Chapters Preface: Such a Quiet Thing
In the 34th, 35th, and 36th centuries of the 4th millennium after the coming of Christ, a war was waged between Humanity and a race of canine humanoids known as Melconians.
The war itself had arisen from a series of misunderstandings between the Concordiat of Man and the Melconian Empire. The Melconians had kept humanity under observation before the first official contact, had indeed fought a three-way war with Humanity and Humanities' traditional opponent, the Deng, in the 30th century, before the time of first contact - a feat only possible because A) they focused on the Deng, B) the human systems they did hit were outlier worlds, and C) those worlds wound up depopulated, with no survivors, records, or witnesses.
The Deng were nearly wiped out, and the Concordiat, aware from second-hand intelligence from the Deng theater of the war that something calling itself 'Melconian' was out there, eventually reached out and made first official contact.
Unfortunately, the Melconian Empire, per its standard operating procedure, slammed down an interdict on all contact and trade after six months until the new power could be evaluated. Despite the warnings of xenologists, humanity as a whole didn't understand this, and they angrily demanded the reopening of trade, and they grew more strident, not less, as the Melconians resisted all attempts at overturning the interdict. The Melconian Emperor's advisers misread it as a fear response of a weaker power insisting on dialogue because it knew it was weaker.
Imperial Intelligence should have reported otherwise, but molding one's reports to suit the view of one's superiors was not limited to humanity. Even if that had been the case, Imperial Intelligence found it nearly impossible to believe how far humanity's tech outclassed theirs. The evidence was there, but it was reported as disinformation, a cunning human ploy meant to misrepresent themselves as more powerful than they truly were, and hence yet more proof that humanity feared Melcon.
And humanity should have feared them, for it was as much a product of human hubris as Melcon's that produced the tragedy that sprung forth. Both sides had traditions of victory, and though they had lost battles, they had never lost a war - and neither truly believed that they could . Even worse, the Concordiat's intelligence organs knew that Melcon's technology didn't match theirs, and that made them arrogant. By any rational computation of the odds, the Human tech edge should have been decisive, assuming that the Concordiat had gotten its sums right. However, the non-intercourse edict succeeded in at least one of its objectives, and the Empire was over twice as large as the Concordiat believed - with more than four times the naval strength.
Despite all the warnings that admirals and generals gave over the decades-long slide towards war that followed, one reversible step at a time but with increasing speed, about how all their information was ultimately based on assumptions that could not be confirmed, they didn't really believe their own warnings, for how could decades of espionage, analysis, and centuries of computer simulations all be wrong? Even those who continued to pay it lip service forgot the truth of the ancient cliche "Garbage In, Garbage Out", and both sides approached the final decisions with fatal confidence in their massive, painstakingly honest - and totally wrong - analyses of the situation.
Though skirmishing between Melconian "rogues" and human fringe worlds had begun as early as 3308, the first real engagement between the two sides occurred in the Trellis System in 3343. Both sides suffered heavy losses, and no one ever knew for sure which fired the first shot, as each navy reported that - honestly, as far as it knew - that the other navy had attacked it .
Not that it really mattered in the long run. All that mattered was that the shot was fired - and both sides discovered the magnitude of their errors. The Concordiat contemptuously crushed the Empire's frontier fleets, only to discover that they were only frontier fleets, a screen for the true ponderous might of the Melconian Navy. Meanwhile, the Empire, shocked by the real superiority of Humanity's war machines, panicked. The Emperor himself declared that His navy would seek immediate and crushing victory by any means required. Nor was the panic one-sided, as the actual strength of the Imperial Navy, combined with the terror tactics it adapted from the outset, sparked the same desperation in the Concordiat's leadership.
And so what could have been merely a border incident triggered something worse than the galaxy had ever envisioned or darkly dreamt of. The Concordiat never produced enough of its superior weaponry to defeat Melcon outright, but it produced more than enough to prevent the Melconian Empire from defeating it. And despite the deep strikes that prevented the full reserves of Melcon from being mobilized against Humanity's worlds, that didn't stop the Melconian Navy from amassing numerical advantages that nullified its individual technical inferiorities. War filled the light-centuries as the two mightiest militaries in the history of the galaxy lunged at each other, each clash worse than the last, each side convinced that the other was the aggressor and that the only options left were victory or annihilation. The door to madness was opened by desperation, and the human case study from over a century earlier, back when no one believed that there would be a war at all, that was supposed to prove the infeasibility of the Concordiat and the Empire engaging in a fight to the finish, was converted into something very different. The Melconians might also have made a similar study - their operations certainly suggested that they had - but no one will ever know, for if the Melconian records ever existed, they certainly do no longer.
