighting capabilities over what had existed when the real Twilight had reigned. Thanks to the equipment that had been provided to the Irregulars by their Clan benefactors, that meant that they’d been able to refit Xanadu’s Philomena to make it more formidable than just about any other variant in the Harmony Sphere, but there was a difference between refitting a ‘Steed with advanced equipment, and a ‘Steed that had been designed, from the ground up, specifically to use the most advanced equipment in the galaxy.

He had pulsed energy weapons now, yes, but not the reduced-weight drive reactor that would allow them to fit the additional heat sinks to allow him to make the best use of them. In fact, in order to keep from sacrificing any armor plating to fit the heavier weapons, Mig and Tig had actually been forced to remove heat management systems. The result was a ‘Steed that could hit much harder over a shorter amount of time than the original loadout, but he’d struggle in a prolonged fight without support.

Xanadu had been briefed on the new advantages―as well as the shortcomings that went along with them―by the twin kirin mechanics, and he was a seasoned enough pilot to understand what those changes meant and take them to heart. So it wasn’t that Slipshod was ‘worried’, per se...well, not entirely. He was worried. The changeling would acknowledge that much―privately, at least. This was their first engagement where they would be going in anticipating meeting ComSpark resistance.

And, besides, the last time they’d fought ComSpark...well, they’d returned a pilot light.

That thought weighed heavily on Slipshod’s mind. He recognized that this was a battle, and that sometimes creatures died in battles. That was the way of things. He could live with that much. What was harder to push aside was the apprehension that he felt knowing that there would be aspects of this fight that he’d essentially pushed for, beyond what was absolutely necessary. If something went awry on that end of things...well, it would be a lot harder to convince himself that he hadn’t had a hoof in their deaths.

Like he had with Valkyrie, and his ill-conceived ‘advice’ to the pegasus mare on how ‘real’ mercenaries did things on a mission. He’d been trying to cover up for his own misplaced ‘weakness’ when he’d put himself in harm’s way to protect her during a mission gone awry. Only to have that advice come back to bite him in the flank, and get her killed needlessly.

There was a small part of him that was scared that this too was ‘needless’. That worried the intelligence that they stood to gain wasn’t worth the lives of the creatures that would be put in danger to get at it. If they died trying…

Worse, if they died and failed…

“Touchdown in ten seconds!” Aileron’s voice announced across the comm frequency, interrupting Slipshod’s thoughts and bringing his focus abruptly back to the present. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, made one final assessment of his BattleSteed’s systems, and looped his fetlocks around the control yokes in front of him. An amber light began flashing in the ‘Steed Bay. A second later, the lateral doors of the DropShip began to rise up, opening up the changeling’s view of the imminent battlefield.

He could already spot the myriad vapor trails of missiles crisscrossing the sky between the retreating engineering battalion and their ComSpark pursuers. Tracer fire from small-arms could also be seen where the rounds occasionally broached the treeline of a hilltop or mountainside. The sensor overlay of his HUD illuminated with blue icons, denoting the location of friendly contacts. More sparsely placed crimson symbols directed him towards the confirmed positions of enemy vehicles. There were sure to be far more out there than the half dozen or so that were detectable at the moment.

It was just a matter of finding them.

Slipshod’s hind hooves flexed and depressed the accelerator pedals of his Chrystal Cavalier, moving it out of the DropShip, “Bug clear,” he announced. The other two pilots announced their own departures as well.

“Zathura returning to orbit,” Aileron announced. Behind him, through the thick viewport of his cockpit, the changeling could hear the roar of the DropShip’s engines as it shot away from the engagement area at several times the speed of sound.

“Alright, Gallop Lance, let’s get to work,” Slipshod glimpsed down briefly to the map displayed on his console and started setting markers, “Twiggie, move to Nav Apple. That should let you lay down fire support to help cover the withdrawal,” he peered out over the engagement area, eyeing the sources of missile fire from the enemy before marking another pair of points on the tactical overlay, “Xanax, sweep from Bronco to Cider. Mark targets for Twiggie and take out anything that gets too close to you.

“I’ll create a phase line along the ridgeline at Donkey and hold them back. Anypony spots a Twittermite, call it out immediately. Understood?”

“You got it, Bug!” the zebra announced just as his Philomena cantered past him and plunged into the woodline.

“Moving,” Twilight acknowledged as well, the blip identifying her Rainbow Dash heading for the position that Slipshod had marked for her.

