Fallout Equestria: Due North

I opened my eyes groggily, and the shape of Sky Strider standing over me became obvious. I glanced down at myself, and recoiled at the sight of several large, ugly bruises, the dark purple stark in comparison to my light blue coat. I reached up and touched my forehead, cringing at the spike of pain from yet another bruise, this one above my left eye. I groaned as I became aware of a faint headache. I turned to look at the clock, the cheerful display reading 11:23. Eleven? Now that was odd; I always set my alarm to six, no exceptions. I turned to Sky.

"What the hell happened?" I asked. "I feel like shit."

"Ya finally agreed to go out drinking with Bright Spark," he stifled a laugh. "Ya had so much whiskey ya couldn't stay on your feet! I thought ya could use a lie-in bro."

Bright Spark, great. The mare was one of a few ponies like me, junior technicians who acted almost as apprentices at Neighvarro R&D. I had been part of the Enclave's military for a year now, working as an aircraft tech. Since I was younger than literally everyone else there, and less experienced, I tended to drift between projects, helping as I was needed. Bright Spark was another of these ponies, and by far the worst. While most of the development team knew I liked to be left alone, she insisted that I be involved in everything. No matter how many times I told her that I didn't want a conversation while I'm working, or that I wasn't interested in the next party, she couldn't give up. At least she meant well, I guess.

"So how'd I get like this?" I asked, "There's no way falling over bruised me this bad." This time he actually had the nerve to laugh.

"Ya kinda started saying things,"

"How bad?" I demanded.

"Ya said ya 'wanted a piece of' the B.C!" He burst out laughing. My blood ran cold; my crush on the base commander was one of my deepest secrets. Ever since I had caught sight of her on base I'd had had feelings for her. As far as I remembered I had only even said 'hi' once, back in the last year of flight school. She hadn't noticed.

"You're fucking kidding me, how many heard?" I demanded.

"Half the base knows, and her brother was not happy! He went for ya like nothing, and then, then he just flies off like nothing happened! Doubt he'll even remember it!" Sky was rolling around on the floor with laughter; I didn't get it.

"Ugh, shut up. I need to eat," I suddenly became aware of the emptiness of my stomach.

"Got ya covered little bro, there's croissants in the oven."

I stumbled downstairs after him, following the scent of warm bread. There were some times I still couldn't believe he was my brother, then again, he really wasn't. The fact that I was adopted lurked in the back of my mind, refusing to be erased. It had never really bothered me, since I had been with my adoptive family since birth, but the truth was there. The major side effect of this was my name; I had a picture of a propeller within a gear in my flank, and a special talent in aeronautical engineering, and yet I was named after a weather phenomenon. Normally when pegasi were in this situation it meant that their parents were particularly traditional, and my mum was anything but that. It had something to do with the mother always instinctively knowing vaguely their baby's special talent at birth and since my adoptive mother had chosen my name, she wouldn't have had that advantage. I pushed the various thoughts to the back of my mind; I had bigger worries. I sat down to eat.

After breakfast, I set off for the base. A few pegasi still flew overhead, none of which I recognized. I really didn't need an encounter right now; I was late enough as it was. Trotting briskly, I set off for the base. It was at times like these that I really wished I could fly: to race along above the buildings of Neighvarro would have cut my journey time in half, but I was painfully aware of my stunted wings, which I hid beneath my lab coat rather than have them visible to all.

I rounded another corner and suddenly I was on base, the sweeping cloud layer dotted with barracks and hangars rather than houses.

I headed straight for the R&D labs, set at the South end of the complex, ignoring all the ponies yelling at me as I trotted past the barracks. I really should have gone the other way around, past the hangars, but I had been so preoccupied with my own thoughts that I hadn't realized.

"Hey mareface!"