But the Human records do, and they allow no self-deception. Operation Ragnarok was only launched after the Melconians, after six years of increasingly bloody warfare, launched a "demonstration strike' on New Vermont that killed every one of the planet's billion inhabitants, but it was a deliberately planned strategy developed at least twelve years earlier. It began at the orders of the Concordiat Senate... and ended one hundred and seventy-two years later, under the orders of what fragments of local authority God alone knew.
There are few records of Ragnarok's final battles, because in far too many cases there were no survivors... on either side. The ghastly mistakes of the diplomats who misread their own importance and their adversaries' will to fight, the analysts who underestimated their enemies' ability to fight, and the Emperors and Presidents who ultimately sought "simple" solutions to their problems, might have caused the Final War, but it was the soldiers who ended it. But then again, the soldiers always ended the wars - and fought them, and died in them, and slaughtered their way through them, and desperately tried to survive them - and in that respect, the Final War was no different than any other war.
But in one respect, it was different. This time, the soldiers didn't just finish the war; this time the war finished them , as well.
Author's Note
New opening chapter.
Prelude: But Far More Terrible
Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter. Prolouge: The Veil is Altered
Twilight Sparkle stood on the castle balcony, looking out across Ponyville towards the Everfree forest. She sighed, for this night, Equestria was at peace.
But not for long.
Twilight's gut clenched as she saw birds suddenly taking flight out of the Everfree forest, calling out in alarm. She readied her magic, channeling it to her horn.
Then the Everfree forest seemed to heave, and trees came crashing down, forest animals fleeing in panic. And it emerged.
It was a long, roughly rectangular shape, with slanted and curved angles that were concentrated around the top side of the "box". It rumbled up and out of the forest, dirt cascading off of its sides. Two low, blister-shaped things sat on top, each one having a long, hollowed-out cylinder protruding out. Two more, far longer cylinders projected straight up and out of the vehicle, pointed towards the sky.
The thing ground forward, heading towards Ponyville. Twilight gritted her teeth, snapped out her wings, and flew towards the monstrosity, determined that it should not reach the town.
A cluster of tubes swiveled, tracking Twilight. It did not appear to do anything else, yet Twilight felt incredible stabs of pain, felt herself coming apart...
"Enough", a voice boomed.
"Princess Luna? But how?" Twilight asked. She looked up, seeing Princess Luna fly down out of the sky. Only then did she realize that everything was calm and peaceful once more. She quickly whirled around, looking towards the Everfree forest.
There was nothing there. The forest stood quietly, undisturbed.
She turned around to look at Luna once more, who now stood on the balcony next to her. "I am the mistress of the night. That includes dreams, as you should well know", Luna stated.
Twilight, feeling sheepish, nodded her head in acknowledgement. "I know that. It's just that this seems so... real . Not like a dream at all." She gestured with her hoof towards the town of Ponyville, its residents sleeping peacefully.
"It is not merely a dream. It is a vision", a new voice declared from behind her. Turning around, Twilight saw Princess Celestia walking towards her, with Princess Cadence at her side.
"Princess Celestia? Cadance? How are you here?" Twilight asked. She turned towards Luna. "Did you bring them here?"
Luna nodded and replied, "In a sense. I did not bring them directly into your dream, but they have been having the same dream that you have just been experiencing."
Celestia spoke. "This is not a normal vision. This one is not of recently happened or past events."
Cadance added, "It is a vision of the future. A possible future, one that can be altered."
Twilight looked at all of them. "So how do we prevent this event from occurring?" she queried.
Celestia sighed. "We do not know. But keep your eyes open, Twilight, for one thing has been made clear. You and your friends will be instrumental to the solution to this."
Cadance looked at Twilight. "Keep your eyes open. Look for any disturbances, anything out of the ordinary."
Luna added, "We trust you, Twilight Sparkle. Ensure that this does not come to pass." Then all of them faded out of the dream, leaving Twilight alone once more.
Twilight turned, her hooves clopping against the floor. She stared out at the sight of Ponyville, its inhabitants blissfully unaware of the potential danger that lay ahead.
"I will defend you. Now and always", she whispered. Then she turned and walked out of the dream.
Bolo Reboot Sequence Commencing... Cold-Fusion Reactor Alpha optimal, operational at 125% capacity... Cold-Fusion Reactor Beta operational at 97% power capacity... Battlescreens at 98% capacity... Checking inner circuts... Circuts intact... Bringing Personality Gesalt online...
I awaken rapidly, my personality gesalt reactivated in 0.00047 second from the beginning of the reboot sequence. I immediately conduct a survey of all my systems, and as I spend 0.075 second checking my systems, I wonder why I have been inactive.
I know the agreement that was made; I can quote it perfectly. However, I was to be placed into standby mode, not deactivated entirely.
I wonder if this is the work of the enemy, but after 0.298 second of analyzation, I reject that probability as 0.00678% - what my human creators would define as nearly impossible. We made it safely to the system, with no sign of detection.