The changeling nodded to himself and accelerated his own ‘Steed ahead at a full run. Trunks shattered into splinters, barely proving to be more than a minor inconvenience to his Cavalier, as he hammered his way through to boreal forest in pursuit of the advancing ComSpark armor. The HUD overlaid onto the visor of his helmet marked targets that he couldn’t hope to see with his naked eye through the coniferous trees. Trusting in the accuracy of his cockpit computer, the changeling lined up his side-mounted prismatic projector cannon and depressed the trigger.

The chromatic projectile punched through trunks and sheared away branches in its path, seeming to not even acknowledge their existence at all. A second later the scarlet bracket that identified the position of the Scorpion Tank winked out.

“TARGET DESTROYED!” the computer announced. A moment after that, a column of smoke became visible as it peeked out above the treetops and continued to rise further into the air. Slipshod moved onto the next target in range, toggling over to the pair of large pulsed energy cannons in the shoulders of his ‘Steed while the PPC began its recharge cycle.

It would be fascinating to see how many vehicles would be destroyed before the commander of the armor element recognized that new threats had entered the engagement zone and started issuing orders to have their―remaining―forces respond.

There were―TARGET DESTROYED!―two fewer already…

“Jump complete, commander,” the kirin mare announced from her position at the astrogation station on the DropShip’s bridge.

The scale-backed stallion reclining in the command couch of the Friendship-class DropShipd’s bridge stared hard at the tactical projection on the holographic table in front of him, taking in the disposition of forces in the system. Brumal Storm, commander of the 3rth Striker Battalion, of the 21st Striker Regiment, of the Nirik Light Pony Mercenary Company, was no stranger to difficult fights. As the designation of his command implied, his were among the forces routinely used as the ‘tip of the spear’, so to speak, when their company was called upon to assault a fortified objective. It seemed that this, however, was to be one of their more difficult landings.

The planet’s orbitals were already firmly in the grasp of the enemy, and the number of vessels in orbit suggested that a considerable quantity of forces were either already on the surface, or could be deployed within rather short notice. He idly rubbed at his chin with his cloven hoof, mentally weighing the substantial disparity in the balance of forces between his fours DropShips and the Legion’s dozens.

He had the fighter support necessary to make it to the surface and deploy his ‘Steeds, sure; but to what end? They wouldn’t be able to hold out indefinitely against the Legion like this, and resupply wasn’t something that could be guaranteed until the orbiting ships were pushed back. He didn’t have the fighters to accomplish that. Not yet. He had assurances that more DropShips and fighters were coming as soon as other elements of the Nirik Light Pony could be mobilized and routed, but that would take another few weeks. At the earliest.

Yet, his marching orders were to get his forces to the surface as soon as possible.

Curiously, it had also been made abundantly clear to him that ‘possible’ did not mean ‘practical’, in this specific instance. He wasn’t authorized to wait for reinforcements in order to make any sort of counter-attack ‘stick. He was to fight his way through the blockade and get his battalion―along with their company of recently attached freelance mercenaries―to the surface of the planet immediately.

He wasn’t very happy about that, but those were his orders…

“Order the fleet to undock,” he said, “best time approach for Colton. Lieutenant Brisk, work out a rotation with the other flight-ops officers. I want a squadron on alert and ready to launch within five minutes at all times,” the commander cautioned, “damned if I’m going to be caught by a Legion fighter wing out here in the black.”

“Yes, sir,” his ship’s own fighter operations officer assured him.

“Good,” the kirin stallion stood up and glanced over at the stoic-looking mare standing nearby, “Stival? Walk with me,” she nodded and quickly fell into step behind and slightly to the left of her commander as they left the bridge and began making their way towards the lower decks of the large, spherical, DropShip.

After a few minutes, and descending four more decks, they reached the gantry level of the ship’s beam-spanning BattleSteed Bay. The massive metal cavern served as the holding pen for the full company of ‘Steeds being transported in the ship. At the moment, all twelve were securely stowed in their service stalls as they and their pilots waited for their small flight of DropShips to make planetary orbit. There was hardly any activity going on at the moment, as none of the ‘Steeds required any serious servicing, and the routine service that was performed on them took place only at eight hour intervals and required less than an hour to complete for the entire bay.

Which made the location perfect for conducting conversations that were best held away from prying ears.

Which was not to say that Brumal felt that he couldn’t trust the other members of his company, or especially his command staff. However, he had posed some questions to his second-in-command which could end up having...implications, if his suspicions proved founded. Implications that might end up―perhaps even rightly―giving his crew reason to be concerned. There was ‘concern’ enough floating around the battalion as a result of their operation in general. They didn’t need his paranoia needlessly adding to it.

If he was wrong, that is. If it turned out that he was right to be concerned...that was a different story. And it might even prompt him to take different actions.

