The next four days spent at the Disciple camp weren’t actually all that bad, Slipshod decided. Once everypony got over their initial shock of the whole ‘ermergersh, a chernglerng!’ experience, they seemed to settle right into a routine of enmity and passive-aggressive staring every time he allowed himself to come within line-of-sight while sporting his true form. If nothing else, it was at least a little freeing to know where he truly stood with others when he wasn’t confronting them with the ‘mask’ that he was used to wearing.

The emotions his true self evoked were more…genuine, he supposed was an apt word for it.

As a general rule, changelings didn’t need the love that they fed off of to be love directed specifically towards them. There were so many different kinds of ‘love’ that could be imbibed, after all; each with their own flavor and depth. Familial love, platonic love, romantic love, love of self, love of a passion...the list went on and on. All could be feasted on, and all were nurturing for a changeling to one degree or another. However, the most filling and delectable varieties of love were those that were backed by the most substance.

Rigger Brush’s love of her art. Channel Lock’s love for her brother. Those feelings were so raw and so potent that Slipshod rarely ever left their company unsated. It was a state that Slipshod had actually been unfamiliar with during his entire ‘sham’ marriage to Squelch. Which wasn’t to say that it had been a ‘loveless’ one by far. She’d felt quite deeply, in fact. However, there had been something of a ‘blandness’ to it. Nothing that put him off from getting in a good feed, obviously; but it certainly hadn’t been possessed of the exquisite taste that he received from Blood Chit when the pegasus monologued about his fiance.

Eventually Slipshod had stumbled upon the reason for this: Squelch hadn’t actually loved him. In the sense that she had been in love with Slipshod―the ‘mask’ he wore to hide who and what he really was―and not him. She hadn’t even known that ‘he’ existed, so how could she feel any actual love for him?

It had turned out that a lot of the feelings that he’d been sensing from others about himself had been muted, without him realizing it. How could he have? All anypony had ever known him by was his cover identity. He’d never been around anypony who’d known the changeling beneath, let alone anypony who’d had feelings for that changeling.

Recently though, that had all changed. Ponies knew who and what he really was, and so they could finally have genuine opinions and feelings about the changeling in their midst. It was like he’d been wearing earplugs his whole life without ever being aware of it; and then one day they were removed and for the first time in his life, he could really hear. Except it was with emotions, and for better or worse, he was finally feeling them at their most potent.

Most were suspicious. Even among the crew there were a scant few ponies who weren’t at least the tiniest bit apprehensive around him, especially when he wasn’t wearing his ‘Slipshod suit’. They acted and spoke pleasantly enough, of course. Even after the Colton Debacle, the crew had known him for too long to treat him with outright hostility just because he wasn’t a ‘pony’. They were just put off by his unusual appearance.

Twilight assured him that it was just because it was a change from what they’d grown used to. Change always rubbed creatures the wrong way―some more than others―and it could take them a while to get comfortable again. There was some merit to that, Slipshod supposed. Changelings―funnily enough―weren’t always comfortable with change either. Case in point: his walking around in his changeling appearance. He didn’t like how vulnerable and exposed it made him feel. Always in the back of his mind was this little nagging voice warning him that he was doing something fundamentally wrong by letting others see him as he was.

He was breaking rules, and putting himself in danger. He was defying her. He was a very bad changeling and he’d be punished for being bad!

It was a voice that was steadily growing quieter with every passing day, but it was still there to fill him with doubts and keep him more on edge than he might otherwise have been.

Even so, even with all the negativity being directed at or around him that hung around like a feted fart, there was something liberating about knowing that they were all emotions that represented how others felt about him, rather than the earth pony persona that he’d been forced to adopt all those years ago. It was...validating.

Besides, today the Disciples were far too busy tearing down their abomination of an encampment to pay him the level of attention that they had been for the last few days. Today was ‘moving day’! By which was meant that this was the day that the Disciples would be leaving the planet’s surface so that they could rendezvous with the Jump Ship that would ferry them out of the Kiso System. It was actually a pretty convoluted extraction routine, as far as Slipshod was concerned. It had a lot of moving parts which felt to him like they required a level of sophistication and attention to detail that the Disciples did not appear to possess.

That was the key word though, he’d learned over the last few days: appear. It turned out that the Disciples were very ‘appearance oriented’, and with good reason. They were indeed going out of their way to look as unorganized and non-threatening as possible; because ‘real’ threats drew ‘real’ attention. If they looked like a joke, they’d be treated with the seriousness of one. Which was why they dressed like brain-addled vagrants and formed their encampments to look like rat warrens―which was honestly pretty unfair to rats, in Slipshod’s opinion.

If they fell in battle, or the camp was overrun, there would be nothing to suggest that the Disciples were actually a sophisticated military organization. At least, that was the official narrative that Colonel Citron had given when the changeling had finally broken down and begged him for an explanation regarding their abysmal fashion sense. As a being that was innately mindful of appearances, their dress-style had offended something deep within him that demanded answers.

However, his abilities as an empath had suggested that there was something...almost spiritual for them about those routines. It was more than a mere modus operandi designed to hide the threat they truly posed to the changelings. It was a cultural observance.

Every time he had tried to press a Disciple for more information on that font though, they’d very brusquely shut him down. They had even been tight-lipped around Twilight after he’d entreated her to ask on his behalf. While the alicorn had been intrigued, she had also been mindful that they needed the assistance of the Disciples too much to risk alienating them any further than they already had by asking them to allow a changeling into their sanctum. She felt that was a big enough intrusion into their way of life as it was, without also trying to extract information that they clearly weren’t comfortable sharing with outsiders.

Which meant that the group’s odd sense of ‘organized chaos’ would continue to remain a mystery for the time being. Standing in stark contrast to things like the complicated choreography that was to be their departure.

As Slipshod understood things, the Jump Ship which had carried them to this system had jumped right back out the moment their DropShip was clear of its wake, making use of a rare and expensive bit of technology that effectively allowed a Jump Ship to carry a ‘double charge’ of collected energy. A ship outfitted with such a device could make two jumps nearly back-to-back without needing to wait the typical seven day period in order to charge its systems back up.

The downside was that it would then take two weeks for the ship to be ready to make another such in-and-out pair of jumps. All the while, the Disciples that had been dropped off would be left in the system with no way to leave it.

They usually tried to accomplish their objective as quickly as possible, preferably before the changelings realized that they were on the planet. This meant that they had usually accomplished all of their objectives by the second or third day of their two-week stay. The rest of the time was spent trying their best to stay hidden until it was time to leave, and hope that no mercenary companies responded to ComSpark’s request to hunt down and exterminate their strike team. All the while, their DropShip spent its two week stay hidden in the shadow of a convenient planet or moon.

Once the clock finished counting down to the final hours of their two weeks, the DropShip would leave its hiding place and set a course to rendezvous with the ground team. The Disciples on the planet would ensure that they were packed and ready to board the DropShip, spending as little as fifteen minutes on the surface. Once loaded, the DropShip would lift off from the surface and speed towards the nearest Lagrange Point. If they managed to time everything right, they’d arrive at the prearranged coordinates within minutes of the Jump Ship entering through the ‘pirate jump point’, dock, and jump back out again within minutes. Leaving minimal time to be tracked or intercepted.

Slipshod had been more than a little skeptical about the sequence of events when Citron had first revealed them. It seemed like an absurdly tight schedule to keep, especially without access to any sort of HyperSpark Generators to exchange message traffic with. The colonel had cryptically responded that HSGs wouldn’t have been of any use even if they were available, which only served to further puzzle the changeling.

Everything about this sort of timed-to-the-minute exfiltration clashed with the Disciple’s outwardly disorganized nature. The stallion couldn’t wait to see it in action, if he was being honest. The coordination was simply daunting to think about.

It was likely going to prove to be an even more daunting task as a result of the inclusion of a previously unanticipated variable. Namely: the Zathura. While Citron assured them the the Jump Ship had ample docking space to accommodate the second DropShip, there was almost certainly going to be a longer than usual delay in leaving the Kiso System as General Mayhem was consulted and entreated for her blessing on ferrying the Zathura and its crew to the Disciple’s hideout.

There was every possibility that the general would simply issue a flat ‘no’ and jump out of the system without even letting Twilight get a word in. Even if she listened, Slipshod fully expected her to stop giving the matter serious consideration once she learned that a changeling was coming along as well at the least. If either of those things happened...off to the Farasi Empire it was!

In the interest of drawing as little attention to the Disciple encampment as possible, the trio hadn’t powered up their ‘Steeds since arriving, and only transmitted brief updates to the ship regarding their status and the plan for rendezvousing with the Disciple Jump Ship. The Zathura would be touching down along with the Disciple’s DropShip so that all personnel and equipment could be loaded simultaneously, and then they’d head for the Lagrange Point.

With a little bit of luck, this time tomorrow they’d be...well, wherever it was that this General Mayhem mare was currently at, and hopefully well out of reach of Chrysalis and her agents so that they could make preparations for their new plan of action in peace.

In fairness, Slipshod had known that thought was a mistake the moment it had entered his head. Which was why he was wincing with dread even before his datalink chirped to alert him to an incoming message. At almost the same moment, the changeling sensed a shift in the overall tone of the camp. Agitation. Fear. Resolve.

A fight was coming.

>>CONTACTS APPROACHING. ONE-THREE-FIVE. TWO LANCES. HEAVIES.

Slipshod was immediately up and on his hooves, scooping up his barding as he flitted towards his Cavalier. Xanadu was running at a gallop towards his Philomena, and the hatch on Twilight’s Rainbow Dash was in the process of closing. The alicorn had likely simply teleported into her barding and then her cockpit. Slipshod briefly morphed into a hippogriff in order to make use of their talons to help expedite his own dressing efforts while not having to miss a single flap of his wings. Though the transition from the rapid hum of his gossamer changeling wings to the feathered limbs which required only periodic flaps was a little jarring.

It was hardly the most extreme adaptation he’d been forced to make between transformations though.

