A fusillade of magic bolts peppered the floor around Lyra. She dived forward and rolled into the cover of the scrap cart she’d already picked for cover. If she hadn’t learned Vindaloo’s special brand of tactical paranoia and sought cover immediately upon entering, she might already have died.

Vindaloo. The memory of the strong, brave, seemingly invincible mare lying paralyzed stabbed Lyra’s heart like a broken rusty nail. She felt heavy and dull with grief, worry, and uncertainty. Would she die? Would she ever walk again? Would her wound reduce her to a pale phantom of her former self?

She remembered Vindaloo making magic out of biscuit mix, chili paste, and dried vegetables. Vindaloo with Paneer nestled against her flank in Rarity’s office. Vindaloo dancing naked at Lyra’s side all night at Soft Sound’s show. Vindaloo tackle-hugging her into the snow when she came back to Stable 93.

She remembered when she’d hated Vindaloo. Now she didn’t know what she’d do if Vindaloo died.

Rage. Bean had distracted her at a critical moment. She might’ve been able to save Vindaloo if he hadn’t grabbed her away.

Desperation. She wanted to slap her son silly — but she didn’t want to hurt him. She couldn’t lose him too.

The steel mill was still in full operation, its automated processes unconcerned by the battle outside. The cyclopean tower of the blast furnace loomed over Lyra. High above, a conveyor ran massive steel vats in and out of the furnace. The ones exiting glowed with luminous loads of molten pig iron, carrying it off to be forged into steel to make Sombra helmets and power armor plates.

Even many tails away, the heat of the blast furnace hit Lyra like a wall. She blinked away dryness from her eyes, took cover behind a scrap cart, and tried to make sense of the mill’s floor layout on her PipBuck. This part of the steel mill was mostly open space: gantries, catwalks, cranes, overlooking offices. The rail line ran right through the middle of it so that it could deliver iron ore, coke, and limestone directly to the blast furnace. Lots of places for enemies to hide; too many angles of attack to keep track of. Dozens, hundreds of potential ambushes. Bean’s red pip was above her somewhere, and he also knew where she was, because his armor had an EFS, just like she did.

“Bean!” she shouted. “I know you’re up there!”

“I don’t want to talk to you!” said Bean. She couldn’t tell exactly where his voice was coming from. “You abandoned me! Again!”

“I know you’re mad. You have a right to be mad. A mother’s first duty is always to protect her children, and I failed. But you need to surrender to me. All this here? This is over. This belongs to the Minutemares now.”

Several magic bolts uselessly hammered her scrap cart, making it rock on its wheels but doing little else. “That is an absolutely pathetic bluff!”

“Oh, you think so? Test me and find out!”

No response. She felt like she was standing outside an enraged teenager’s bedroom.

Not that she’d know what that was like.

She thumped a hoof against the scrap cart in frustration. “Bean! Come on! We need to talk!”

“Go away!”

Far above, Bean’s magic glow wrapped around one of the vats of molten iron. It twisted on its chain. Thick, bright orange fluid sloshed in rivers over the edge. With a metallic shriek, it came free, hurtling through the air in Lyra’s general direction.

Lyra’s mouth fell open and her ears flopped back against her head. With an undignified squeak of alarm, she turned and ran, raising a shield behind her. The vat hit the scrap cart she’d been hiding behind, vaporizing it in a flood of hot metal. Heat scorched Lyra’s retreating rear.

Another vat tore free. Lyra kept running — a moving target would be nearly impossible to hit with such unwieldy projectiles. Bean kept throwing them. Another and another slammed into down around her, splattering hot metal. A fourth arced ahead of her, its own metal flattening out under the force of its impact. Some splashed on Lyra’s shield, and she felt the heat searing through her magic into her horn.

She noticed a massive structural beam rising along the far wall of the cavernous mill, close enough to the tower of the blast furnace that Bean wouldn’t be able to toss any vats between them. Lyra skidded to a halt, turned left at a right angle, and scurried breathlessly into its shelter.

She leaned against its side, chest heaving. Then she heard a voice from nearby. She jumped up and spun around, ears flat and tail tucked. She’d made two circles before she realized that her leg was talking to her.

“Green Meanie,” said Blue Note’s voice over her PipBuck radio. “Hot Wings can’t contact Road Warrior Actual.”