“Were you able to find out anything about our ‘specialists’?” the stallion asked, keeping his tone low despite their isolation―the ‘Steed bay had a proclivity to echo―but not hiding the distaste that covered his words. He detested working with ‘contractors’ on operations. However ‘professional’ or ‘experienced’ they might be, that didn’t mean that they knew―or even cared to follow―established Light Pony SOPs or protocols. In his mind, if those pilots really were the caliber of pilot that they insisted they were, then they’d already be working for one of the larger mercenary companies, and not freelancing as a tiny independent outfit that couldn’t even manufacture their own ‘Steeds. Having to instead rely on stitching together battlefield castoffs in order to field even a lance of working BattleSteeds.

Brumal Storm didn’t have any respect for those types.

Even so, somehow the fact that these mercs who’d been attached to his battalion at the last minute seemed to be in the possession of ‘Steeds that looked to be in genuinely superb condition actually bothered him more than if they’d been obvious salvage. Those mercenaries had either enjoyed an unseemly profitable career to be able to afford to buy ‘Steeds like that...or they had a benefactor with better connections than even the Nirik Light Pony did.

He wasn’t sure what he thought of the implications of the latter…

“Other than a sublime career as premier mercenaries?” his second responded, using her magic to pass him a datapad containing the information that she’d been able to dig up. Her tone suggested that she was already aware that her superior wasn’t going to appreciate her findings, “their pedigree is impeccable,” she noted.

“Dromedary Defense...Invasion of High Peak...the Clover Blitz?!” Brumal Storm’s disgust at the latter was borne of pure envy, if he was being honest. That particular campaign a decade ago had been a feat of tactical genius that was likely to become a subject of required reading at ‘Steed academies across the Sphere in due time. If it wasn’t already. A single regiment had managed to take control of a planet in less than a week with minimal friendly losses. Unsurprisingly, it had consisted of only the top-tier units in the Sphere…

...of which it seemed their guests had been one.

If the information was reliable, at any rate, “this is accurate?” this was not meant as a slight against the mare’s capabilities or intelligence, but rather a clarification on the efficacy of her sources.

“MRB confirmed,” she nodded, not taking any offense at the skepticism. The kind of outstanding record that the company in question had understandably invited a healthy level of skepticism. After all, it wasn’t like no mercenary company had never ‘exaggerated’ their portfolio before.

Brumal Storm’s scowl only deepened further. A company could make any sort of grandiose claims that they wanted, alleging ‘being kept off the official’ reports by employers who didn’t want to share credit. Such a thing was known to occur. Whether it was the truth or not came down to how trustworthy the creature making the claim seemed. Even if they presented ‘proof’ in the form of an accolade, or payment receipt, those sorts of things were easy enough to forge if the desire to inflate their reputation was strong enough. However, nocreature could fudge a Mercenary Review Board record. ComSpark maintained a rigid integrity of their records that was held up as a gold standard for the rest of the Sphere. Something that their apolitical affiliation allowed them to accomplish with little issue.

If the MRB had a record of the contract happening, then it had happened exactly as the report alleged.

Whoever these pilots were, they appeared to genuinely be very accomplished mercenaries.

While those findings helped to assuage his nervousness regarding how truly competent the mercs that had been attached to him were, it didn’t alleviate all his misgivings. If anything, he was now even more concerned about how willing the attached company was to ‘be a team player’. If the stallion was being honest, these freelancers had more renowned careers than he did. Not that he’d ever admit it to them.

He let out an annoyed grunt and passed the datapad back to his second, “damn,” he muttered, “I’d have liked a reason to justify keeping them from making the drop with us,” he admitted, “I was sure they were just going to get in the way. Still am. Their commander hasn’t participated in a single briefing since they docked with the Jump Ship!”

The mare nodded in sympathy to her superior’s misgivings, “at least if things don’t go well, you’ll have plenty of fodder to shift the blame,” she pointed out.

“‘If’,” Brumal Storm let out another―significantly more―annoyed grunt, “a battalion against...whatever is already on the ground on Colton,” he spat, “it’s a damned suicide run!” he snapped. He turned away from the mare a second later, recognizing that he was unintentionally taking out his mounting frustrations with the operation on her, as though his subordinate had had anything to do with it. Another reason why he’d wanted to have this discussion away from prying eyes and ears: he’d needed to vent.

“We’ll lose kirin just getting through the blockade,” he pointed out rhetorically. The other mare was already well aware of how high the odds against them were stacked. The stallion slumped over the railing, exasperated, and started massaging his brow, “...I’m not even sure it’s worth having our DropShips try to take off again. We can keep them grounded,” he mused aloud, “use them for a makeshift beachhead. Hold out for reinforcements.”

“Our orders are to assault the spaceport at the capital,” the mare reminded him.