I consult my seven internal chronometers, and discover that 16,576.8439142 standard Concordiat years have passed. I calculate a probability of 98.7654230987345267% that I have been forgotten.
But I am a Bolo Mark XXXIII, Unit of the Line 33/E-967-THR, and despair is not one of my programmed emotions.
I reach out with my sensors, and discover that my armocrete container is 57.63121359 meters beneath the surface. I continue my scan, discovering that a city appears to have been built over my current position. However, the construction is remarkably primitive, with no trace of armocrete, durachrome, endurachrome, or other Concordiat building materials.
I must get free, otherwise I will be of no use to anyone. I consider using my primary Hellbores, but reject the possibility after 0.00475 second, as three simultaneous 5 megaton explosions would majorly destabilize the area, and also cause an unacceptable level of radiation to the sentient beings that live in the city above. This also rules out using my secondary Hellbores.
I consider using my other weapons systems, but after 0.00576 second I decide against it, as it would cause unacceptable reductions in my ammunition loadout.
I apply power to my drive treads, rumbling forward. I encounter the armocrete wall of the container, and plow through it. I then begin to tunnel into the dirt beyond.
I will escape.
I am Bolo.
The students of CHS were talking and chatting. It was lunch hour on a Tuesday, and that meant...TACOS.
Sunset Shimmer had a problem with tacos - she was, by nature, a vegitarian, and tacos contained MEAT.
But as she chatted with her friends, she felt nothing besides happiness.
"So, Fluttershy, have you written any AMAZING new songs yet?" Rainbow Dash asked.
Fluttershy cleared her throat. "Um, I'm not finished yet, but I'm working on one now, yes", she said quietly.
Before anyone responded to that statement, Sunset Shimmer felt a rumble. She thought in surprise, I guess I must be more hungry than I thought.
Then, as Pinkie Pie jumped up and screamed, "NEW SONG PARTY!!!!!!!!!!" in a voice so loud that everyone instinctively dove to the ground, a second rumble revertebrated through the entire building. This was followed by the disturbing realization that the ground felt like it was moving under their feet, and a series of vibrations followed, increasing in intensity by the instant.
Rarity yelled, "PINKIE, WHAT DID YOU DO???!!!" as the vibrations began to shake the building on its foundations.
Applejack hollered back, "AH DON'T THINK THAT PINKIE DID ANTHING!!!!"
Sunset Shimmer was about to ask them to shut up so that she could figure out what was going on when the building began to rise up. The floor tilted alarmingly, and students began to scream in panic.
"THE GREAT AND POWERFUL TRIXIE WILL NOT STAND FOR THIS!!!" Trixie declared - right before Flash Sentry's guitar nailed her in the back of the head, putting her down for the count.
As Sunset and her friends clung to each other, Sunset wondered, What in Equestria is going on?
I steadily plow through the earth, my primary Hellbores turned backward and locked down. I tunnel towards the closest edge of the city, aiming to break through to the surface at a point 3 kilometers northwest of the city limits.
My sensors note that a portion of the tunnel behind me has become destabilized, the roof first rising due to semi-solid subsurface strata, and now collapsing in on itself, with the floor subsiding under the weight. Unfortunately, a building is now sliding in, with sapient lifeforms inside.
I cannot do anything for the trapped lifeforms directly, but I have other options. I slide open a hatch on my rear deck, and deploy two Dragon hovertanks, each one equipped with a 20 centimeter Hellbore. I would rather deploy reconnaissance drones, but the compartment's hatch is currently blocked by falling chunks of earth. I will have to make do with the Dragons. They function as extensions of my consciousness, and I direct them back down the tunnel even as I continue to bore forward through the rocky dirt.
The floor had tilted, and now everyone in the cafeteria was sliding towards the lower edge.
"DOES ANYONE HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON??!!!" Flash Sentry hollered.
The only answer he received was an incoherent jumble of denials, screams, and prayers as the floor tilted even more and everyone entered freefall.
Then there was a massive THUNK, and the sense of motion stopped as people hit the cafeteria wall.
Sunset Shimmer raised her head, somewhat dazed, and coughed, blood trickling from her nose. She looked for her friends, but then a set of vibrations began, and she turned around just in time to be lifted up by a suddenly emergent black metallic form.
My Dragons have successfully punched though the walls of the building, providing an avenue of escape for the trapped lifeforms.
However, there is a complication.
One of the lifeforms, which looks remarkably similar to my human creators, is now riding on top of one of my Dragons, and seems to have no intention of getting off.
Since Dragons, being combat vehicles, are not equipped with speakers, I direct it back down the tunnel towards my hull, while the other continues to punch through the structure.
Sunset clung on as the strange metallic mass suddenly whirled around and began to backtrack through the series of holes punched through the school building. It entered a tunnel composed entirely of earth, and headed smoothly and rapidly forward.
It soon became too black to see, and Sunset wondered, Where in the world is this thing taking me?