“Rotgut’s dead,” said Lyra, gasping breathlessly. “We killed Ponysmith. Vindaloo is hurt very bad. Crispy’s distraught. And probably concussed — he literally knocked heads with Ponysmith. He sent me after Bean. I think… I think I might be in charge right now?” Fuck. She was supposed to use code names on the radio.

There was a moment of dead air while Blue Note took in the news. “I’d like to buy the world a Sparkle Cola,” she said, her tone soft and sad.

“And drink it in perfect unity,” said Lyra.

Blue Note’s tone became professional again. “Hot Wings’ scouts have identified an enemy train headed south towards the Ironworks compound. Centurions and weapons.”

“Shit,” said Lyra. “How many?”

“A hundred or more.”

“Do you ponies have any explosives? To blow the track?”

“No.”

Lyra clenched her eyes closed, struggling with panic. Even if they did blow the track, the centurions could just get out and walk.

This was a grim moment for the Minutemares — if the alicorns felt they were outnumbered, they could just fly away, very satisfied with their night’s work. The Mintuemares were much worse off: most of them were wounded, one of them dead, and their transport destroyed. Retreat was no longer an option. It was total victory or nothing.

Lyra clenched her jaw with determination. She had to find a way to deal with that trainful of reinforcements.

She tried to contact the alicorns; all she could think to do was think really hard at them, and they didn’t pick up. They didn’t care — the Minutemares had been useful to them, but now they were done with them.

This was all on her. “All right. I have an idea. I might need some time. If you can knock over trees or anything onto the track to slow them down, do it.”

“Roger. Hot Wings out.”

Lyra watched Bean’s red pip moving around her compass dial looking for an angle of attack, weaving back and forth. It went one way and had to slow to a stop before it turned another way. It made her think about inertia and momentum. She thought about immovable objects meeting unstoppable forces. She thought about the trolley problem.

She thought of a plan. Of course, it was the ‘horrible mass murder’ sort of plan, but in this case, it would almost have to be, wouldn’t it?

No time to think about that. She needed to be able to see the train tracks a decent distance away, and she should be able to get a good enough view from the roof of the steel mill. A set of stairs surrounded the structural beam all the way to the ceiling; that should take her there.

Unfortunately, they wrapped around the beam. She got three flights up before Bean had a clean shot at her. Then a flurry of magic bolts peppered her shield, driving her back against the metal of the structural beam.

She teleported up three flights. The grated floor of the landings let her see well enough that she landed in more-or-less the right place, only a short fall from a safe position. Should she teleport further? She needed to save her strength for what she had to do up on the roof. So she climbed, as fast as she could. Her lungs and legs burned. Magic bolts flew out of the darkness at her, tearing chunks off the stairs. Three more flights. She could do it.

Three wide, flat, magic bolts flashed through the air well in front of her. For a second she was confused — Bean seemed to be a better shot than that; he wouldn't miss so widely. Then a whole section of the stairwell fell away just as she was reaching it. The landing beneath her jerked, then tore out of the support beam. Lyra began to fall.

Clever Bean.

Her chest swelled with maternal pride even as she tumbled into open air. Orange iron rolled slowly across the floor rushing up beneath her. No choice but to teleport blind.

Golden light flashed around her. She cut the ceiling a hair too close, fusing her left boot and some of her hoof to the metal of the roof. Pain and panic flashed like electricity through her, but she pushed them away. More than her body’s integrity was at stake here.

She looked away into the darkness to the north, searching the frozen wasteland. There. Train headlights, hooded and dim, miles away but moving fast. Mathematical calculations flashed through her mind. If it kept up its speed once it came within range of her magic…

The air in front of Lyra twisted then flashed with waste heat. Bean stepped out of the teleport tesseract.

“Bean!” said Lyra. “Please listen to me!”

He launched a fusillade of magic bolts. They illuminated the emotionless faceplate of his helmet.

Lyra deflected them with her shields. Some bolts came at her from the sides — a difficult trick, requiring a mix of teleportation and attack spells. Impressive, but Lyra was ready for it.

Bolts struck at her, rattling her body. She nonetheless only cast spells to defend herself. She didn’t want to hurt him. But she couldn’t carry off her plan like this. Not only would she need all of her magical strength to deal with the train, but the glare of their battle ruined her night vision. She couldn’t even see the train’s lights anymore.