I stopped short, my irritation turning to anger. Nopony was allowed to call me that, ever. I spun on the spot, turning to face the pony who had yelled. Staring back at me, a goofy grin plastered across his muzzle, was Crunch Time, his unruly dark blue mane a tangled mess, his light green coat marred by numerous minor scars from numerous bar brawls. The buck was a third rank Airpony, who was constantly going on about how he was on the verge of promotion, even though he had been spouting the same bullshit for months. He was constantly getting in trouble for all kinds of offences, from dealing Buck to stealing an experimental Novasurge back before the design had been reproduced correctly. His uncle, as he was constantly reminding everyone, was an ex-council member who kept pulling strings and reducing his punishments.

"Fuck. Off," I spat, seething with fury. He just went on grinning.

"So… I hear you're into Ast-"

"I thought I told you to fuck off," I butted in, before increasing my trotting speed and almost galloping away. 'Mareface' was a childhood nickname still used by some in attempts to irritate me, which I will admit often worked. It stemmed from the fact that my muzzle was shaped like that of a stereotypical mare rather than a stallion; another product of my seemingly flawed genes.

Arriving at the R&D labs, I stopped for a second to brush my short light brown mane over my forehead bruise with a hoof before hurrying through security as fast as the security ponies would let me. Word of last night's incident had spread here too, and more than once somepony tried to strike up a conversation about it, only to be rudely told to mind their own business. By the time I had finally got through the various checkpoints I was exhausted and hungry, though my headache had cleared a little.

Inside the labs everything was as expected, with ponies constantly rushing left and right carrying blueprints and important components. A few of the other junior techs sniggered behind my back, but I pretended not to notice; I didn't have time to bother with them. Finally I ran into General Engineer Golden Heart. She was, in theory, my direct superior, however she was also my adoptive mother, which only complicated affairs. She was a tall and slender mare, with a pale pink coat and a curly yellow mane she kept pulled back into a loose ponytail. Her cutie mark was a pair of hammers, back to back in such a way that the gap between them formed a heart shape.

"Cloudburst?" She said, clearly surprised to see me, "I thought you weren't going to be in today, you know, after last night. I've already got Snow Blast working on redrafting the pitch documents for the new Raptor weaponry." I rolled my eyes in irritation. I had gone to all the effort to drag myself out of bed and get down here, only to be told that my only task for the day had been given to somepony else. She just smiled at me, in that irresistible way that made even the most serious of visiting officials lighten up. "Well," she began, "Maelstrom is looking at fixing the steering issues with Colonel Astral's sky-tank, but that'll have to wait until the replacement parts come in…"

"So?" I butted in, "What am I supposed to do?"

"Ah, I know," she smiled, "I need somepony to take a look at something one of the retrieval teams dragged up, some kind of 'energy shotgun' I think." I thought about it for a second; I was an aircraft tech after all, but the idea of unknown weaponry sounded relatively attractive.

"I'll take it," I replied, and she passed me the necessary clearance pass. I said a hurried goodbye and galloped off, honestly unsure as to whether I had addressed her as 'ma'am' or 'mom'.

======

The security buck examined the plastic card closely, squinting at the printed letters as if they might somehow yield additional information. He looked at me incredulously.

"So you're telling me they sent a mechanic to look at this thing?" he snorted. "They must be short staffed."

"It's Junior Aircraft Technician, alright? And yes, they did send me to examine this weapon of yours, just look at the card," I shot back. He sighed and opened the door to the armoury. One of the quartermasters greeted me inside and led me through the building. The armoury was basically a warehouse which housed all of the Enclave's various weaponry and equipment, as well as anything brought back from the surface.

After passing through the redistribution centre, where various recovered items such as medicine and ammunition were packed up and shipped to wherever they were needed, I was led through a thick steel door and into the heart of the building. The cramped room was lined with old plastic drawers full of broken terminals and other assorted technological components, and on a table in the centre lay a weapon I had never seen before.

It had once been a 40mm grenade launcher, however numerous parts had been added around the barrel. Multiple exposed wires and tubes ran the length of the weapon. A scope, a heavily modified version that mounted on Enclave laser rifles, was attached to the top. Like most weapons, it had a mouth trigger, but the pump action rendered it incompatible with any battle saddle. On the side a little orange sticker had been placed that read; WARNING. POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS WEAPONRY. DO NOT TOUCH. I turned to the quartermaster.