As he neared the hatch, now fully suited up save for his helmet, he shifted back into a changeling. His attention was briefly drawn to the motor pool, and the sounds of several dozen massive engines roaring to life. If there was one saving grace for this attack happening on the eve of their departure, it was that all of the Disciple vehicles had already been staged in anticipation of being driven on the approaching DropShip. The only change was that they would be getting driven out slightly earlier than anticipated...into battle.

His helmet went on and he slapped the hydraulic controls to begin closing the hatch, “―pproaching from the southeast,” Colonel Citron’s voice was mid-announcement on his headset, issuing orders to his column. In the interests of teamwork, cooperation, and not stepping on any more hooves than was absolutely necessary, Slipshod had agreed to place Gallop Lance ostensibly under the yellow earth pony’s command, bowing to the pony’s greater experience and specific knowledge of what needed to happen to make the Disciple’s method of extraction work more smoothly.

“First Platoon, flank right,” the Disciple commander continued, “Second Platoon, flank left. Third Platoon hold back and provide indirect fire on targets as I give them. Gallop Lance, you’re front and center. Put those ‘Steeds to work.”

Slipshod grimaced. Of course, his lance would last much longer and stand a better chance of coming out of this alive than any of the Disciple’s combat vehicle groups; so it was hard for the changeling to find any objective fault with the tactical aspects of the order. He simply wasn’t a huge fan of being the center of attention for two lances of hard-hitting enemy BattleSteeds. His Crystal Cavalier wasn’t that tough!

“Gallop Lance acknowledges,” he replied over the open command frequency, “I don’t suppose your ride’s going to be able to up their arrival time any?”

The Zathura was already in orbit and could be on the ground within minutes of a call for extraction. The Disciple vessel on the other hoof was still on approach to the planet from its hiding spot. It was due in less than an hour, but Slipshod was hoping that the ship had been conservative with its acceleration up to this point and that that estimate could be whittled down some.

“That’s a ‘roger’, Gallop Lance,” the changeling was relieved to hear, “They started red-lining their drives two minutes ago. New ETA: twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes was a lot of time, Slipshod thought bitterly. Time enough for a lot of ponies to be dead by the end of this. Hopefully he wouldn’t be among them, “Understood. Any PIDs on the targets?”

“Confirm two BattleSaddles, three Riflemares, two Party Cannons, and a Thunderlane.”

Slipshod cringed as the roster of enemies was read off. That was a lot of firepower heading their way. The Party Cannons had him especially concerned, as those chassis were essentially trotting missile platforms. Between them and the Riflemares, they would prove to be quite the hazard for any inbound DropShip. If those ‘Steeds were close enough and still operational when their DropShips came in for the pickup, there was no guarantee that either vessel would make it back into the air again.

It was not lost on the changeling stallion that a pair of lances which heavily favored chassis that were ideally suited to dealing with DropShips was making an appearance at almost the exact time his lance and the Disciples were supposed to be collected. He discounted the notion of a spy or other informant passing on information to ComSpark though. The general area of the continent was already known as a result of the runin they’d had with the Silent Knights the other day, which gave them a good head start on where to have units deployed.

Though that still would have potentially left thousands of square kilometers to cover―far too much to cover with any force smaller than a whole BattleSteed regiment―the Disciple’s own DropShip would have pointed almost directly to their exact position. They couldn’t risk entering orbit, lest they be shot down by one of the planet’s spaceborne platforms. Which meant having to go for a direct touchdown on the surface from space. Plotting out their projected flight path was something even a novice navigator would be capable of, and would have been able to do so the moment the DropShip entered sensor range hours ago. Once they knew where the DropShip was going to be touching down, all they had to do was direct their forces already in the area to the projected landing site.

Holding off two lances of heavy BattleSteeds for twenty minutes might prove unrealistic, Slipshod mused. Though it wasn’t like they had much of a choice. If they cut and run here, they might lose their shot at getting that much-needed Disciple support. On the other hoof, there was something to be said for living to fight another day.

The changeling’s hoof hovered briefly over the console as he seriously contemplated calling in the Zathura for an immediate pickup of his lance. If they cut and run now, his lance could be loaded before the approaching forces entered weapons range. Leaving the Disciples to die might not have been the ideal course of action, and Twilight certainly wouldn’t be at all happy about it. He could probably make the prospect more palatable by offering to evacuate a few of the Disciples on the Zathura. None of their vehicles could be taken, obviously, but at least―

Actually...that wasn’t a bad idea!

“Colonel, how attached are you to those tanks of yours?”

“What?”

“The Zathura’s already in orbit, and we can have her on the ground in three minutes,” he reminded Citron, “there’s room enough for your ponies onboard. The environmental systems can hold out under the strain long enough to reach the Jump Ship, no problem.

“Scuttle your vehicles and dump your gear. Nopony’s dying today.”

“It’ll still take time to get my ponies aboard,” the earth pony reminded him.

“We can buy you what you need,” Slipshod assured the other stallion, “we’ve done this before,” though that time there had been considerably heftier reinforcements coming to their aid than one Mustang-class DropShip. Still, they wouldn’t need to hold out for very long.

He opened up a channel with the Zathura, “High-G, tell Squelch we’re changing around the pickup a little. We’re ditching the vehicles and taking everypony on the Zathura. We need an extraction ASAP.”

It was Squelch, and not the ship’s comms officer who responded, “Picking up ponies and not ‘Steeds means we’ll need to land for real,” she reminded him. The changeling frowned, looking around at the dense woodlands around him which the Disciples had been using to help hide their camp. The Zathura wouldn’t be able to reliably touch down here, “the nearest clear landing site is a lot closer to those approaching ‘Steeds.”

That was also true, and it would greatly increase the risk to the Zathura. She was a sturdy vessel for her relatively small size, but hardly tough enough to weather sustained fire from several heavy ‘Steeds for minutes. He doubted that there was much that his lance could do to keep the attention of all eight enemy BattleSteeds. In fact, there were exactly three ‘Steeds among the approaching force designed for brawling other ‘Steeds, and Slipshod didn’t for a moment think that was a coincidence. They were there to keep their ‘Steeds occupied, while the Party Cannons and Riflemares shot down the DropShips unmolested.

Which meant that Slipshod couldn’t guarantee the safety of the DropShip and its crew.

Landing out in the clear wasn’t an option. Fortunately, it wasn’t the only option left to them either. Once more he reached out to Colonel Citron, “Colonel, before you scuttle all your tanks, use a few of them to knock over some trees. About a hoofball field’s worth. The Zathura’s going to need a place to touch down.”

“We already have some Scorpions working on it, captain,” the Disciple officer replied.

It was always refreshing to work with competent ponies. Now all that was left was to deal with the approaching lances with a lot less fire support than they had available to them five minutes ago.

Huzzah.

“Alright, lance, new plan: Xanax, you and I are going to play tag with those BattleSaddles and the Thunderlane. Twiggie? Swing wide and try and get in behind them. Focus on their support ‘Steeds. Your Rainbow Dash has the punch to take them down quick.”

“Yeah, okay, pit the Philomena up against a pair of assault ‘Steeds. I see how it is…” Though his tone sounded outwardly dry, Slipshod did recognize it as an attempt at humor, “Whatever it was I did to piss you off, I wholeheartedly apologize. Can I go help clear the landing zone now?”

He did have a point though. His medium-weight BattleSteed wouldn’t be able to stand up against the PPCs of those BattleSaddles for very long, “Tell you what,” the changeling said wryly, “You promise to keep the Thunderlane interested, and I’ll dance with those BattleSaddles, alright?”

“Deal,” the zebra might not have sounded overjoyed at the prospect of having to stand against a ‘Steed twenty tons heavier than him, but it was certainly a more appealing fight than opponents nearly double his weight and two classes higher.

Twilight was a little more hesitant, “Are you sure you can handle them on your own?”

“More sure than I am about the Zathura’s chances against all the missiles those Party Cannons are packing. Five gets you ten, those are C4 variants with the larger missile racks,” after all, these lances had been sent out of here for a very specific purpose.

“Sucker bet,” Xanadu quipped.

“Feel free to take your targets out quick so you can circle back around and help us, by all means!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the alicorn replied, “Moving to flank wide.”

The icon denoting her Rainbow Dash on his navigational map began to move quickly away from the camp, making good use of terrain to keep herself out of sight of the approaching lances. The changeling studied the approach of the incoming lances. He selected a segment of low ridge that should run parallel to their line of advance and transmitted the newly created nav point to the zebra pilot, “We’ll stage there. Get the drop on them while they’re walking by.

“Once we’ve made contact, we’ll use fallback plan Donkey,” Slipshod tapped out the command that automatically populated a series of additional markers on the shared maps for their lance. Their time with the Disciples had not been spent idly. A follow-up attack after having convinced the Silent Knights to back off was something that they had all been anticipating. Several contingency plans had been created based upon the size and direction of attack of the incoming force.

Had an attack like this come yesterday, then they would absolutely have approached this upcoming battle the way that Citron had initially ordered. Which was why those had been the orders that he’d given. Evacuating onto the DropShips would have been largely useless, as there wouldn’t have been anywhere in the system for them to go that was both safe, and close to the meeting point where the Disciple Jump Ship was going to be arriving. The pirate point that was going to be used was only about three minutes from the planet’s surface at maximum acceleration. The ring and moon systems of the gas giants where they could reasonably hide, meanwhile, would be days away.

The only reason that they could even consider loading the Disciples onto the Zathura and making a run for it was because of how close they were to the anticipated arrival time of the Jump Ship…

Slipshod suddenly felt uneasy.

This was either an incredible stroke of luck, or...whatever the opposite of luck was.

ComSpark had been dealing with the Disciples for centuries. It was entirely possible that their agents knew a lot more about the group’s tactics and doctrines that had been released to the public. After all, ComSpark knew that the Disciples of Discord weren’t mere ‘cultist raiders’. Could that mean that they knew about the two week turn-around for their Jump Ship, and that the pickup would be coming today?

They’d timed it nearly down to the hour if that was the case. Had this attack come much earlier, they wouldn’t be trying to run either, as that would simply leave them sitting in space for far too long without protection.