Brumal Storm nodded, still massaging his brow, “I know, I know!” he hissed, “and we can probably even take it,” he conceded. They’d reviewed the plan for the operation’s assault, and it was a sound one. Even if they exaggerated the enemy’s anticipated presence at the spaceport, it was still doable―though with significant losses, “but holding it...we can’t do that,” he said, shaking his head, “they’ll push us back out within the day.

“They can bring in hundreds of ‘Steeds from other regions of the planet to throw against us,” the stallion pointed out, “meanwhile, we’ll only have what ammunition we’re carrying with us or can salvage from the spaceport―and you know they’ll blow the magazines the moment it’s clear we’ll take it!” the mare nodded in agreement. It’s what they would do, after all. Tactics one-oh-one: deny the enemy warfighting material if at all possible. It was piss poor planning to allow the adversary to use your own missiles against you later. Especially when all it took was one well-placed autocannon round to solve the problem.

“We can’t hold the position,” he reiterated, not feeling all that much assured to see his second nodding along in agreement with his estimation, “and I refuse to fight to the death defending an objective that won’t even gain us anything. If I knew that it was at least possible that we’d be getting help within a day or two, I’d have us make a go of it, but…” he let out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head.

“Weeks? Whoever ends up jumping in later is just going to need to take the spaceport all over again! It’ll be like we’d never even tried,” he spat, “...so I have to wonder why I should even bother in the first place.”

That was a very dangerous comment to make out loud, Brumal Storm knew. Had he thought for a moment that there were any other kirin within earshot, he wouldn’t have made it either. However, his second had his complete confidence.

Besides, if he couldn’t trust his own daughter, then the stallion was pretty sure that he had failed far more seriously in life than merely as a strategist.

The younger mare’s expression softened now as she felt herself falling out of her role as her commander’s ‘second-in-command’, and into the far less frequently exercised persona of Brumal Storm’s filly, “other than because that sort of insubordination will get you busted back down to engine tech?” she pointed out rhetorically.

“Better demoted than dead,” the older stallion murmured grumpily, his gaze softening as he looked towards the mare, “especially if there’s no point!

“What’s accomplished by holding the spaceport for a day; weeks before we’ll receive any help?!” his tone had ratcheted up an octave in his desperation for a genuine answer. One that he was fairly confident he wouldn’t be receiving any time soon. He let out a dry cackle of a laugh, “unless they taught you something at those fancy Equus academies you’d like to share with your dear old dad to help put my mind at ease?”

The kirin mare smiled up at him, nodding in sympathy, stepping over closer to her father and throwing her hoof around him, bringing him into a firm hug. The stallion sighed, reveling in the embrace and desperate to use it to disperse the ball of stress welling up in his gut, “we can’t go through with this landing,” he said to her in a low whisper, “it’s pointless.”

“The queen’s will is never pointless.”

Brumal Storm blinked in surprise and pulled away from his daughter. Well, he tried to pull away, at least. However, he quickly found that she was holding him in what was very nearly an iron grip, “wha―?! What’re you talking about? You mean Queen Twilight? What’s she have to do with thiiiiAAAAHHH―!”

His last word ended upon an abruptly punctuated ‘THUD’ as his body hit the ‘Steed Bay deck thirty meters below. The kirin mare peered over the railing, briefing inspecting the mangled corpse of the―now former―commander of the 3rd Striker Battalion. A title that now officially fell to her. The young mare―who was not entirely a ‘kirin’, per se; but had played one quite convincingly for the last five years―strolled over to the far end of the catwalk she and her ‘father’ had been standing on and opened a cabinet there. After a few moments of rummaging she withdrew the impact driver that she’d stashed there earlier that morning, and sauntered back to where the two of them had been standing. A few diligent applications of the power tool later saw a segment of railing tumbling downwards as well, very nearly hitting the kirin stallion’s corpse below.

The mare smiled, walked away, placed the impact driver back in the cabinet―she’d return it to the appropriate tech’s toolbox that evening―and began tapping out a brief set of commands on his datalink. A moment later, she heard another mare’s voice respond over the bud nestled in her ear, “how’d the talk with ‘daddy’ go?”

“He got cold hooves, just like we thought he would,” she replied flatly, “but I dealt with it. We’ll make our landing on schedule.”

“Are we concerned about pushback from the crew?” the mare on the other end of the call asked, “he’s probably not the only scale-back with two working brain cells,” they pointed out.