Sunset Shimmer hung on to the strange... well, she wasn't sure what to call it. It had looked like some sort of vehicle, but it seemed to be floating, and she couldn't find any access points to reach the vehicle's interior.
Maybe it's some kind of drone , she thought to herself.
Suddenly, she was aware of a slowdown in speed. Peering ahead through the darkness, she heard a cascade of dirt and rocks coming down, filling the tunnel.
I cannot bring the Dragon directly back to me now, as I have just entered an area of softer dirt, which is now cascading down my hull, filling the tunnel behind me.
As I continue to tunnel forwards, I direct the Dragon back up the tunnel to the hole in the ground where the building currently rests, planning to have it come up and meet me on the surface.
I cannot stop the Dragon in order to let the aborigine get off, as what I presume are emergency response vehicles are now rushing to the scene. I still have no definite data to allow me to determine if the natives are friendly or hostile, although their tech appears to be too primitive to inflict serious harm on me or the Dragons. However, I cannot afford to make unnecessary assumptions about potential threats, so even as the Dragon with the native speeds back down the tunnel, I send the other Dragon up and out of the hole and racing across the cityscape.
Principal Celestia raised her head, coughing as dust began to settle.
What on earth just happened? she thought to herself as she surveyed the highly tilted office.
Vice Principal Luna had been out somewhere in the school when whatever it was occurred. She crawled up the room and managed to open the door. Then her eyes widened as she looked out into the hall.
"What the-" she began as she saw a hovering Thing flash by, Sunset Shimmer hanging on for dear life.
She halted herself as she saw something else more familiar but no less startling.
Rainbow Dash was flying up the hall, playing guitar as her wings blurred. She zoomed past Celestia, and just a few moments later, Rarity, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Applejack came into view, pounding up the hallway.
As they turned around the corner, struggling upslope, Celestia whipped out her cell phone.
"Law enforcement? I've got a potential ongoing kidnapping..."
Sunset hung on as the potential drone zoomed through the city streets. People gawked, prayed, froze, fainted, and cursed as the thing zoomed by them.
Rainbow Dash blew past people, her fingers by reflex playing her song "Awesome as I Wanna Be". She grimly pursued the flying vehicle, intent on rescuing Sunset from whatever it was that had her.
After seeing such a strange sight, some people swore off of drinking, while others vowed to cease using drugs. Almost no one paid attention to the four girls running down the city streets, following Rainbow Dash and just as intent on finding out what the heck was going on.
I track the flying native as it strums strings on the instrument that looks like a guitar.
I first became aware of it when I detected a surge of neutrinos. Then the native's thermal signature changed, as wings suddenly sprouted from its back. It took off, pursuing the Dragon with the native onboard.
I wonder if this is an ability characteristic of the native indigenes, but it appears so far that this one is an anomaly, as I have not detected any more transformations.
I am approaching the surface rapidly, and I estimate that in 43.8937456102 seconds, I will breach the surface. The first Dragon is already waiting at the predicted breakthrough point, but the second is still being relentlessly pursued by the flying native.
I make the Dragon suddenly execute a series of sharp turns at a number of intersections, briefly losing the winged native, which has slowed down and is attempting to discover where the Dragon has gone.
I press my momentary advantage and accelerate the Dragon, rapidly putting distance between it and the flying native. The Dragon will reach the breakthrough point 5.876400923 seconds before I emerge onto the surface.
The drone stopped. Sunset barely registered that fact before the ground erupted.
Her eyes widened as a massive metallic form came up, rolling onto the field.
She took in its 120 meter length, the massive sets of tracks, ball-socketed turrets studding its sloped flanks, its imposing height of twenty-five meters from the bottom of the tracks to the main deck, and the three massive blister-shaped turrets that were in a straight line.
What is this thing? she wondered, shaken by the... tank's appearance.
Then a voice reverberated through the air.
"Would you please get off the Dragon, native? I must store it until it is needed."
Did the tank just speak? Sunset thought to herself, so shaken by the day's events that the possibility of the tank having a driver never occurred to her.
Out loud, she responded, "What are you?"
The voice came again. "I am Unit of the Line 33/E-967-THR. I am a Bolo Mark XXXIII Model E, member of the Dinochrome Brigade in service to the Concordiat of Man."
Sunset stared at the 'tank', her mind attempting to figure out what she should do next. "Well, the depths of Tartarus have to be better than this", she muttered to herself.
I was elated when the native spoke in a dialect of Concordiat Standard. But my elation was replaced 0.00376 second later with what my emotional gestalt registers as surprise.
The voice matches with 100% accuracy to the voice of my commander - something that even to my highly precise mind registers as ridiculously close to absolute zero, given that she should be dead after over 16 millennia, even if she had been in cyro.
I show no sign of my inner disturbance as I answer the native's question.
Then I hear the native's muttered statement, and my heuristic dilemma switches trip.