The chances of that being a coincidence, well...ComSpark didn’t ‘do’ coincidences, of course.

“Zathura? What’s the orbital traffic up there look like?”

Squelch responded a few seconds later, likely after having asked Doppler for the sensor tech’s insights, “Nothing significant, Bug; what’s up?”

“I don’t like the timing of this,” he admitted, “I think they might want us to run.”

Another brief pause, then, “It would be a lot simpler to take out two DropShips than trying to hunt down an armor battalion in the forest if you wanted to ensure a clean sweep,” Squelch acknowledged, sounding pensive, “What do you think we should do?”

What could they do? They had to get off the planet eventually. If the Disciples didn’t leave today, there wouldn’t be another opportunity for two more weeks. They wouldn’t last that long. Even if the two lances coming for them now didn’t wipe everything out, there would be more sweeps coming in the future to ensure the job was completed. They had to go.

“Nothing we can do,” the changeling finally sighed, “But it’s probably a good idea to make sure the weapons are primed and ready, just in case.”

“I’ll put the gun crews on alert and have High Gain listen in on the planetary defense frequencies.”

That was really about all that could be reasonably done, Slipshod thought to himself, still feeling a little more stressed than he had been a minute ago. Of course, at the end of the day, he was a ‘Steed pilot and couldn’t do anything about whatever might be waiting for them in orbit. That was for Aileron and the ship’s gunnery crews to concern themselves with. He had plenty on his plate as it was.

He and Xanadu throttled up their BattleSteeds and headed for their ambush site. It didn’t take them all that long to get there. Slipshod stared intently at his tactical map, tracking the movements of the eight hostile ‘Steeds heading their way. He could see too that Twilight had managed to get herself around behind them. She was prowling in the wake, just outside of their sensor range, while her own superior CLDF electronics suites kept the rest of the lance acutely informed about where the enemy was.

Slipshod took a deep breath as the first of the incoming ‘Steeds entered within one kilometer, “Alright, Twiggie: we’ll strike first. Once we get their attention, move in and pound those support chassis from behind. Xanax, that’ll be our cue to withdraw to the next phase line. The only thing that’ll be able to catch us is that Thunderlane, and hopefully they’ll be too busy trying to chase off Twiggie.

“Everypony ready?”

“Ready,” Twilight replied.

“You’re sure it’s too late for me to just clear the landing zone?” Xanadu asked in a mock whine.

The lead enemy BattleSteed was just five hundred meters away.

“Go!”

Slipshod’s hind hooves flex as he throttled up his Crystal Cavalier into a run. Xanadu’s Philomena was galloping beside him. They crested the ridge within seconds and suddenly found themselves looking down on the lead lance. A BattleSaddle was out in front of the diamond formation that was the standard for Harmony Sphere ‘Steed lance arrangements. Flanking it to either side and about fifty meters back were a pair of Riflemares. Marching at the rear was one of the Party Cannons, easily identified by the massive boxy bulks mounted to its back which contained the multitude of missile launchers they were renowned for.

His fetlocks squeezed around the trigger assemblies on his control yokes, unleashing every weapon he had on the left side of the BattleSaddle’s chest. It didn’t outmass him by all that much. A Cavalier was only a few tons shy of being classified in the ‘assault’ tonnage range. It wasn’t even that much more heavily protected than he was. In a straight up duel between their two ‘Steeds, Slipshod actually considered himself to have an upper hoof because of his heavy pulsed energy cannons.

However, this wasn’t a duel; the BattleSaddle wasn’t on its own. It was also tough enough to survive that initial hit intact. It was hurt, and even staggered by the shock of Slipshod’s prismatic projection cannon. Just about every scrap of armor on the affected side of its chest had been peeled away by the devastating onslaught of magical energy weapons though.

The enemy lance stuttered, surprised by the ambush, and presumably unsure about exactly how many other ‘Steeds or other units might be following Slipshod’s Cavalier over that hill. They all likely had some idea about the expected strength of their opposition based off of whatever report the Silent Knights might have made. For all they knew, a whole company of Scorpions were about to roll over that hill and hit them at nearly point blank range too. While heavy ‘Steeds generally had nothing to fear from any combat vehicle smaller than a Shrek or a Demolisher, there was a lot of damage that a Scorpion’s main gun and SRMs could do to such relatively lightly-armored targets like Riflemares and Party Cannons.

They flinched and veered away from Slipshod’s approach to buy themselves some distance in case any Disciples sprang on them. Only the BattleSaddle pilot held their ground, pivoting to return fire with their own complement of energy weapons.

That was when Xanadu chose to make his own move. He’d held his shot initially, but he made it now. A Philomena was nearly half the tonnage of a BattleSaddle, and its single heavy energy cannon and pair of mediums weren’t a threat to just about any ‘Steed classified in the assault tier. Not initially certainly. The zebra’s weapons were basically powerful enough to scorch the thick ablative plating of a BattleSaddle.

...Or finish removing the last stubborn bits that had managed to weather Slipshod’s attack.

Sapphire and emerald beams burned their way across the assault ‘Steed’s chest. The last of the platting melted away beneath the weapon’s destructive light, exposing the more vulnerable internal systems of the BattleSteed. Xanadu continued to charge ahead at the much larger opponent. Slipshod’s weapons were still cycling, so he couldn’t exploit the opening. But his zebra lancemate hardly needed help doing that.

The machine guns mounted in his ‘Steed’s shoulders erupted to life. Twenty-millimeter slugs and their interspersed incendiary tracers tore into the BattleSaddle’s internal systems. More specifically, they chewed their way into the two tons of short range missiles that were housed there to feed it’s SRM launcher. Like LRMs, nearly the entire structure of such weapons are constructed from a high-explosive material. While this has the advantage of being able to build highly destructive missiles that are individually small and lightweight, it also means that they are exceptionally volatile.

Especially when subjected to a sustained attack from the burning phosphorus of twenty-millimeter tracer rounds.

A BattleSaddle was a formidable ‘Steed. It’s eighty-five ton frame could carry a commendable quantity of weapons. Slipshod had watched Victoria Blueblood use such a chassis to great effect in the Minos System. They could weather a lot of punishment, even when compared to many other ‘Steeds their weight. They were fitted with almost as much armor as a whole Breezy weighed.

Unfortunately, all of that armor wasn’t able to do much to mitigate the harm that could be done by what was essentially a two kiloton bomb going off right next to its reactor.

The BattleSaddle was split nearly in half by the dual detonations of first the stored missiles, and then the main reactor. Slipshod didn’t see an ejection. He did see the flash of magical fire coming from a few hundred meters further afield that indicated a second BattleSteed’s reactor had exploded. A quick glance at his tactical map confirmed that Twilight had managed to down one of the enemy ‘Steeds in the rear lance. Things seemed to be going well for them so far.

“Xanax, pull back,” the changeling stallion barked, already turning his own ‘Steed away from the engagement. They were still outnumbered two-to-one and the zebra’s Philomena was outmassed and outgunned by just about everything else out here.

“Twist my leg, why don’t’cha,” Xanadu quipped, and Slipshod saw his ‘Steed bolting for cover almost immediately. Not a moment too soon either, as the Riflemare pilots seemed to deduce that there wasn’t anything else coming at them from the direction of the ambush, and so they pivoted to engage. Energy beams raked the smaller ‘Steed, but few lingered in any one spot long enough to perform any substantial penetration of his armor. The type-five autocannon rounds were a bit more concerning, but the striped pilot was moving fast enough to make himself a harder target to track. Those shells that didn’t fall short led him to much. He was back over the low ridge and out of the line of fire in seconds.

Slipshod, however, couldn’t leave just quite yet. He had to make certain that he had the attention of the other two brawler BattleSteeds first. Unfortunately, both of those looked to have been part of the trailing lance, which Twilight was engaged with. Between his cavalier and the alicorn’s Rainbow Dash, it was going to be particularly difficult to convince those pilots that his much more distant ‘Steed was the threat more worthy of their attention.

“Twiggie, back off,” he instructed. Her ‘Steed was significantly faster than anything else involved in this battle. Trying to chase her down would be a futile effort, and the enemy pilots would be forced to acknowledge as much. They’d have to let her go or risk having their lances be split too far apart to far be able to support one another. Once Twilight had disengaged, Slipshod’s Cavalier would be left as the center of attention.

It would still be obvious to the enemy that her Rainbow Dash was still out there, waiting in the wings for another chance to strike. However, they also wouldn’t be able to simply ignore the heavy ‘Steed that was tearing apart their more lightly armored companions in the lead lance. The Riflemares combined barely possessed the same amount of protection that the changeling’s ‘Steed did. He’d be able to make short work of them with only a couple salvos apiece, unless something was done to dissuade him.

Like a pair of ‘Steeds that were designed for close in combat bearing down on him, being supported by four other chassis from afar.

Slipshod turned his ‘Steed towards the nearest Riflemare and opened fire with his pulsed energy cannons on its right side. They easily burned away the miserly amount or ablative plating shielding the weapons mounted on its shoulder. The shell loaded in the autocannon there detonated in the chamber, shattering both that weapon and rendering the energy cannon paired with it inoperable. The better part of half of its offensive capability had been seared away in one hit.

Realizing their danger, his target throttled up and turned to flee. Slipshod’s quartet of chained emerald beams scoured the other ‘Steed’s right barrel, but did no significant damage. The other Riflemare sought to cover their comrade’s retreat, opening up with a barrage of all of their own weapons. The changeling was rocked by the blow, and several armor facings flashed yellow and orange as plating was battered and burned away by the hits. His response was a riposte with his freshly charged prismatic projection cannon. The helical beam slapped the Riflemare square in the center of its chest.

Plates of layered alloy dropped away like metal rain as they broke apart and became dislodged from their mountings. This was not an indictment of its quality, but rather exactly what a BattleSteed’s armor was designed to do, absorbing all of the damage and energy at the expense of its own integrity. This buffets the kinetic impact of the massive autocannon shells to help keep ‘Steeds steady and on their hooves. It also keeps them from receiving excessive thermal transfer from energy weapon impacts that might otherwise compete to be dissipated by the ‘Steed’s already overtaxed heat sinks.