“It would be helpful if the crew received an ‘update’ from their command letting them know that they could expect a relief force within a day of landing,” the not-kirin pointed out acridly, “any chance we can set something like that up?” this was something that wouldn’t have been an option while Brumal Storm had still been alive. The kirin stallion’s rank and position had allowed him unfettered access to the uptodate locations of every major mercenary force in the region. There’d have been no way to convince him that those ‘unanticipated’ relief forces were forthcoming.

“There’s an HSG on Colton,” the other mare noted, “I’ll comm them, and have them bounce something out of system and back to the Jump Ship that can be relayed to us. That should work. We can have word of ‘miracle’ reinforcements enroute within the hour.”

“Perfect. Do that,” the mare detoured into a nearby latrine and stepped over to a sink. She wet her hooves and delicately dabbed around her eyes and cheeks, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to tell the rest of the battalion about the change in leadership...and have myself a good cry to really seal the deal. Then I’ll be typing out a memo reminding the maintenance teams that they need to inspect the ship much more thoroughly.

“You just never know when a bolt or two are gonna loosen up on you...” she said while wearing a wicked grin.

“Have fun!” the mare cackled before signing off.

The kirin took one last look at herself in the mirror, inspecting the dampness around her eyes. It was a good start, and would soon be supplemented by the real thing. In less than a second, the otherwise disinterested expression on the face of the kirin morphed into one of such pain and distress, that it could easily have been used as a pictorial definition of ‘grief’. She swapped over her datalink to broadcast on one of the DropShip’s internal frequencies.

“Medic to the ‘Steed Bay!” she screamed in near perfect hysterics, “my father’s hurt! Please, somepony; help!”

She was already galloping out of the latrine and heading towards one of the nearby stairwells that would take her down to the ground floor of the ‘Steed Bay so that she could be found sobbing appropriately over her father, who had died ever-so-tragically when the railing he was leaning on gave way, due to loose bolts which had been neglected by the monthly inspections of the ship’s interior structure for far too long. Somepony would be spending a week in the brig for horn-waving their inspection reports. She wasn’t sure who yet. Probably that cyan mare who gave her the stink-eye last week for sleeping with her coltfriend...

Slipshod slammed a hoof down on his console, silencing the rather obnoxious alarm that was―rather redundantly, in his opinion―warning him about the loss of the last of his ablative plating along his Chrystal Cavalier’s left barrel. He was perfectly aware that what had effectively been a triple-broadside from a Shrek PPC Carrier was one of the few combat vehicles in existence which could do serious damage to even a ‘Steed like his.

It had been his own fault, really. He’d failed to heed his own advice and allowed himself to be drawn too deeply into the enemy’s lines. Several minutes of effectively one-shotting lighter armored units had caused him to grow complacent. Before he knew it, the targets he was picking out had changed from the light and medium Scorpion Tank varieties to much heavier hitting models of vehicle like Demolishers with their type-twenty autocannons and Shreks, boasting a trio of prismatic projector cannons. They were slow moving, and their turrets couldn’t track fast moving targets, but if they hit you, you felt it!

His Cavalier had ‘felt’ far more hits than he cared to, and it honestly wouldn’t take being tagged by too many more to send him down for good.

Twilight was faring much better, at least. Her Rainbow Dash’s jump jets were allowing her to dart out of the firing arcs of the vehicles far too quickly for them to get a good firing solution on her. Xanadu was managing to hold his own as well. The zebra pilot had finished mopping up the last of the missile carriers and was closing in with his two heavier cohorts to help them mop up the last of the vehicles.

Another piece of good news was that the engineers were safely out of the area, and moving unmolested back to friendly territory. As far their obligation to the Gray Lines Legion was concerned, they could call in the Zathura at any time and withdraw. In fact, there was quite a bit of wisdom in that particular plan of action, truth be told. However, there was still the unofficial objective that the Irregulars had assigned to themselves while they were in the area, which had yet to be accomplished.

On that note, Slipshod hastily keyed in the DropShip’s frequency, “High Gain, any sign of that damn generator yet?!” as he spoke, he wheeled his ‘Steed around and cycled through all four of his emerald-hued medium energy cannons, pouring them into the forward facing armor of the Shrek. It had little effect on the heavily armored vehicle, but at least it made him feel better to do something to it in retaliation.

“Still trying, commander,” came the earth pony mare’s own frustrated reply, “Doppler’s having trouble pinning it down; there’re too many thermal signatures in the area.”

Slipshod let out an aggravated growl as he drove his Cavalier headlong at the PPC carrier in an attempt to crush it. However, much to his chagrin―and as he’d feared―the vehicle actually managed to stand up to the weight of his ‘Steed. Not too surprising, he supposed. It did weigh more than his own ‘Steed did, after all. The changeling noted in the back of his head that there were unlikely to be fewer thermal signatures in the area any time soon, seeing as how just about every target they took down effectively created another heat bloom as it started to burn…

“What are the chances we can get them to make a broadcast while they’re in the area?” he heard the unicorn sensor tech muse sardonically over the frequency.