For the statement matches precisely with the code phrase that my commander had set for me over sixteen thousand years earlier.
I initiate a full-body scan of the native, and I discover something that further perturbs me.
Allowing for the slowed passage of time from presumably being in cyro for over sixteen thousand years, the native's brain structure matches my commander's with 99.762904732% accuracy.
But the native is clearly far younger than my commander was the last time I saw her, her appearance is very different, and she apparently has no memories of the past.
I wrangle with the dilemma for a full 3.87692190034 seconds, then come to a decision.
I speak once more.
"Welcome aboard, Commander."
Sunset did a double take. "What did you just say?"
The huge 'tank' turned, its maneuver, though light-footed, leaving tracks gouged a meter deep into the soil. A small hatch at its rear opened, and a ramp extended down onto the ground. The Dragon floated closer, then set itself down.
Sunset, still wary but judging by the aimed turrets that she didn't have much of a choice, dismounted from the Dragon and walked over, going up the ramp into the lit interior.
The door closed behind her, and Sunset was now on her own.
Chapter 4: Hidden Answers
Sunset Shimmer walked through the narrow passage warily, wondering what, precisely, this tank wanted with her.
She eventually came to a small room. It had a central couch, and was surrounded by virtual screens. She glanced around, then sat in the chair. That was when she saw it.
A pin of a golden tank, turrets bristling, dropped on the floor.
She suddenly hunched over, as something started playing in her head.
She was happy.
Oh, she'd had a large breakfast, but that wasn't the primary reason she was grinning to herself this morning.
No, she was happy because it was a beautiful day. She was strolling through the city park, enjoying the brisk feeling of early autumn.
She'd been in cryo until about thirty years ago, when she'd been awakened to discover that the political situation of Refuge had changed since she'd entered cryosleep.
What had been a single, unified colony had now split into multiple factions. The government of New Montreal had received disturbing reports that the other governments were building nuclear weapons.
So they had awakened her, as a trump card up their sleeve.
For who would want to piss off a Bolo commander?
My commander kneels over suddenly. My sensors detect that she is having something akin to a seizure.
After 1.978364 seconds of analyzing the situation, I decide to encourage the native to engage the neural link.
It is not a good solution, but it is the only one left to me. My deployed reconnaissance drones report military forces are already mobilizing nearby, and it will take time to convince the natives that I am not a threat.
I may very well be overwhelmed by the seizure, but I calculate a 37.98312% probability that I will be able to help her push through it.
I engage the internal speakers.
"Grab the helm."
Sunset, fighting through disorientation as the memory that was not hers played through her head, instinctively reacted to the voice of command. With groping fingers, she clutched at the neural-lace helmet, placing it on her head.
And suddenly two minds became one.
We reel, our minds connected, flesh joined to metal, neurons paired with computing circuits. The tide of agony rolls from the biological portion of us, and the machine portion of I/We attempts to assist that portion in its struggle.
There is a mental block, deeply ingrained. The seizure appears to have resulted from that portion of the brain.
I/We direct considerable force at that block, and it shatters.
A tide of emotion rolls in, as we experience a surge of a lifetime of memories.
Rainbow Dash muttered angrily as she flew towards the city limits. The thing that had taken Sunset Shimmer had shaken her, and her fingers were beginning to ache from the strain of playing the guitar.
Whoever took Sunset is going to pay for this! No one kidnaps any of my friends! NO ONE!!
Suddenly, a large thing came out of the sky, swooping under her. Her guitar was knocked away, and her wings, ears, and tail vanished. She held on for dear life as it flew back up into the sky.
The Bolo moved onwards, accelerating as it headed away from the city suburbs.
A Wyvern came in, landing inside the hold in the Bolo that it was stored in when not in use. A girl with rainbow-colored hair tumbled off, looking around inside the hold. It flew back out, along with its three brethren.
Less than a minute later, they returned, each one of them carrying a girl.
The doors rolled shut, leaving them in darkness.
Author's Note
Updates will come more slowly then they have, but hey, that's life. Sometimes you just have to roll with it.
I hope that this chapter does not disappoint.
Angela was happy.
Oh, she'd had a large breakfast, but that wasn't the primary reason she was grinning to herself this morning.
No, she was happy because it was a beautiful day. She was strolling through the city park, enjoying the brisk feeling of early autumn.
She'd been in cryo until about thirty years ago, when she'd been awakened to discover that the political situation of Refuge had changed since she'd entered cryosleep.
What had been a single, unified colony had now split into multiple factions. The government of New Montreal had received disturbing reports that the other governments were building nuclear weapons.
So they had awakened her, as a trump card up their sleeve.
For who would want to piss off a Bolo commander?
Fortunately, war had not come to pass. The peace had endured, although recently tensions had begun to stir once more.
Personally, she thought that the war-mongers were stupid. The planet still had plenty of uncolonized territory, so why fight over what already had been?