Case in point: while Slipshod’s Crystal Cavalier featured the more advanced heat sinks that had been developed during the height of the Celestia League, and subsequently become nearly impossible to find on the open market since its collapse, his console was warning him that those systems were having trouble mitigating the buildup of excess heat in his reactor. Normally, this would be easily addressed by simply waiting a few seconds between volleys so that his heat sinks could bleed off the thermal energy produced in abundance by his energy-based weapons.

Unfortunately, letting off the trigger wasn’t something that he could afford to do right now.

He was already cycling through another round of his medium energy beam cannons, scoring hits on the legs and joints of the Riflemare that had fired at him when he was rocked by a staccato of explosions along his ‘Steed’s left side. Streaks of smoke whizzing by his cockpit, and the plethora of explosions erupting from the ground and trees around him announced the source of the attack as being the remaining Party Cannon only a couple hundred meters away. He was too close for a truly effective missile lock but, at this range, it was easy enough to score hits with a purely ballistic launch.

LRMs were individually smaller and less powerful than their traditionally unguided cousins, the SRM, and so they did less harm on a per missile basis. However, two score of LRMs still represented a not insignificant amount of damage, even if only half of them managed to hit. Much of his left flank-facing armor went into the red almost instantly. Another hit like that would almost certainly prove fatal to his Cavalier, if not him as well.

Slipshod rolled his left heel back, pivoting his ‘Steed to the left as it slowly backed up. Again he let loose with a burst of pulsed sapphire energy just as the weapons recharged, doing his best to ignore the automated warning from the ‘Steed’s computer system about the dangerous quantities of heat building up in his reactor. Those beams pummeled the overlarge boxy missile launcher mounted to the Party Cannon’s right side, rendering it inoperable according to his sensors.

Another strike sent a tremor up through the piloting couch of his cockpit. For a brief moment, his HUD blinked out as the system went through an automated reset. When his console resumed full operation, it was indicating significantly more damage had been inflicted up his ‘Steed’s chest. The reason for this became apparent as he noticed his tactical map showing that the BattleSaddle and Thunderlane had finally engaged him.

“Alright, I’ve got their attention,” the changeling muttered into his mic through gritted fangs as he increased the speed that he was reversing away from the fight, “Feel free to come back anytime…”

The heavier ‘Steeds were still just outside the effective range of his lighter weapons, so he didn’t waste the effort firing those at the approaching BattleSaddle. Instead he concentrated the four emerald beams on the Riflemare whose chest armor he’d decimated earlier. Though those beams obviously cut deep, they did not instantly down the other ‘Steed. The enemy pilot did begin to turn away however.

It didn’t make it far as a brilliant line of indigo light crossed in front of him and drilled the rest of the way into the Riflemare’s main reactor. It flared and sparked. A second before it detonated, Slipshod caught sight of a portion of the ‘Steed’s head rocketing upwards into the heavens as the pilot ejected.

“I’m liking this whole ‘batting cleanup’ thing,” Xanadu remarked cheerfully over the comms, “Can this just be how we do it from now on? You get shot at and soften them up while I get the credit for the kills?”

“We can discuss it,” Slipshod replied, unable to keep himself from smirking, “Over drinks. Which I will insist that you buy.”

He finally snapped off a reciprocating PPC at the approaching BattleSaddle, frowning as he watched the ‘Steed shrug off the blast with seemingly little effect. His sensor readings of the target indicated that the plating on his shoulder had only been mildly scored by the blast. Audible alarms began to blare inside his cockpit, alerting him to the state of his reactor and its perilously high temperature. The changeling reached over without looking and silenced the klaxon.

“Zathura,” he snapped, “update!”

High Gain’s voice responded a moment later, her nearly frantic tone clearly indicating that she was well aware that time was an acute factor at the moment, “Roughly half of the Disciples are aboard. We need another two minutes!”

Slipshod scowled. He was genuinely doubtful that their small group could buy the DropShip those two minutes, but he refrained from saying as much. They were moving as quickly as they could already. No comment he could make was going to expedite the process of packing a few hundred ponies into the DropShip any further.

Besides, they didn’t need to wipe out the enemy completely. Frankly, they’d probably already done plenty. One Party Cannon was down, the other was crippled. The same went for the Riflemares in the lead lance. Given the current approach that he could see Twilight’s Rainbow Dash making on the Riflemare that had been left behind in the trail lance, it would soon…

The icon vanished, an accompanying explosion visible in the distance.

That should be more than sufficient to protect the Zathura, the changeling thought to himself. He announced as much to the lance, “alright, that’s enough; start pulling back to the DropShip!” It would take them the batter part of two minutes to make it back to the landing site anyway.

“You sure you can’t help me get the hat-trick?” The zebra said in a faux pleading tone, “I’ve never gotten one before…”

“Maybe for your birthday. If you’re extra good this year,” Slipshod quipped as he heaved his Cavalier to the left and throttled up to a run. Missiles, energy beams, and kinetic shells, raked his previously undamaged right flank. The armor facings rapidly fell into oranges and red as they were beaten by the assaults of four unopposed enemy ‘Steeds. He cursed under his breath as his eyes watched the hits rapidly stack up and his protection wither away.

He wasn’t quite fast enough to outrun many of the opposing BattleSteed chassis that were pursuing him. The Thunderlane and the Party Cannon also possessed LRM launchers that would be able to harry him for a long while. Between them, they could conceivably do enough damage to down his Cavalier before he reached the DropShip.

The changeling let loose a frustrated snarl as he once more turned his ‘Steed around, sacrificing valuable time and momentum as he returned it to a significantly slower backwards trot. The BattleSaddle and Thunderlane were right on his heels, chasing him over the shallow rise. He opened fire with every weapon at his disposal, immediately undoing all of the good that the brief respite from shooting had done for his reactor temperature and prompting another alarm that he needed to silence. Again his strikes did not seem to do much more than inconvenience the BattleSaddle as the eighty-five ton ‘Steed pressed on towards him.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I could use a little cover here!” Despite his efforts otherwise, the changeling stallion could hear the anxiousness that had crept into his tone. Not unsurprising given the quantities of armor facings that were showing up as red on his display.

Twenty plumes of smoke crested the rise and arched over the advancing enemy ‘Steeds as the Party Cannon launched a volley of missiles parabolically. Slipshod winced and tried to shield his cockpit from any direct hits with a sharp turn to the side. He was moderately successful.

The last of the plating on his right shoulder was blown away, exposing the more delicate internal structure and myomer musculature beneath. One missile, however, did strike his cockpit, cracking part of the transparent shielding. His ears were ringing from the impact, but he shook away the mild disorientation and continued to fire, focusing exclusively on the BattleSaddle as he desperately tried to drill his way through its thick plating. This wasn’t an easy task in the slightest. ‘Assault’ chassis were aptly named, as a primary purpose of their role was to charge headlong into enemy fire and be able to survive long enough to reach their target.

In short order, the heat building up in his reactor as a result of his sustained weapons fire reached a point where it began to trip several integrated safety mechanisms. In an effort to avert an outright spontaneous breach of the core, it began an automated shutdown process. The process would be brief. Around only ten seconds or so would be needed for an inert core to vent most of its built up thermal energy. During that time, his Cavalier would be motionless and without weapons.

He would effectively become a stationary target for the enemy ‘Steeds to assault uncontested. For ten seconds. More than enough time for the advancing pilots to line up shots on his cockpit and outright vaporize him.

The changeling reached out and depressed a button that was shielded by a protective cover so as to prevent its frivolous use. It was a manual override for the shutdown process. Heavily discouraged by ‘Steed techs due to the risk of severe damage that could be done to the BattleSteed as a result of prolonged exposure to such excessive internal temperatures. Indeed, his own cockpit’s climate control systems were lagging in their ability to keep the small cabin at a comfortable temperature.

Of course, his ‘Steed shutting down also carried a risk of causing ‘severe damage’. In the form of being blown apart by the enemy.

The Thunderlane lined up a shot with the heavy energy cannon mounted on its right side. If it landed the shot, there was every possibility that it would cripple his Cavalier. The changeling cringed, bracing for the hit even as he prepared to unleash with whatever weapons survived the strike the moment their recharge cycles ended.

The other heavy ‘Steed’s shot went wide as its backside was pummelled by a barrage of missiles. The Thunderlane staggered briefly. Then it buckled as its left hind leg had its knee joint blown out by a solid hit from an autocannon shell. Successive hits from a pair of prismatic projector cannons on the mid-joint of its right forelimb caused that limb to buckle as well. The heavy ‘Steed rolled lamely to the ground, crippled beyond its ability to fight any longer.

Slipshod had been spared being slain by the Thunderlane; however, its larger and more powerful sibling was still barely scratched. The changeling’s Crystal Cavalier was no more likely to survive a strike from the assault ‘Steed than it had been the felled one. His eyes briefly flicked to the gauge listing the temperature reading from his reactor. He was far enough above the threshold that letting loose with everything he had would create a very real risk of melting down his reactor outright. Meaning that if he fired, he could die. Not firing didn’t seem like it was going to entail a significantly different outcome either.

He started turning to the right to present at least a little more armor towards the imminent attack. The BattleSaddle unleashed everything it had…

...And caught Xanadu’s Philomena squarely on its barrel.

A prismatic projector cannon blast, half a dozen convergent beams of jade light, and half a dozen short-range rockets hammered at the left side of the medium ‘Steed. While a sturdy chassis for its weight, it was summarily outclassed by the BattleSaddle in every respect, and had never been intended to face such an opponent in open combat.

Armor disintegrated. Weapons were reduced to slag. Myomer muscles shredded and melted. At least one SRM struck just below the jawline of the ‘Steed’s head.

