The Last Line

I

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CNV Shadow Kicker, fifteen miles off

the coast of Panamare

May 7th, 1003

0015 hours, local time

1345 hours, Canterlot

Captain Monsoon Kicker. A career Navy sailor and upstanding sort of stallion.

Monsoon slept with his ship more than he ever did with his wife usually, it seemed, but he still knew each equally well. He knew Eclipse’s gentle breaths, the murmurs from her dreams as she would shift about in their bed, and the occasional sleepy laugh that comes from a happy dream. The Shadow Kicker had the sounds of the sea parting around her hull, the water that flowed through her pipes, the rhythm that came from the engine shaft, and turbines softly whining in the night.

Even the rarest of sounds were known. Predictable. A comfort.

The Captain lay awake in his bed and stared at the ceiling in total silence, immobile beneath the sheets that had shielded him from the cool air of the ship’s air-conditioning.

Something was amiss here.

Had it been Engineering? No, he realized, he would have known that by now.

Her turbines could be heard even all the way up in the Captain’s own quarters, reverberating through the hull, and all the way up the frame of his own bed. Every sound he could hear was one that he knew, yet none of them initially seemed to be out of place aboard his ship at this hour. Something drew him to move, as he lay there in bed. A single red-furred hand emerged from under the covers and was placed flat on the deck in his room. Closing jade eyes, Captain Monsoon Kicker felt for those vibrations. They were - they were changing. His eyes slowly opened.

Gears shifted in Monsoon’s head as he processed information that only a seasoned sailor could pick up on from a motion so simple as feeling for the engine’s vibrations.

The Shadow Kicker was starting to shift up to flank speed.

His Actions Officer was about to -- the klaxon sounded.

“All hands, General Quarters! Repeat: all hands to General Quarters!”