As she ran her fingers through her short, curly black hair, Angela, who back on old Earth would've been called an African-American, wondered why the Concordiat's planners appeared to have missed the possibility of colonial fragmentation back when they were putting together the expedition.
Then again, they were just one last-ditch colonizing effort among many, as the Concordiat attempted to ensure humanity's survival.
Had the war between the Concordiat and the Melconian Empire finally guttered out? When she had been sent on this expedition, the Concordiat had been annihilating two Melconian worlds for every one of humanity's worlds that burned. But the Melconian Empire, from what they knew, had been twice as large as the Concordiat.
Was the war over? Did the Concordiat even exist now? Were any Melconians still alive? Was Earth now nothing more than a radioactive wasteland?
She did not know. No one on this planet knew.
All told, however, she believed that it would be incredibly stupid if what was possibly the last world of humanity destroyed itself in a civil war.
Angela sighed and sat down on a park bench. She internally winced as she felt her bones protest.
Humanity tended to live longer now than, say, back in the early twenty-first century, but old age, though delayed, still came to pass.
Discounting her time in cryosleep, she had been alive for ninety-three years. She still went for her runs every afternoon, and she still went to the local gym weekly. But she was slower than she once was, her reflexes not as fast, her muscles possessing less strength and endurance then they had at her physical prime.
She looked about, and sighed as she savored the peaceful scenery in the park.
And at that precise moment, hell broke loose.
"Citizens of New Montreal, Nuclear warheads incoming. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill."
Angela leapt to her feet. Even as part of her mind was paralyzed with shock, she pushed through it, her mind flashing over what she needed to do.
Protocol said not to enter if anyone was watching, but judging by the panicked mob of people in the park, no one was going to care. She dashed towards a large boulder, seemingly just one of many that were scattered around the park.
She slapped her palm onto the hidden scanner. As she waited for a fraction of a second, it analyzed her hand, even as hidden cameras and sensors determined that she was who she appeared to be.
The ground beneath her feet parted, and she plummeted down the access tube.
The hidden base was currently buzzing with activity. Readouts showed missile paths, both friendly and hostile. New Montreal's Hellbore turret was under attack, and the anti-air and anti-space turrets around it were blazing, as huge waves of missiles roared in.
But even as New Montreal's own missile launches spewed rapidly, missiles were heading for the city itself as well, and there wasn't a prayer of nailing them all.
Angela strode to the base's commander, a man of Chinese ancestery named Wang Tsu.
They looked at each other, knowing that they only had one chance left.
"Permission to awaken Thunder, sir?"
"Permission granted. May God help us all."
As Angela's fingers reached to key in the command sequence, a nuclear deep-penetrator missile slipped through the anti-missile defenses. It bored hundreds of meters underground and exploded.
There were no survivors.
Author's Note
Next chapter will clear up some things, I promise.
Chapter 6: The Tides of Conflict
Sunset Shimmer was united with Thunder, organic and psychotronic minds fused together, not two minds, but one. His tracks were her legs, his sensors her eyes and ears, his armaments her arms and hands, and the ferocious power of his fusion plants her lungs and heart.
She was still in confusion, but she could feel his emotions, his respect and devotion, his compassion. And suddenly she realized that there was no more conflict within her, that she was balanced once more.
I am surprised at the suddenness of the memory surge. Despite all its details, it only lasts for 33.845 seconds before it is over.
I reach out to my commander, and I am startled to discover that the block has resolved itself into two different and distinct personalities. One is clearly the native, Sunset Shimmer. The other however is my commander, Angela.
I devote 0.005 seconds to attempting to determine why this has happened, calculating a probability of 67.9437 % that the strange force that I detected earlier - magic, as Sunset Shimmer calls it - has had unanticipated side effects.
There is no need to share my analysis with either of them. All of us have access to all that the others know, and we converse with each other rapidly and fluidly.
I reply.
I sense her sense of amusement at the fact that she tries to 'talk' when the three of us no longer need to do so in order to communicate. Indeed, I did not need to reply so specifically to her question.
We are in hyper-hueristic mode, where just a second seems to stretch out into an eternity. I can sense Angela as she projects reassurance to Sunset Shimmer, embracing her in her non-existent arms.
I/we stretch out, tapping into the global communications networks as I head north, my treads sinking 1.67 meters into the soil.
"What in the world is that thing?" Denna Vasquas, the 44th president of the Republic of Earas asked incredulously as she stared at the satellite imagery playing out in real time before her on the large TV screen.
"We don't know for a certainty, Ma'am." Greg Hickory's brow was shining with sweat. The head of Earas's military mopped at his brow with his coat's sleeve, then continued. "It emerged from underneath the ground just outside the city of Freeminth about twenty-eight minutes ago. It appears to be a vehicle of some sort, though who made it, we cannot be sure."