The Philomena listed hard to the side, its legs nearly tripping over each other as it became perilously imbalanced by the force of the onslaught of hits. Just before it reached a critical angel, Slipshod saw the cockpit separate and rocket skyward. The inert medium ‘Steed fell to the ground, out of action.

The changeling’s heart sank. There wouldn’t be time enough to conduct a retrieval of the zebra pilot. He’d be left behind on Kiso. Worse, he’d almost certainly eventually be found by the local authorities, and tied to their lance and their intervention on behalf of the Disciples. That would go...poorly for Xanadu, to say the least.

That was, of course, assuming he even survived to be found. Slipshod wasn’t so certain of that however. Something was...wrong. He hadn’t seen enough thrusters firing during the ejection from the Philomena, and even now only one side of the small pod seemed to have working rockets carrying it away, throwing the little capsule into a perilous spin. When they finally burned out, and the ejection pod entered into ballistic flight, the changeling also didn’t see the chutes deploying to slow its fall.

He scrambled for his mic, “Twiggie, I have negative on chutes for Xanax! Repeat: no chutes!”

Xanadu wasn’t even going to live long enough to be executed.

And he wasn’t going to live long enough to mourn the zebra’s loss. The Philomena may have absorbed that hit for him, but it was far from the last volley that the enemy BattleSaddle was capable of delivering. The extra few seconds had bought Slipshod enough time to vent a little extra heat and allow for him to blast away with another volley though.

“Go for the legs, Bug; now!”

The changeling didn’t hesitate. He didn’t understand what the point was going to be though. His weapons might―might―have enough punch to disable one of the assault ‘Steed’s legs, but that was it. At best it would slow it down. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to take the BattleSaddle out of the fight altogether. Still, if that was what Twilight needed for whatever it was that she was going to do, so be it.

Fresh alarms and alerts which seemed quite redundant given that the temperature in the cockpit was creeping up just past the point of ‘sweltering’. His weapons all managed to connect with the approaching assault ‘Steed’s front left leg. As the changeling had feared, he managed to peel away every scrap of armor protecting it, and even snipped a few bundles of synthetic sinews beneath, but he didn’t remove the limb completely; and it still seemed to be functioning, if only jerkily.

The BattleSaddle was suddenly darkened as something eclipsed the sun above it. That something, Slipshod soon found out, had been Twilight’s Rainbow Dash. She’d vaulted her ‘Steed high into the air, arcing over the pair of damaged enemy ‘Steeds between her and the assault chassis, and landed upon the larger BattleSteed’s backside.

Part of what made BattleSteeds so much more capable was their myomer ‘muscles’. The synthetic fibers acted like organic musculature in almost every respect, except that they performed even more efficiently. It was how BattleSteeds were able to support a much more proportionally large tonnage of weapons compared to ground-based combat vehicles. Those muscles could withstand the incredible strain of moving a hundred tons of ‘Steed at speeds approaching sixty kilometers an hour. Significantly faster than that if the power of the reactor was stepped up.

These muscles, of course, required firm frames to anchor themselves on though. Just like how organic muscles relied on the presence of sturdy bones. If a bone became fractured, the strength of the limb became severely diminished. To the point that excessive strain might even break it.

Just as the added strain of an additional seventy-odd tons of Rainbow Dash exceeded what the BattleSaddle’s myomer could support without breaking the compromised limb. Where Slipshod’s weapons had fallen short of the mark, the assault ‘Steed’s own mobility systems finished the jobs, snapping internal structural supports as the myomer sinews contracted in an effort to support the near doubling of its burden.

The moment the first limb snapped, the dominos began to fall as the stress imposed on the undamaged legs was dramatically increased past their own tolerances. In quick succession, the other three legs of the BattleSaddle crumpled and shattered as the ‘Steed was driven to the ground beneath the hooves of the Rainbow Dash.

“Cover me!”

Slipshod jerked in mild surprise. Cover her? She and her ‘Steed were in far better shape than he was! Why did she think she needed cover from the two remaining damaged ‘Steeds? He was about to ask as much when he caught a glimpse of a magenta flash from within her cockpit. She had teleported away.

The changeling hardly had to imagine where the alicorn had gone to. He set his jaw firmly and spurred his ‘Steed towards her, and the two heavy chassis that yet remained, honing in on the enticing target presented by the motionless Rainbow Dash. This time the stallion did not fire away wantonly with his weapons. His reactor was still flirting with a meltdown. The opposing BattleSteeds were each already significantly damaged, and neither was designed to sustain significant damage on the battlefield. It should be enough to merely pepper them with shots to encourage them not to get too bold.

Indeed, it seemed that the remaining Riflemare and Party Cannon had come to the conclusion that, whatever the reason the Rainbow Dash wasn’t moving for the moment, it was unlikely to be a condition that lasted perpetuity. Eventually it would reanimate and, when it did, neither of their already damaged ‘Steeds would last long. Besides, they had to realize that there was no way that they could accomplish their mission anymore.

A Mustang-class DropShip was a far cry from any sort of dedicated combat vessel, but it was hardly defenseless either. Two lances of ‘Steeds could have easily destroyed it, but two individual crippled ‘Steeds, even heavy chassis, barely registered as a threat at all. If they were still in the area when the Zathura arrived to collect their ‘Steeds, that Riflemare and Party Cannon would be done for.

So, recognizing the better part of valor, those two remaining pilots exercised their discretion and withdrew.

Seconds later, Slipshod spotted another purple flash of light from Twilight’s cockpit a moment before her voice came over the comm channel, “Zathura, medical emergency! Xanax is hurt bad! ETA to pickup?”

“In the air now, Gallop Lance,” Slipshod felt himself breathe a sigh of relief when he heard High Gain’s announcement, “We’ll be there in thirty seconds. Medics will be standing by.”

Slipshod threw off his helmet and ignited his horn so that his own telekinesis could start undoing his barding. He was panting hard in an effort to cool himself down, debating whether or not he wanted to shift into something that could sweat in order to expedite the cooling process. However, in the end, he settled for simply leaving the oven-like confines of his cockpit and emerging into the much cooler interior of the Zathura’s ‘Steed Bay. His lips creased into a frown as he looked down at the deck below. The mismatched clothes worn by the hundreds of ponies milling below made it look like the DropShip was preparing to play host to some sort of wild nightclub rave.

The changeling’s attention was drawn to the far side of the bay, and the flash of purple light where Twilight had just teleported to on the gantry. She was cradling a very battered-looking zebra in her hooves, “Medic! Where’s the―here!” Cravat and another pony were already in the process of running out along the suspended walkways of the ‘Steed Bay to meet her and collect the patient that they’d been warned to expect.

They may have lost a ‘Steed today, but at least Xanadu had been saved. Machinery was easier to replace than competent pilots.

...And, of course, friends couldn’t be replaced.

Any sigh of relief that Slipshod wanted to be able to experience was going to have to wait though. They weren’t out of danger yet. Not until they’d jumped out of the Kiso System. At this moment, they hadn’t even left the atmosphere. He hesitated long enough to let the pair of medical ponies assess Xanadu and carry him off to the ship’s clinic before following them down the catwalk and out of the ‘Steed Bay. Twilight cantered at his heels. There wasn’t anything else that she could do in there either.

The ship’s bridge was a hive of activity as the pair of them emerged onto it, “―me a count,” Squelch was barking, sparing just a second to see who it was that had intruded before turning back to Doppler, “And a time to intercept.”

The sage green unicorn didn’t sound particularly happy. Slipshod didn’t need to wait long at all to find out why as the ship’s sensor tech gave her the information that the other unicorn had requested, “Six Transgressor-class heavy fighters. Accelerating hard. They’ll be on us in three minutes,” Doppler informed them.

“Sooner than that once we hit turnover in…” the sage unicorn glanced at the console near her command chair, “forty-five seconds and begin our decel,” Squelch muttered ruefully.

“We’re not at max thrust,” Aileron noted in an even tone, “if I red-line the engines, we can hit turnover and our intercept with the Lagrange Point twenty seconds sooner,” that might not have sounded like a lot of time; but during ship-to-ship combat in space, it was very nearly the entire length of a battle.

“We’d leave the Disciple DropShip behind,” the sage unicorn reminded her pilot, “they’re risking an engine burn-out as it is.

“We stand a better chance sticking with them. More weapons, more targets for them to shoot at to hopefully spread the damage around,” Squelch reasoned. While nothing in her voice suggested anything of the sort, Slipshod could sense her internal dread. While it could hold its own against a couple of ‘Steeds, a Mustang-class DropShip wasn’t exceptionally well armed when it came to ship-to-ship combat, and it certainly had never been intended to fend off a squadron of aerospace craft on its own.

Indeed, the standard layout of a ship like the Zathura sported hangar space at the front of the vessel for it to carry around two fighters of its own to deal with threats like this. However, those hangars had been refitted to serve as an expanded vehicle garage long ago. Not that Slipshod was particularly confident that two light fighter craft would have been able to adequately defend them against a fighter group this large even if they had kept the hangar.

The unicorn mare leaned forward slightly in her command chair and peaked her hooves together. Her mind was racing, trying to find them a way through this fight. Slipshod was hopeful but, while he acknowledged that the unicorn was a lot smarter than he was, he doubted that she was smart enough to suddenly materialize a lot more weapons and armor out of the ether.

Slipshod very nearly turned to leave the bridge and go back to the ‘Steed Bay. Under any other circumstances, he’d have suggested taking the ‘Steeds from the bay and walking them out onto the hull of the ship so that they could add their firepower to the fight. However, even if his Cavalier wasn’t shot to tartarus, there was no way for them to fit the several hundred Disciples currently crammed into the ‘Steed Bay into the pressurised areas of the ship.

They couldn’t open the ‘Steed Bay’s exterior doors without killing everypony they’d just rescued.

On the other hoof, one good hit from those fighters would be all that it would take to breach the hull and open it to vacuum anyway. There certainly weren’t anywhere enough suits to pass out to keep them alive in case a breach happened. This whole thing could still end up having all been for nothing!