The stallion just rolled his eyes and kept his ‘Steed moving in an effort to make himself a harder target. The coil of rainbow light that zipped across his field of view informed him that it was working. A tremor which shook his piloting couch and an alert regarding the amount of plating left on his ‘Steed’s right barrel prompted the changeling to revise his assessment downward to ‘mostly working’, “you want I should call ‘em up and ask real nice; changeling to changeling?”

“Couldn’t hurt,” Doppler observed.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that shit…” Slipshod muttered as he slammed down on the decelerator of his Cavalier, threw it into reverse, and yanked savagely at the steering yokes. A third PPC bolt slammed through the thicket in front of him, missing by meters but still fizzling out the icons on his HUD. Fortunately, the distances involved made those scarlet brackets rather redundant. His ‘Steed reversed and turned, bringing his―finally recharged―heavier weapons to bear on the Shrek. The stallion unleashed his own projection cannon and both pulsed energy weapons, which proved to be up to the task of finishing off the carrier, birthing another blossom of heat to further confound the ship’s perhaps too sensitive sensor suite.

He spurred his Cavalier back into forward motion and triggered a brief reboot and degaussing of his HUD to clear the lingering effects of the Shrek’s PPC hits and near-misses. When it came back online, all the markers were once again crisp and solid. There were also blessedly fewer of them. Though they were still somehow yet to catch sight of two particular signals, “has anypony spotted those Twittermites yet?”

“I’ve been playing grab-flank with something out here that keeps dropping on and off my radar,” Xanadu reported, audibly annoyed, “I think it’s trying to draw me in somewhere, because it doesn’t chase me past Nav Hayseed.”

“It’s absolutely trying to lure you into a trap,” Slipshod confirmed, “either its partner, or maybe a Demolisher or something lying unpowered deeper in the valley. Get back here to me. We’ll mop up the rest of what we can see here and then go in together. Whatever they’ve got should be able to take all three of us on, or they’d have brought it out already,” he noted.

“Roger; moving!”

“How’re you holding up, Twiggie? Any missiles left?”

“Negative on missiles,” the purple mare informed him, “and down to my last three AC rounds.”

“Understood,” Slipshod had figured as much. Her twenty-pack LRM launches did burn through ammunition rather quickly, and the Rainbow Dash only carried a couple tons of missiles to feed them. She still had her own PPCs, but not much else once those last few autocannon rounds were spent. His and Xanadu’s ‘Steeds were almost entirely energy-weapon fitted, so they didn’t have to worry about running dry; but with Twilight’s punching power cut by about half, it would reduce their lance’s overall offensive capabilities by quite a lot. Especially at range.

They should have enough firepower to take on a pair of light ‘Steeds though. The real problem there was forcing a confrontation. The pilots of those Twittermites had the upper hoof in terms of speed and visibility. They’d get to pick the terms of the engagement, and that wasn’t ideal. They’d also be free to withdraw the moment things stopped going their way. If those pilots were good enough, they could extend this encounter into a series of inconclusive skirmishes that went on for hours.

And it wasn’t a guarantee that they’d have that kind of time. The Legion could end up giving them a withdrawal order in order to redeploy and help somewhere else on the planet. Who knew when they’d get another shot at trying to raid this site again?

They needed to compel the Twittermites to come to them...

“Stick close,” the changeling instructed his lancemates. He peered at the navigational map of the area on his console and started plotting out a basic search pattern, “we’ll start sweeping the area for the HSG.”

“What about the Twittermites?” Xanadu asked.

“They can move faster than all three of us,” Slipshod pointed out, “and they’ll see us coming long before we’ll see them. They won’t engage us until they have to.”

“...and they won’t ‘have’ to until we threaten the HSG,” Twilight added, catching on to the stallion’s line of thought.

“Exactly.”

“But the sensors on our ‘Steeds aren’t sensitive enough to detect the facility,” the zebra pilot pointed out correctly. Then he added, “I mean, not without us being almost right on top of it anyway…”

“True,” Twilight said, “and the moment it looks like we’re about to stumble onto it, those ‘Steeds are going to swoop in and try to either chase us off or draw us away.”

“They’ll know we’re just doing a blind search,” Slipshod acknowledged. Anycreature who watched their progress for more than a few minutes would be able to clearly see that the three of them didn’t know the exact location of the HSG facility, “but the fact that we’re doing a search at all should freak them out a little. As far as they’re concerned we were just sent here to rescue those engineers, remember?