“Bean! Honey! You don’t have to do this!”

“I’m in charge, now, Lyra! You got me a big promotion! You should be proud! When Easy Money wasn’t able to break you,” said Bean, “I went to Ponysmith with a plan. Easy Money was good at what he did — I assume he’s dead now?”

“As close as makes no difference,” said Lyra. She knew Bean was trying to delay her. Keep her busy until his reinforcements arrived. Talking worked as well as fighting, and maybe he was getting tired.

“He was good, but he was unstable. We don’t need sadists in our army. We need soldiers. So I suggested to Ponysmith that we send Easy after 114, then let you escape while he was away. You could lead him back to 93, and the two of you would eliminate each other, along with the Minutemares. You guys were getting way too competent, and showing signs of an alliance with the alicorns — which I was right to be afraid of, apparently.

“We wound up sacrificing a legion, but we have plenty of those. Ponysmith was so satisfied he made me his second in command.”

“That’s great, honey. I am really proud. You work hard,” said Lyra.

“You were behind the Neighburry Street operation, too, weren’t you?” said Bean.

“It was a team effort.” She tugged at the boot lodged in the ceiling. Getting free of that was going to hurt. A lot.

“That one helped me out too. We lost, sure. But I kept my head together, I acted, and I kept it from turning into a disaster.”

The train went out of sight behind a hill. It was getting close. Lyra drew a deep breath in through clenched teeth. Time was running out.

Throbs of agony pulsed up her leg from her trapped foot. She needed to stay focused. The future opened out before her imagination with all its horrible possibilities -- both if she acted, and if she didn’t act. She needed to make her choices deliberately. Dispassionately. More so even than Arbu (Not Arbu; Haven. Where the hell was Arbu?) what she did today would be remembered across the wasteland.

If she did it right.

“All right, son. If you’re in charge, then tell your army to stand down. We don’t need to be enemies. We can negotiate. You can change the way you do things.”

Bean’s laugh was sharp and bitter. “So much for my surrender. Give up, mom. I’m not going to fall for bluster.”

Lyra scowled. “Bean, honey, I know you’re just trying to buy time. Well, I’m almost out. The Ponysmith is dead, and the battle is over. I don’t want to have to hurt you, but I will. There’s more at stake than family, here.

“I don’t know if it’s too late for us. But we can try. Try to make things better. I’ve made a new life for myself here, and you can join me. You’re strong — I always knew you were, but you’re stronger than I would have believed. Please. We can change the wasteland together.”

“No,” said Bean. “You join me.”

“Green Meanie! Green Meanie!” Blue Note’s voice crackled out of Lyra’s PipBuck.

“Hold on. I have to take this,” said Lyra, pressing the radio button on her PipBuck with her magic. “Hot Wings, what’s happening?”

“The alicorns are attacking the unicorn settlements! They’re killing them all! We can’t make them stop! Blue Note doesn’t know what to do!”

“Oh, gag me with Tirek’s cock. I’ll take care of it. Get your scouts into cover.” Lyra switched off the radio. Resolution filled her. Her heart pulsed so hard she felt like her chest might split open, but her voice sounded cold when she spoke to Bean. “I’m sorry. It’s too late. This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you.”

Bean instinctively raised a shield in self-defense, expecting a barrage of magic bolts. He didn’t expect the massive telekinetic fist that connected with his shield. Kinetic transfer sent him skidding straight back into the monomolecular lyre strings Lyra had conjured behind him. They cut into his armored legs at just the right height — high enough to avoid messing up his knees, low enough that Lyra still had hope for grandfoals one day.

He let out a strangled scream of shock. His torso continued flying back across the roof. It landed with a thump, tumbled, and skidded almost to the edge before Lyra caught him. His legs bounced and rolled after him. Lyra smacked a magic limiting spell over his horn housing and put force fields over his leg stumps to keep him from bleeding to death.

The lights of the train came up over the crest of the hill, illuminating the tracks in front of it. Lyra braced herself and visualized a spell matrix for the strongest shield she’d made since the Bad Day.

You are able to raise a force field in front of a train traveling south at 37.01 kilotails per hour, or 10.28 tails per second. If it hits the wall of magical force, it will come to a complete stop over .05 seconds, for a deceleration of 205 tails per second per second.