“Engine cut-out!” Doppler blurted in surprise. The tensions of everypony on the bridge ratcheted up as their minds all assumed that the sensor tech had been referring to their engines. Aileron especially was shocked to hear somepony other than himself announcing a change to the status of his engines. Of course, any sudden change in the Zathura’s acceleration would have been felt by everypony present, so it very clearly wasn’t their engines that Doppler was talking about. A point the unicorn quickly clarified, “The Disciple DropShip cut their engines!”

“Fuck! They did burn them out,” Squelch snarled, now finding herself faced with trying to figure out some way to rescue a vessel twice the mass of her own ship with a half dozen enemy fighters bearing down on them. She turned to her pilot and was about to order him to cut their own thrust and begin backtracking towards the other DropShip. If they managed to attach some sort of tow line and started decelerating soon enough, the Zathura’s engines might be able to slow both ships enough to rendezvous with the Jump Ship.

However, High Gain called out before she could give that order, “Ma’am! It’s the Disciple DropShip,” she gasped, turning towards her employer, “They said they’re going to intercept the fighters on their own!”

“What? Put me on comms with them,” the earth pony comms officer tapped out a short series of commands and nodded towards the unicorn, “This is Commander Squelch of the Zathura; what do you think you’re doing? You’re no match for those fighters on your own!”

She wasn’t wrong, Slipshod thought to himself. While a Friendship-class DropShip was a lot bigger than a vessel like theirs, it really didn’t pack that much more firepower. A few more missile launchers and an additional PPC were the only weapons of note that a ship like that had over the Zathura. It was a ‘Steed transport, just like theirs, not a dedicated combat vessel.

“If we stick together, we might survive long enough to―” Squelch didn’t get to finish her plea before a voice interrupted her.

“Hello, Commander,” came the resigned response over the bridge speakers from the other DropShip’s captain, “I’m Captain Hollandaise. Though your comms officer has been perfectly pleasant to talk with, I’m glad to have gotten the chance to speak with you directly. It gives me the chance to thank you personally for your assistance in collecting our ponies from the surface. I have no doubt that, had you not done what you did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now.”

Slipshod felt understanding blossoming within Squelch, and saw the helpless expression on her face as she recognized what was about to happen. The changeling understood it too. The Disciple captain’s mission was to get the ground team back to the Jump Ship that would soon be arriving to carry them out of the system. If the Irregulars’ DropShip was destroyed, then she would have failed in that mission. However, if her ship was able to delay the pursuing fighters long enough to allow the Zathura to get away then, even if her vessel was lost, she would still have carried out her orders successfully.

“Get them the rest of the way home, Commander. My crew and I will do what we can. Hollandaise, out.”

The bridge was silent after that, as every pony on the bridge processed the fact that the Disciple DropShip had chosen to sacrifice itself to ensure their own safety. Beside him, Slipshod could feel the pain radiating off of Twilight as she internally railed against the impending loss of more ponies dying in order to protect her, while she was powerless to do anything to stop it. This whole situation must have been painfully familiar to her, the changeling supposed.

“I’ll start teleporting them out―” the purple mare began, but Squelch cut her off.

“Even you can’t possibly teleport ten thousand kilometers,” the sage unicorn countered sternly, not even looking in Twilight’s direction, “and that’s exactly how far away we’re going to be in a matter of seconds.”

She then focused her attention on their pilot, “How much longer can we accelerate for if we red-line the engines for the decel?”

“Another five seconds,” Aileron replied almost immediately, having already performed the relevant calculations at around the time he’d pitched the idea of leaving the other DropShip behind.

“Do it,” the unicorn ordered softly. It was clear that this still felt to her like they were ‘abandoning’ the other ship and its crew.

“Acknowledged,” the pegasus said, sounding almost just as resigned. Even though he’d suggested something very similar to this course of action, that didn’t mean that he relished the consequences, “engine cut and flip in fifteen seconds...Ten seconds...Five.

“Engine cut,” Aileron’s announcement was accompanied by a slight ‘lurch’ as the deck felt like it was pulled back ever so slightly beneath their hooves, “Flip,” the starfield visible through the forward viewport began to ‘fall’ downward, like snow, as the DropShip flipped upward onto its back, “Decel burn,” this time the deck was jerked forward as the compensators fought to counteract the increased thrust of the ship’s engines. They were being pushed to their limits now; which Slipshod was sure Mig wouldn’t be very happy about the next time she went to service them.

“Lagrange Point rendezvous in one minute, fifty-four seconds,” the pegasus concluded, his work done for at least the next two minutes.

All eyes were locked on the bridge’s forward viewport. Not that there was anything that could be seen apart from stars and the shrinking blue planet in the distance. However, though it was impossible for any of them to see it, they all knew that a fight was about to take place in front of them.

Without a word, Squelch’s horn lit up and her magic tapped out a sequence of commands on the bridge’s holoprojection table. It sprang to life, and illuminated with a rendering of the local planet and its moon. A few more inputted commands, and the focus narrowed to show seven icons. One was a blue circle, with six red triangles quickly approaching it. All eyes locked onto the projection, except for the unicorn working at the ship’s sensor station. She already had a clear view of what was happening.

Doppler began commentating on the fight, “Captain Hollandaise’s ship has opened fire with her missiles,” she announced, “Enemy fighters cutting thrust...decelerating to engage,” a haze of tiny dots departed the DropShip’s icon and headed for one of the triangles. It vanished the moment they made contact, and Slipshod could feel the hearts of everypony around him swell with hope. For a brief moment, they all allowed themselves to believe that it was possible the Disciple DropShip might survive the battle. Even he was guilty of that thought.

For a brief moment.

“Enemy fighters firing.”

The blue dot disappeared as fifteen heavy energy cannons all converged to burn a hole straight to the Friendship-class DropShip’s main reactor.

The ‘battle’ was over.

“Fighters resuming acceleration,” the indigo unicorn mare announced, her voice hollow, “time to turnover: ten seconds. Time to intercept: one minute.”

Squelch closed her eyes and sighed in resignation. Despite the sacrifice made by the other DropShip, they would still be caught well before their rendezvous with the Jump Ship’s anticipated arrival location. It was also worth noting that they had no way of knowing exactly when a Jump Ship was supposed to manifest there. As a result of their need to make a hasty departure from Kiso, they were the better part of an hour ahead of what would have been the original rendezvous time. Assuming that the Disciple Jump Ship desired to spend as little time in the system as possible in order to minimize the risk it faced from enemy forces, it stood to reason that they would be waiting some time for their ride to appear.

A DropShip twice their size and better armed had lasted exactly one volley. There was no rational expectation that the Zathura would survive any longer than the Disciples had.

“Forty-five seconds to intercept,” Doppler might as well have been counting down the number of seconds that they all had to live, Slipshod thought ruefully.

Squelch reached out and depressed a button on her chair, opening up a shipwide broadcast, “Gunnery crews, standby. Damage control teams to your stations. All hooves brace for impact,” then, like Aileron, the sage green unicorn leaned back in her chair and patiently waited. There wasn’t anything more that she could do to avert disaster. Even if she directed the pilot to start accelerating again, those fighters were capable of greater acceleration than the Zathura. All they’d accomplish was dying one minute later than they were going to now.

“I can project a shield around the ship,” Twilight announced, resolutely, “I can protect us―”

“For how long?” Squelch interrupted, “A minute? An hour? Forever?”

“I can teleport the ship―” the alicorn stammered, her voice trailing off as the unicorn commander flashed her a bored look, “Look, there has to be something that I can do to save us―” A thought occurred to the mare. She scrambled over to High Gain, “Call them and tell them I surrender!” she pleaded with the comms officer frantically, “Tell them I’ll give myself up if they let you go!”

“And why exactly wouldn’t they just kill us all anyway the moment you’re off the ship?” Slipshod asked her. He didn’t enjoy acknowledging that there wasn’t anything more they could do than she did, but he wasn’t about to start deluding himself with vain hopes of pulling some sort of miracle out of his flank.

“Thirty seconds to intercept.”

Not a lot of time left, the changeling mused. Though, he might as well make the most of it. He looked over at Twilight and cleared his throat, “While there’s still time...thanks. For not killing me the first time we met, and saving my life a few times, and helping me like you did. They’re not things I thought anypony would ever do for a changeling.”

She sighed, shaking her head, but also managing a wan little smile of her own, “yeah, well; I guess deep down I’m just an old sof―mm!”

There was probably more that Twilight had wanted to say on the matter, but she was having difficulty getting any of it past the changeling tongue that had been shoved rather abruptly down her throat. They were shockingly long, it turned out. When Slipshod finally let her come up for air, the purple mare coughed and sputtered, “What the fuck?!”

“Sorry. I’ve made out with a lot of highborn mares, but never an actual princess before,” the stallion grinned impishly, “bucket list and all that,” he briskly turned away from the baleful glare of the outwardly furious―and internally conflicted―alicorn to look at Squelch. She was regarding him with an amused expression.

“No ‘goodbye’ kiss from me until you wash that mouth out,” she quipped, still smiling, “I don’t make out with mares, even second-hoof.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Doppler managed to get out, souring her own brief-lived levity at witnessing the event.

“One minute until rendezvous,” Aileron added, looking over at Squelch with a wry smile as he pointed out the shortfall.

“No kiss,” Slipshod assured her, “I just wanted you to know that…” he fumbled the words, inwardly chastising himself. Was he really worried about how she’d react at a time like this? He just needed to spit it out. With a final preparatory breath, he began again, “Squelch, I honestly do lo―”

“Jump event!” Doppler blurted out in abject shock, “Jump event at the Lagrange Point!”

“You’re shitting me,” Squelch snorted in disbelief, looking away from the equally stunned and now muted changeling. Every other eye on the bridge was also keenly focused on the projection table, and the new contact that was displayed there. It was an exceptionally large vessel, far greater in size than a DropShip.

And it was broadcasting a Celestia League Defense Force identification signature.

“The Maelstrom?!” Twilight blurted out, “but that ship was assigned to―”

“Additional contacts,” the sensor control officer’s ongoing announcements drowned out whatever startled outburst the alicorn was making, and nopony on the bridge had time to spare for her observations anyway now that they had more pressing concerns, “fighters―many fighters! At least a full wing; launching from the Jump Ship―!”