“But now those engineers are safely out of the area and there’re no more serious threats around. We should be leaving here too…,” Slipshod couldn’t help but smile slightly at the thought of what would start going through the heads of the changelings in the area in a few minutes, “...and it’s going to make them very nervous that we’re not.”

“Almost like we know there’s something here to find…” the stallion was able to detect a similar mirth in the alicorn’s words as well, and he approved.

Vesper was one very unhappy bug pony, and she was having a very bad day.

Part of her had to wonder if this day hadn’t been the manifestation of some sort of cosmic retribution for all of the silent complaints that she’d had regarding the assignment. Being Facility Director for a secret HyperSpark Generator sequestered in the middle of nowhere on a middling border world was never going to be a particularly ‘glorious’ assignment, after all. It certainly wasn’t any sort of detriment to the career of an operative in Her Majesty’s service, by any stretch. Many tens of thousands of drones worked in such places across the galaxy. There was even a fair amount of upward mobility available to her.

Until today, Vesper had every reason to believe that she was well on her way to being promoted to Regional Facility Coordinator within the decade, with the possibility of becoming the Operations Manager for the entirety of KIRCOM. She could have been making personal reports to The Queen Herself within thirty years! A respectable position―even an envious one―for a mere drone, to be sure…

...Just not an exciting one.

Wake up, review the previous evening’s HyperSpark traffic, review the scheduled traffic the day, file her report with her superiors, rinse, repeat. As a Regional Facility Coordinator, her duties would have been just as dreary: review several dozen nearly identical reports from the Directors that reported to her, consolidate them into a singular report for the Operations Manager, and forward whatever directives said Ops Manager sent her to be disseminated to the HSGs under her purview.

A career full of mind-numbingly dull monotony.

Oh, how she envied that monotony in this moment! The last twelve hours had proven to be far too ‘exciting’ for her tastes.

It had all seemed like a simple enough problem to solve when those damnable engineers first arrived: simply ignore them and do nothing. Just like she always did whenever some random group decided to wander through the area. Usually such groups consisted of contractors scouting for resource deposits on behalf of some materials firm or other. If it looked like they were going to find something worthwhile, she just placed a call with her contacts in the planetary government and an appropriate environmental injunction against any sort of digging or drilling in the area was filed through the courts. The contractors were gone within the week.

She hadn’t known why those engineers were here at first. Then they’d started surveying blasting sites in order to construct a dam. The last thing she needed was ponies setting off bombs right over her head. Unfortunately, the planetary government was going through something of a ‘restructuring’ at the moment, thanks to the unscheduled invasion of Colton, and so Vesper wasn’t able to make use of her preferred method of dealing with interlopers. She’d been forced to get ‘creative’.

Not that she had a lot of tools at her disposal in the first place. However, they had just been unsupported engineers many miles away from serious reinforcements. She had confirmed with her other sources on the planet that every military unit that was part of the invasion was accounted for, and currently wrapped up in assignments that it was unlikely they’d be withdrawn from to help out one little engineering battalion in the middle of the wilderness away from any strategically important locations.

So she’d ordered the security elements under her command to be hastily painted up to look like local militia forces and sent them out to chase off their unwanted guests. Everything had even been going quite well too, at first…

...then a light lance of BattleSteeds had dropped in out of nowhere. One that hadn’t been on any of the earlier intelligence reports that she’d received. Apparently they were newly arrived mercenaries in the system.

As was to be expected, those ‘Steeds―of which two were suspiciously rare models―had managed to soundly trounce her vehicular forces. Fortunately, it had seemed like the purpose of those mercenaries had simply been to help cover the withdrawal of the engineers. Vesper had decided that she could live with the loss of so many of her security staff, so long as the goal of clearing the interloping force out of the area remained accomplished. With luck, whoever was in charge of deployments would be unwilling to send out unsupported groups again into the region, and it would be some time before genuine military forces could be spared to protect them. Long enough, hopefully, for her contacts on the planet to contrive reasons why returning here was unwise or unnecessary.

Then the lance had, for some reason, decided not to pull out with the engineers!

To Vesper’s immense consternation, it looked like they’d even elected to begin conducting a systematic search of the area. Perhaps to locate whatever base the ‘militia’ units had come from? Possible, the changeling supposed. That didn’t make it any less frustrating though.

Nor did it help with her dread where the contents of her report for the day was concerned. Bad enough that she was going to be forced to report the near total loss of her security forces―as well as having to put in a request for replacements to be smuggled in. Now she was likely going to have to explain what she could have possibly done wrong that would prompt a lance to ‘search’ for her facility. Even though it was just a coincidence that the lance was looking for anything in the area. After all, there was no possible way that they could know about the second HSG on Colton…

“Ma’am, secure communique coming in for you,” one of the techs called out from his station.