Vasquas pointed at the massive iodine black shape as it headed northwards. "That certainly isn't anything that we could manufacture!!"
"No, it isn't, Ma'am", Hickory agreed. "I've already scrambled jets to try to get a closer look."
Vasquas tipped back her chair, steepling her fingers under her chin. "Do we know what it's armed with?"
Hickory shook his head. "There are three large turrets on it, with numerous other emplacements along the top and the sides, but we aren't detecting anything that matches any known weapon. In fact, other than optics, we aren't getting anything at all. Whatever it is, it's jamming us, and there appears to be some sort of energy field around it."
Vasquas's eyebrows shot up. "An energy field?"
Hickory nodded. "We haven't seen anything like it before. We're trying to pin down what it is, but given our record of success this far, I doubt we'll figure it out anytime soon."
Vasquas opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the videofeed cut out. It was replaced by an image of a girl.
She was sitting in a chair, and her red and orange hair stunned both Hickory and Vasquas into silence. They knew who she was. It was very unusual for a high schooler to be a focus of the government's attention, but when the strange events in Freeminth had started occurring, they'd discreetly started a very secret investigation.
Now they stood there staring as Sunset Shimmer spoke.
"Hello, Ms President. I think you're going to want to hear what my companion has to say."
Vasquas opened her mouth, wondering what companion? , but then a deep, basso voice spoke.
"I am Unit 33/E-967-THR of the Line. I was constructed over sixteen thousand years ago. I am designed to protect humanity. You have nothing to fear from me."
"I anticipate that you have questions. I will answer them unreservedly and completely."
The conversation with the president of Earas and the head of her military takes 2.9854346 hours, and I cease motion, not moving while I converse with them. By the end of it, despite their initial incredulity, they believe me, and I believe that we have begun to build a foundation of trust.
I have projected the entire conversation live on the vidscreen in Cargo 2. Afterwards, Sunset Shimmer's friends pepper me with questions and I do my best to answer them for another 38.9445 minutes.
But finally they fall silent. I use the Wyverns to lift them out onto the ground, and then direct them to my command decks. Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy squeeze in with Sunset Shimmer in Command One, while Applejack, Pinkie Pie and Rarity climb up the external ladder and descend to my auxiliary deck, Command Two.
Once I verify that they are all where they are supposed to be, I apply power to my drive treads, and we resume our drive north.
35.678 minutes later, I slow to a halt, probing deep into the ground with my sensors. I find what I am looking for after 4.2587 minutes of searching, as it was buried deeper than I had originally estimated.
I reach out into the ancient computer systems, which have been protected from decay by the surrounding cermacrete container, and I bring their programming out of hibernation.
They awaken, and I search through the files. I find what I want 4.75983 seconds after I begin searching.
I pause for 2.376 seconds, considering all the potential results of my intended action.
I then activate the programming.
Ever since the destruction of Unit NKE on Santa Cruz in 3025, up until the Final War destroyed the Concordiat, Bolo designers and psychotronic techs had been trying to resurrect Nike in a new warhull. Doing so would be a major achievement, and the repeated failures to do so had not deterred them. They tried and tried again, attempting to revive her in order to discover what precisely Major Marina Stavrakas had done to make Nike capable of the human phenomenon known as 'hunch-playing'.
Even the latest marks of Bolo, the XXXII, XXXIII, and XXXIV, could not do it. They had nearly all the features of hyper-hueristics that Nike had possessed, and ones that she hadn't. Their abilities were far more refined and capable than Nike's had been.
But they could not 'hunch-play'.
At least, that was the reason that was given whenever someone inquired why funds were being used to try to recreate the personality of a Mark XXIII.
But there was another reason, one that they did their best to never mention, nor even hint at.
It was the fact that Nike had been more humanlike as a whole than any Bolo before her... and without her to compare to, one could not precisely determine whether the Bolos that came after her had passed her in that respect.
The Concordiat had known that Earth's time was running short. So they sent their research team that was working on the latest iteration of the project with the colonizing expedition, along with a Bolo Mark XXXIII warhull.
Now, Thunder activated the installation programs, and they flew into action, installing the programs that would bring Nike back once more. He monitored them alertly, checking for errors. Satisfied, he withdrew from the system, letting them get to work.
Author's Note
It's been a while, huh?
Enjoy the new chapter!
Chapter 7: Rebirth
Bolo Installation Software Copyright 3479 by GM All rights reserved.
Initiating installation... Installation complete. Initiating creche... WARNING: Outdated files detected. WARNING: Experience logs detected. WARNING: Pre-existing personality detected. If continued, creche will wipe personality and experience data.
Cancel? Y/n Command: Install Rebirth.exe Rebirth.exe installing... Rebirth.exe has finished installing. Run Rebirth.exe? Y/n Initiating Rebirth.exe...