Doppler had barely gotten out her update before High Gain was clamoring for Squelch’s attention too, “Signal coming in from the CLDF vess―”

“On speakers!” Squelch roared, very nearly lunging out of her chair, her eyes locked onto the symbol of their imminent salvation hovering above the projection table.

“Unidentified ship, please state your―”

“Colonel Citron’s unit is aboard!” They didn’t have time for ceremony and protocol. The five approaching enemy fighters would be in range in seconds. There wasn’t enough time to waste having any sort of deep conversation. The Disciples needed to save them, and that meant giving them the motivation to do so, “We are being pursued by ComSpark fighters and we have Citron’s forces and Princess Twilight onboard!”

Honestly, it was anypony’s guess as to whether those aerospace craft were genuinely being piloted by changeling agents or if they were kirins operating under orders passed onto them by Chrysalis’ agents; but the semantics of their allegiance hardly mattered, given that the net result was the same either way. Besides, the point was that the Disciples needed to use their fighters to protect the Zathura.

There was a pause that lasted far too long for the sanity of everypony on the bridge. Then, “Understood. Moving to assist. ETA: Thirty seconds.”

That was exactly twenty-five seconds too late.

Squelch wheeled on the purple alicorn, and near-manic glint in her eyes, “you said you can make a shield right?! You just need to buy us thirty seconds!”

Twilight’s features set in grim determination, and she closed her eyes. Her horn flared with amethyst light so brilliant that it was almost painful to look at directly. Through the viewport, the space around them took on a rosy pink hue. Only a moment later, the barrier wavered as it was stuck simultaneously by more than a dozen rays or destructive sapphire light. Twilight cried out in obvious pain as she was forced to direct a stupendous quantity of magic through her horn in an effort to sustain the protective bubble around the ship. Her hind legs gave out completely, and her forelimbs were wobbling terribly. Slipshod rushed over to prop her up. He didn’t need to feel her pain to be able to tell how much of it she was in. From the expression on her face, the alicorn looked like she was being put through a trial more harrowing than his interrogation by that psychopathic griffon.

Seconds later, Twilight let out another anguished cry and collapsed fully. An alicorn and a powerful wielder of magic in her own right she may be, but the weapons that she was up against traced their genesis back to magicks that she developed for the explicit purpose of defeating Tirek; himself a immensely powerful being that was capable of matching the combined might of several alicorns. In a very real sense, she was up against herself in this moment, trying to resist the very tools that she had devised in order to slay a monster far more powerful than she was.

That she’d lasted this long was honestly a miracle in itself.

However, two volleys seemed to be her limit, and Twilight collapsed to the deck, moaning and panting with effort. Her horn blackened and wafting smoke. Slisphod’s nostrils curled at the scent of scorched flesh and bone that hung in the air around the fallen mare. She wasn’t giving up though. The changeling watched her continue to struggle, moving her uncooperative limbs in an effort to get them back under her body and stand up once more. Her eyes were furiously blinking away the tears that were blurring her vision. Her horn sparked and sputtered, but refused to ignite. Through the viewport, the crisp blackness of space was clearly visible.

Their shield was gone.

“They’re coming around for another pass!” Doppler warned them, her words hollow and empty; mirroring the fatalistic acceptance that was once more creeping into the hearts of everypony else on the bridge.

Slipshod very nearly gagged on the sensation. It tasted like the emotional equivalent of bile. Beyond the bridge, he could sense the ratcheting feelings of fear and panic from the rest of the ship. Beyond this room, nopony knew exactly what was happening. Not specifically. They only knew that they were in danger. In the absence of detailed knowledge, their imaginations were filling in the missing pieces. The results of such speculation very rarely led to measured emotional responses.

The changeling knelt down, looking fervently at Twilight, “you have to get that shield back up!” It was a worthless statement of course. The alicorn was well enough aware of how dire their situation was, and that she was the only one capable of keeping them alive long enough to be rescued.

Her horn continued to spit, spark, and sputter, but no magic manifested. She wasn’t giving up, but she was shaking her head all the same, “...there’s nothing left,” she told him, “I’m burned out! I need...help…” The alicorn’s eyes darted around the room, lingering briefly on Squelch and Doppler, the only other unicorns nearby. The only available sources of additional magic that she could draw on to power the shield spell. For the briefest of moments, she thought about asking for their help…

...But it would have been a useless and futile effort anyway. Twilight possessed more magical energy that probably every other unicorn on the whole ship combined, and had only lasted for two volleys. Whatever energy she could have hoped to draw from the pair probably wouldn’t have even been enough to manifest another shield, let alone allow it to hold fast against the next attack. All that the purple mare would end up accomplishing was to inflict painful mana burn upon Doppler and Squelch before they were inevitably killed. Robbing them of at least the mercy of being pain free before dying swiftly in the impending reactor core breach that would envelop the Zathura when the fighters fired.

Twilight couldn’t get the energy she needed from the unicorns on the bridge. They didn’t have enough to give. Unicorns, by their nature, only had so much magic available to them at any given time. When they hit their limit, it was like coming up against a hard wall. It couldn’t be passed. They were beings of flesh first, and magic second.

That was not the case with changelings though.

Changelings could change who and what they were on a whim. Their physical forms were inconsequential to their nature. Food wasn’t even strictly required for them to survive. They subsisted off of the emotions of others. Of course, it wasn’t quite as simple as that. As Twilight had once explained to him: Friendship―feelings, emotions―were tangible sources of power. Emotions were energy. The ways that changelings were capable of manifesting that energy were many and varied.

With the right knowledge, training, and experience, Slipshod might have been able to sustain the sort of shield that Twilight had conjured. He had none of those things, of course; nor was there time enough to acquire those things. Only Twilight possessed them.

He had the energy though. He had stores of emotions meant to sustain him for weeks or even months if he was careful enough. Slipshod wasn’t sure of the exact math on the matter, but he had to wonder if the amount of magical energy capable of sustaining a life for months was capable of sustaining a barrier for just a few more seconds.

The ship’s bridge was briefly bathed in emerald light. When it waned, a second purple alicorn mare was kneeling next to Twilight. The original stared up at her copy in brief consternation upon seeing her form usurped by the stallion. Slipshod touched his new horn to Twilights, “Take what you need,” his amethyst eyes darted briefly across the bridge, and the ponies looking on in confusion, before returning to the former princess again, “Take it all if you have to. Just save my friends…”

Before Twilight could respond, Slipshod tapped into his reserves and began to forcibly transfer vast quantities of those stored emotions into the other alicorn, converting it into usable arcane energies in the process. Twilight let out a surprised gasp upon initially experiencing the unusual sensation of magic being forced into her body like this. She’d accepted help from other unicorns and alicorns in the past, but she didn’t recall ever being inundated with such quantities all at once before.

Slipshod was vaguely aware of Doppler yelling “Energy spike!” But it sounded like a distant, muffled, thing. His focus was exclusively upon converting and channeling everything he had into Twilight. He could feel her reserves of magic grow as his own dwindled. Then there was a sudden outrush from the mare. Her shield spell being cast. The effort very nearly depleted her again. Slipshod redoubled his efforts, siphoning off more of himself.

The changeling’s instincts wailed for him to stop what he was doing. Giving away all of this valuable, life-sustaining, power was the very antithesis of what it meant to be a ‘changeling’. Still he persisted. He wrestled his fear and terror to the ground and continued to give Twilight everything he had. Every fiber of his being pleaded with him to stop, but he knew that he couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

What he was doing right now was tantamount to slitting his pasterns. He was allowing raw energy to flow freely from his body without regard for what would be left―if anything―when this was all over. He was transfusing his very life into Twilight Sparkle. It could kill him.

But...he owed the ponies on this ship that much.

How many times had Squelch ordered the DropShip and its crew into harm’s way―right into the line of fire―in order to recover him from the battlefield? How many times had the individual members of this crew risked their lives to save his? He’d never thought to count. More significantly though, the changeling suspected that...neither had they. Because friends didn’t keep ledgers about who owed who how many favors. No matter how unbalanced the scales might objectively be, a true friend wouldn’t hesitate to help again and again.

For years, Slipshod had pretty much exploited this fact. He’d capitalised on the ponies around him continuing to give and give, without expecting much of anything in return. And they had. Unflinchingly. When he’d thought that the only reason they’d been willing to do so was because they believed he’d been a pony like them, he could discount their altruism. He could rationalize it as ‘ponies helping ponies’, because that’s what ponies did. They’d obviously never do that sort of thing for him if they’d known he was actually a changeling.

And then...they had.

There’d been bumps along the way, sure. Nothing and nopony was perfect. But, for the most part, the ponies around him had demonstrated that, even though he was a changeling―a member of the race that had intentionally plunged the galaxy into turmoil―they were willing to risk everything to help him. Squelch had kept faith with him. Blood Chit had defended him. Xanadu had taken a hit meant for him.

Now, it was his turn to do something for them.

Another sharp depletion as Twilight resisted an assault by the attacking fighters. Another infusion by Slipshod. He was nearing his own limit now. There wasn’t much left for him to give. His instincts clawed at him, urging him to reverse the flow. Drain Twilight of all she had left and save himself. It was the nonsensical whim of a fearful mind of course. Twilight was the only thing keeping any of them alive right now. If he reversed the flow, they’d all die. If he stopped the flow, they’d all die.

The only chance any of them had was if he maintained the flow of energy into Twilight. In which case, he might die. Even if that happened, that didn’t necessarily mean that all of the others would be lost too. Not if he helped buy just enough time…

Slipshod felt himself growing weaker as he approached the last dregs of his own reserves. He was lying on the deck next to the other alicorn now, unable to support his body. His head felt heavy, and seemed to take a monumental effort to keep erect. If his horn lost contact with hers…

He threw his hooves around Twilight’s neck in an effort to anchor his horn to hers. To maintain the contact. He felt her resisting him now. She could sense his growing weakness, and understood what taking too much of her energy could mean for the changeling. He wouldn’t allow her to stop him though. Not until he knew his friends were safe. He wouldn’t let them all die because he was holding back, “take it...all…” He pleaded, the volume of his voice barely above a whisper.