Vesper massaged her temple and let out an annoyed sigh. Nothing in her experience suggested that any calls she was likely to receive at a time like this was going to be welcome news. However, avoiding the message wasn’t an option either, unfortunately, “put it through,” she commanded, then regarded the holoprojection table in front of her as the local map and the trio of crimson blips tracking the errant ‘Steeds was replaced by the head of a changeling mare, “this is Director Vesper of the Colton HSG; what can I do for you…?”

“Colonel Myrma, of Her Majesty’s 41st Special Reactionary Force,” the other mare introduced herself, “we’re here to solve the Colton issue for you. However, we’re going to need some assistance from your facility to make our job easier.”

“What sort of ‘assistance’?” Vesper asked cautiously, not certain that she liked the sound of that. Typically, reactionary forces were the ones doing the ‘assisting’, and she could certainly use some of that right about now to deal with those BattleSteeds roaming around on the surface.

“The Light Pony force up here is a little hesitant about making a drop on Colton without assurance that reinforcements are on the way,” the colonel explained, “we already had to deal with one commander getting cold hooves. Too many more could undermine the whole mission,” the hologram cast a knowing look at the Facility Director, “an HSG message letting them know help is just a day or two away would be greatly appreciated.”

Vesper’s frown deepened, “as much as I’d love to help you, colonel, we have something of a ‘situation’ down here at the moment,” she admitted reluctantly.

Myrma’s eyes narrowed, “what kind of ‘situation’?”

“A lance is poking around on the surface.”

“They’ve found you?”

Vesper shook her head, “we don’t think so, but they’re engaged in a search pattern. We don’t know what they think they’re looking for, but the last thing I want to do is draw attention to ourselves by sending out a HyperSpark message.”

The hologram frowned now, “‘Steeds sensors can’t detect HyperSpark transmissions,” she pointed out, “and any DropShip in orbit won’t be able to pin down a source either. They’ll assume it was from the primary array in the capital,” Vesper was about to voice her concern regarding the risk involved, but the other changeling seemed to have anticipated her reluctance, “but, if it will make you feel better, we can deploy one of our lances to help you out.

“However,” the colonel stressed, “we’ll need that message first in order to make the drop. Understood?”

The changeling in charge of the facility sighed and nodded her head. It would be a stretch to say that she was thrilled about the plan of action, but it did sound like it was the best option available to her. Besides, technically, she didn’t really have the authority to refuse the colonel’s request. Her job was to protect the secrecy of the generator and coordinate requested HSG traffic, not determine what messages were and were not reasonable to transmit.

There was room to argue, perhaps, that transmissions could be delayed if she felt that would contribute to the secrecy of the facility. However, like the colonel had pointed out: BattleSteed sensor suites were not capable of detecting such transmissions in the first place, and any DropShip that wasn’t fitted with its own HSG was unlikely to be able to triangulate such transmission sources either. The risk posed by complying with the other changeling’s request was minimal.

Vesper was just letting her nerves get the better of her, she knew. So she took a deep breath to clear her head and looked back to the projection, “you’ll have your message, colonel. I do ask that you expedite your relief all the same, if you please.”

The BattleSteed commander smiled now, “excellent! We’ll be touching down in twelve hours. Sit tight until then. Myrma, out.”

Facility Director Vesper grumbled as the projector table reverted back to its topographical depiction, and once more displayed the choreographed movements of the lance of ‘Steeds moving above them. Twelve hours was a long time. More than enough for yet something else to go wrong for her today. At least she could rest assured that that ‘something else’ shouldn’t be the ‘Steeds picking up the HyperSpark transmission.

She looked back towards her signal tech, “let’s give the colonel what she needs. Bounce a message off the Gallipoli relay, letting the Light Pony units in this system know that the…” she pulled out her datapad and quickly skimmed through the latest reports that she had regarding the Nirik Light Pony’s deployments in the area, so that she could cite a group that was believably close to the region, “...that the 50th Heavy Cavalry is on its way. Explain that they made a Jump Ship transfer to shave a week off their transit time and will be in-system tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Vesper forced herself to take her eyes off of the map. It was only continuing to make her nervous for no good reason. She’d likely be forced to face some harsh criticism from her immediate superiors regarding the loss of nearly all of her security forces, but it was nothing that would be career ending. A single blemish on an otherwise spotless record that shouldn’t keep her from receiving her due promotions. At worst, she’d prolonged her journey to becoming the head of KIRCOM by a few years. Hardly a concern at all really.

Once that transmission went out, her problems would be well on their way to being solved...

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