The train weighs 226,796 kilopones. Force equals mass times acceleration, so to get the force it will hit your shield with, we multiply that weight by the deceleration to get an impact of 46,493,180 Nupones of energy — more than enough to reduce everypony on the train to a smooth red paste inside their armor. All one hundred and eighty-three passengers will die.

If you can save four of your friends by raising this force field, should you?

Yes.

The shrieking sound of tearing metal filled the night as the train engine flattened out against Lyra’s shield like a raindrop on a windshield. Behind it, train cars flew into the air, rolling to either side like toy blocks. Tiny glittering objects fell from them.

Kinetic transfer from the impact of the train sent Lyra flying back across the roof. She slammed against an exhaust pipe and slid down to the deck. Something was wrong with the hoof that she’d melded with the roof, but she was too much in shock to feel any pain from it yet. Blood everywhere though. She didn’t want to look — not at the hoof, not at the tracks, not at what she’d done to Bean. Secondary explosions crackled amongst the train wreck to the north. Harmony knew what kind of ordinance they’d been carrying. Maybe even a…

The sun rose in the north. A burning wind tore over Lyra, taking loose chunks of roof along with it. And one of Bean’s legs. She grabbed that out of midair. She’d need to pack these in snow as soon as she could.

As the mushroom cloud curled into the night sky, Lyra felt… unafraid. For the first time since the Bad Day, she felt truly in control. Another megaspell. But this was her megaspell. This was her victory. Her life. Her wasteland. She was going to change it. Into what? She wasn’t sure yet. But if she had to launch a thousand megaspells to do it, she would.

What in our name are you doing? said a voice in Lyra’s head.

Lyra smiled grimly. She’d managed to get the alicorns’ attention — two dogs with one treat. She looked around and noticed a white one circling over the roof of the steel mill, around and around the blast furnace.

Lyra’s brows drew together. She protected her thoughts with her magic and chose to communicate by shouting instead. “You need to stop attacking those unicorns. They’re innocent in this. They’re slaves.”

They are the tools of our enemy. They must be destroyed.

“They’re living creatures, and they’re under the protection of the Minutemares!”

Since when?

“Since right now.” Lyra lifted her Pipbuck and pulled up the controls for the ‘insurance policy’ she’d set up at the Hagsgate missile base. Her left hoof was a bloody mess; it was hard to tell cloth and rubber from torn flesh. “Listen to me: Your kind have so much you can give to the wasteland. Your unity is a tremendous advantage; your love for each other is an inspiration. But if you don’t stop what you’re doing, then our factions can’t be friends anymore.”

Oh no, said the alicorn dryly.

Lyra ticked off a set of options on her PipBuck. Miles away, missiles rotated on their launchers, orienting themselves towards their selected targets. A small green button labeled ‘launch’ appeared on the screen. “If you’re not a friend of the Minutemares, you’re an enemy.”

Is that meant to be a threat, little pony?

“More of a promise. Goodbye.” Lyra hit the launch button.

Three dozen streaks of light rose in the northwest, illuminating the horizon with a faint glow. The white alicorn overhead kicked its legs in midair in startelement like it was skidding on ice. The missiles, only a few miles away, arrived in seconds. The alicorn had time to raise a shield, but the missile tore through it like it was paper. The alicorn vanished in a puff of orange and red light. White feathers drifted slowly down towards Lyra.

Fireworks blossomed all around the battlefield. Her PipBuck informed her another barrage was loaded. Lyra launched again. Conveniently, Ponsmith’s air defense command had already programmed them to target white alicorns first. Lyra turned on her PipBuck radio. “Hot Wings. Do you read me?”

“Did you do that?” said Blue Note.

“Yeah. That should take care of most of the white ones. Can you chase off the rest?”

“They have no shields, no guns, and can’t see in the dark. It shouldn't be a problem.”

Dark, leathery wings rose into the wasteland sky around the burning prison, barely visible in the darkness. Groups of thestrals swarmed the remaining blue and purple alicorns, encircling them a few at a time and taking their unarmored bodies down with quick bursts of disciplined fire. In a little while, the survivors vanished into the darkness or teleported away.

Lyra gathered Bean and his legs in her magic and teleported back to the ground. It was time to find Bon Bon.

Next Chapter: Epilogue: The Envoy Estimated time remaining: 25 Minutes