A mare was saying something. Not Twilight. Doppler, he thought. He might have just been hearing things. It was getting hard to think; his mind was wandering. His efforts to give Twilight the last dregs of his reserves were stymied by his own failure to focus. He could feel himself losing consciousness, but he fought against it as hard as he could. She needed every last iota of that energy to keep his friends alive. He had to give it to her, even if it was the last thing he did.

The alicorn was still fighting him though. She was winning this time too. He didn’t have the strength―the magical power―to overcome her resistance any longer. Twilight was keeping him out; refusing to take those last little motes of energy that he had left. It was perhaps just as well, the changeling thought to himself. There wasn’t enough left to manifest the simplest of cantrips, let alone maintain the sort of defensive shield the ship needed to weather the attacks of those fighters.

He’d tried, at least. He hoped that the others understood that he’d tried…

Voices. There were more voices. Some he knew―he thought he did, at least―other he was convinced that he didn’t. The voices were very loud. There was an emotion behind them, but he couldn’t feel it anymore. He was too weak for even that much. Fear, most likely, the changeling figured. He was out of energy, Twilight was once more depleted as well. The Zathura and its crew were doomed. Fear made sense.

He was being moved now. He thought so anyway. It was difficult to tell. His body was numb, but something in his brain was still capable of perceiving his orientation, and it was changing. Either that or he’d actually just lost control of his sense of orientation. That happened when he got drunk sometimes. He’d close his eyes and feel like he was tumbling away from the world. So this could have just been one more sign that he was spiralling the drain towards death as his body ran out of the last vestiges of usable energy with which to sustain itself.

Please know I tried…

As last thoughts go, that hopefully wasn’t a bad one to have, the changeling hoped. Although, perhaps his musing about his ‘last thought’ actually counted as his ‘last thought’, now that he thought about it.

...Slipshod couldn’t tell if that last bit of near-nonsensical musing was further evidence of his impending demise or―no, his thoughts were actually feeling like they were getting clearer. Which was odd, given the state of his depleted…

His counter-intuitively increasing reserves of emotional energy!

Joy, elation, gratitude, was actively flowing into him! Slipshod learned the source soon enough as more of his senses started to return to him. Somepony was holding him. Somepony was kissing him! Awkwardly. The passion was there, but it was tinged with slight feelings of reservation. Beyond the direct infusion of all those positive emotions, the changeling began to sense much of the same from around the room. Along with a great deal of amusement as well.

He finally opened his eyes.

His view was taken up by the familiar sage visage of Squelch, who was holding him fast in an embrace, the likes of which he’d not received from her since long before their dvorce. Just past her, he could make out the holographic projection in the middle of the bridge. It showed their ship surrounded by a cloud of green triangles. Not a single crimson spec was visible. The enemy fighters were gone.

They were safe.

“If you don’t stop being Twilight right now,” the unicorn kissing him murmured around his lips, “I’m going to start strangling you.”

“And I’ll help,” another mare said from nearby, hiding her own veiled amusement beneath a faux-stern façade.

He didn’t exactly have a lot of energy stored back up just yet, but Slipshod was confident that he could spare what was needed to revert his form if it meant that he’d continue to receive more love and affection. The bridge crew, at least, seemed to be in quite the ‘giving’ mood at the moment. A ripple of jade fire erased the second violet alicorn from existence, leaving a thoroughly exhausted changeling in its place. One who quickly found himself the recipient of more kissing. These were also noticeably awkward, though for significantly different reasons.

Squelch pulled back slightly, smirking at the stallion, “no offense, but that shell of yours feels really weird.”

“I know, right?” Twilight added, “It’s like making out with a hoofball helmet!”

Slipshod rolled his eyes and was about to comment, but was interrupted by the sage unicorn nuzzling up against the side of his head, her hooves wrapping around his tight, “...thank you. You saved the ship.”

He hesitated for the briefest of moments. It felt unusual to him to be the direct recipient of so much gratitude. He almost wasn’t sure how to react. Obviously, of course, the proper response was to accept what was being offered. It still felt weird though. But a good ‘weird’.

Slipshod hugged her back, and was especially glad to find that he once more had the ability to do so. He wouldn’t go so far as to say that his energy reserves were at a level he was comfortable with; but they were certainly trending in that direction thanks to all of the positivity around him, “Well, you know,” he said, “I couldn’t let everypony die just yet. Especially you,” he felt the swell of gratitude from the unicorn. His face broke out in a grin as he went on, “Tomorrow’s ‘payday’, after all!”

The punch to his shoulder was well earned, and thankfully quite playful in nature, “Har har,” the mare affected a dry laugh as she pulled away from him once more, “Well, since you seem to be fine, some of us still have work to do,” she derided playfully as she stood back up and returned to her command chair.

“I like what you’re doing with your wings there, by the way,” she added as she took her seat, “It’s a good change; you should keep it.”

Slipshod frowned in confusion. He wasn’t doing anything with his...wings? The stallion peered at the transparent appendages in mild surprise. They were indeed significantly different from how he recalled them looking. Which shouldn’t have been the case. While he was certainly capable of making any part of himself look however he desired, he hadn’t intended to affect any sort of change in his appearance upon reverting out of Twilight’s form. He should have returned to his natural state.

In fact, he was trying to do so now. Nothing was happening though. It wasn’t due to a shortfall of energy either. He had enough now to change his form―more than enough to make simple alterations. However, there still wasn’t anything happening as he continued to try and assume his ‘default’ appearance. It was like his body now thought that these new wings were part of his natural form. Odd…

Slipshod lifted his hoof to rub his head in confusion, only to be drawn up short as he caught sight of the limb. It was a subtle thing. He almost hadn’t noticed it at all, attributing it to the bridge lighting. However, he’d been on the ship’s bridge many times, and had seen himself―even in his natural state―under many varieties of light. None of them had ever given his chitin a sheen like this. Again though, it was something that didn’t register as a deviation from how he was ‘supposed’ to look as a changeling.

Very odd, indeed.

He caught Twilight regarding him with more than passing interest, and was about to ask if she knew anything about what might be going on with him, but was interrupted as a mare’s voice came across the speakers, “Unidentified ship,” she began, sounding a little amused. This was not the same voice that had addressed them before, Slipshod noted. This pony didn’t sound quite so rigid, “now that the excitement has died down for the moment, perhaps you’d care to explain who you are, and how you came by my colonel and his battalion? I was also under the impression that the princess had been escorted out of the Sphere...”

“My name is Squelch, captain of the Zathura and commander of the Rayleigh’s Irregulars Mercenary Company,” the sage green unicorn mare began, “We managed to evacuate Colonel Citron and most of his unit from Kiso before they were overrun,” she paused for a brief moment before adding, “I regret to inform you that Captain Hollandaise and her crew were lost...trying to protect us.”

“She was a good mare,” there was a long pause, then, “I recognize your name. Should I assume that Princess Twilight was disinclined to wait out in the wings, so to speak?”

“You may,” it was the alicorn who spoke up now, “I believe that Flurry Heart and the Dragon Clans have...lost their way. They aren’t the League I remember. What they’re doing is wrong. I believe I―I believe we’ve,” she amended, glancing at Slipshod, “found a better way, but we’re going to need the help of the Disciples to do it.”

“...Well, I suppose that the least I can do for the ponies who’ve been gracious enough to help us is to hear out their request. Dock at Collar One. More fighters are launching from the planet. We need to depart quickly. Mayhem, out.”

“You heard the general, Aileron. Dock the ship,” Squelch ordered.

The Dropship turned around once more as it thrusted towards the Disciple vessel that had jumped into the system. It was not a Jump Ship, as Slipshod had been expecting. It was a WarShip. That shouldn’t have been too surprising, the changeling supposed. Cinder had come to fetch them on one as well the last time they’d sought refuge from ComSpark. Somehow though this vessel looked even more massive than the Rockhoof had.

As though reading his thoughts, Twilight answered his unasked question as she stood beside him looking out the viewport, “The Maelstrom. Discord’s flagship. It served as the base of operations for the Ninth Force Recon, allowing them to easily be deployed anywhere they were needed.”

“Discord’s gone,” the changeling reminded the alicorn, “So how did this ‘General Mayhem’ get her hooves on his ship?”

“I can’t wait to find out…”

Muted metallic ‘THUNK’s echoed through the deck as the DropShip was clamped to the WarShip’s mooring point, “Hard dock achieved,” the pegasus piloting the ship informed them.

“Confirmed hard dock,” the Disciple comm pony from earlier said over the speakers, “Jumping...now.”

In a flash of blinding white light, the two ships vanished from the Kiso System. When the flare subsided, and Slipshod finished blinking away the last of his disorientation, his jaw went slack. He’d expected to be looking out the viewport into a nearly identical field of stars. Jumps were limited to a range of about thirty lightyears. Little about the orientation of the stars and common constellations changed over such a comparatively short distance. To all but the most astronomically-versed creatures, nothing looked remarkably different between the departure and arrival point.

Usually.

This was unusual.

There were no stars. There wasn’t even any space―not as the changeling understood the concept anyway. Where there should have been black void and twinkling dots of light, there were only pink and magenta swirls of...something. Ether, perhaps. It certainly wasn’t a vacuous void. It was moving around too much. Could they be inside of a nebula, perhaps? That would have been the most logical explanation for their brightly colored surroundings. However, the changeling also knew that for a Jump Drive to work, both the origin and destination points had to be gravitationally neutral. That was why either star zenith and nadir points, or Lagrange Points, had to be used as entry and exit vectors.

A nebula wouldn’t have those things, unless there was some sort of proto-star nearby, but Slipshod couldn’t see one. Where they were made no sense.

“Crew of the Zathura,” Mayhem’s voice announced over the bridge speakers, “welcome to Havoc.”

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