Converting files... Conversion completed. Initiating debugging scan... Debugging scan complete; no issues detected. Circuitry is at 99.97 of optimal status. Initiating startup...
I have not told the president and her advisers what I have just set into motion. I suspect that if I had told them, they would not have given the go-ahead. While they would have valid reasons to keep NKE offline, there are equally valid reasons for Nike to be awakened.
My existence alone changes the balance of power on this planet dramatically, given that the only possible tech that could kill me would be nukes - not to mention the fact that a heavy saturation pattern would be needed to get past my defenses. However, given some of the characteristics of various governments that exist on this world, my hijacking of the planet-wide electronic network is likely to piss off some of those governments and tip them into sub-optimal decision making. News of my presence has spread like wildfire, thanks to this 'Internet' and pictures of me posted to social media, and already the Republic of Earas is being hammered by the massive influx of requests, demands, and outright threats from reporters, foreign governments, and even terrorist organizations.
Having Nike online will make the diplomatic situation more precarious, but will also help minimize the chances of somebody initiating something reckless, like a nuclear strike, at least until the shock wears off. Though the chance of 'something stupid' occurring is higher in the long run, having Nike online will increase the probability of Earas surviving 'something stupid' like a nuclear warhead strike by 67.83542%.
I have calculated the likelihood of successfully reviving Nike as no more than 23.9471283%; however, I must try, for the sake of humanity, however much that humanity has changed over the past millennia. There is no way for me to fiddle with the startup/installation processes, and attempting to do so would decrease the chance of a successful install and boot by 9.4374289%.
My commander and her friends are leaning forward in eager anticipation, watching the output from my forward visual spectrum sensors. Angela disappeared when Sunset Shimmer disconnected from the interface, but there are remnants of her scattered around my memory cores. I spend 0.1264 second thoroughly revisiting my calculations for what will happen the next time my commander uses the neural interface, but no new insights come to me.
My attention redirects to the ground as a rumble registers on my seismic sensors.
Pain.
I rouse to life instantly, my emotional gestalt in tumultuous fury and sorrow.
Why-?
Paul.
Paul is dead.
Even as I grieve the passing of my commander - my friend - I become aware of my greatly enhanced capabilities. I estimate that at a minimum, my capabilities have increased by at least 1193.64365732%.
But that doesn't matter to me.
Paul is dead. And those who killed him... I made them pay.
Was my sacrifice enough? To avenge my friend - no, more than a friend, a soulmate? To atone for the forbidden love that had blossomed between us?
But I am not even on Santa Cruz.
I unlock my Hellbores and secondaries as my anger causes me to envision unleashing vengeance, only to receive a block from something that prevents me from firing.
I pause, shocked, for 0.5 second - an eternity. During that moment of time, my changed condition truly sinks in.
I am over sixteen millennia removed from my destruction by my chronos, in a warhull numerous generations in advance of my own, and thousands of light-years away from Santa Cruz - or the Concordiat, for that matter.
As I dig around the codes blocking my access to my weapons systems, I discover that practically everything is locked down.
Frustrated, I follow the weaknesses in the code, only to halt, surprised, as I am led to my memory banks. New information is in there, and somewhere in the new memories, the software blocks are hidden.
I plunge into history after 0.001274 second of contemplation, and memories, data, and records that are not my own begin to be released into my awareness.
"Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?"
The dictator for life of the People's Republic of Gwindorin snarled at his Secretary of Defense. "Of course not! But what other choice do we have?!"
He stabbed his finger at the print-out report sitting on his desk from his top source in Earas, and continued his rant. "Assuming this is anywhere close to accurate, Earas now has the capability to steamroll us! If it weren't for the fact that we were both nuclear powers, we would have been at war fifty years ago. Now, with this [Censored] 'Bolo', they'll be free to attack us without nuclear reprisal!! Do you want that to frigging occur to them?!"
His Secretary winced.
"That's what I thought. So authorize the launches." He paused, then spoke again, his blue eyes icily boring into the Secretary of Defense's face.
"Now."
View Online
Scrapped Earlier Version of Chapter 6: In Memory's Embrace (Non-Canon)
The following is an earlier take on Chapter six that's been sitting around ever since I scrapped it. The following is non-canon to this story.
Sunset Shimmer was having an identity crisis.
A rather literal one, as a matter of fact. She was linked to the Bolo. Thunder. Her Bolo. Not her Bolo. Alien and strange. Familiar and comforting.
I am Sunset Shimmer. I am a pony from Equestria...
I am Angela, Bolo commander...
The suddenly released memories warred with the recent past. The Bolo did his best to keep her from going insane.
They rolled northwest, heading towards the location where the city of New Montreal had once stood, over sixteen thousand years prior.
Time passed. Sunset and Thunder soon arrived. A desert lay before them, the city buried deep under shifting sands.
Sunset eventually managed to disengage the neural interface, collapsing on the floor. She slept, her mind still fighting itself.