"Mind if I…"

"Oh, oh sure," said the buck, "Be my guest." I picked up the weapon, feeling the weight of it. It was lighter than I expected, and I had a hunch that the stock was hollowed out to hold the electrical components. My escort spoke up again.

"We call it a 'Holorifle'. It takes microspark cells, one per shot I'm afraid. You load it like a regular grenade launcher, internal magazine takes four cells at once. Just make sure you load 'em with the positive end towards the barrel." He passed me a few cells, one of the things that the Enclave still manufactured, and I went to load it.

"Wait!" he yelled. "Sorry, it's just, you aren't allowed armed weapons in here due to the explosives, and it's got no safety." I nodded slowly and dropped the microspark cells into a pocket, picking up the weapon and trotting out of the room.

After filling out a couple of forms, the Holorifle was mine, at least to test. I trotted excitedly back into the lab, narrowly dodging Bella, the lab's resident swan, and headed to the firing range. It consisted of a long corridor, with a rail on the ceiling to hang targets off of. Here weapons built in the labs or recovered from beneath were tested. Over the past few months it had seen significantly increased use as various projects had been completed. There I hung a target on the rail, crouched down with the bit gripped between my teeth, and rested the foregrip on my left hoof, lining up the bull’s-eye with my cross-hairs and bracing for the recoil.

I pulled the trigger, and was surprised as the anticipated kick never came. Suddenly I realised that such energy weapons had no recoil and cursed my own stupidity; I had missed the both the target and my chance to observe the projectile. I swore and lined up the weapon again, this time ignoring the prospect of bullet drop or recoil. I pumped the foregrip and watched as a drained microspark flew out and onto the floor, as if it were a spent shell. Now that was cool, designing the reloading mechanism to treat the cells like solid ammo casings. It made the Holorifle feel less like the clean, precise E-series energy rifles used by the Enclave, and more like the kind of rugged, jury rigged, stereotypical wasteland guns that were normally not energy weapons.

My thoughts returned to the range, and I adjusted my position in order to put the centre of the target paper in my reticule. The scope had pretty good magnification, and a little button on the side toggled the integrated night vision. An additional spell matrix had apparently been hard wired into the device, which was supposed to apply some kind of additional enchantment at a button press, only the switch didn't seem to have any effect at the moment.

Steadying my excited breathing as best I could, I squeezed the trigger much more precisely. I felt a great surge of excitement as I saw a glowing blue hologram, shaped like several smaller cubes orbiting a larger cube, form just inside the barrel and fly out, missing the target by about three inches and hitting the cloud wall behind, which was already scorched black from years of misfires and bad aiming. The spot where it impacted glowed blue for a second as the magical energy dissipated through it.

"So. Fucking. Cool," I practically whispered to myself. My head had pretty much cleared, I had forgotten my hunger, and I was feeling very optimistic about the next few days, even if I couldn't hit my target at fifteen yards with a scope. The Holorifle was clearly a force to be reckoned with, and with any luck the story of a junior aircraft tech being entrusted with a hugely valuable military asset would surpass the one about a junior tech who got his ass kicked a drunken brawl with the Colonel's brother.

I hurried back as fast as my legs would carry me and sat down at my own workstation, feeling much more like myself. Gripping a screwdriver in my mouth, I carefully opened up the weapon to expose its inner workings. As I had expected, the stock was hollow, but the myriad of components it contained was nothing like any weapon I had yet seen. Then again, aircraft were my speciality, as my cutie mark showed, and it was very possible that a dedicated weapons technician would have easily worked out what the parts were.

Realising I was wasting my time, I moved on to the scope. The casing came away easily, and a pair of spell matrices, nestled in a bed of improvised wiring, presented themselves. One was familiar to me; a common sight in heads up displays and weapon scopes, I had seen the night vision enchantment matrix a thousand times before. The other however, was unfamiliar. I hadn't been wrong, it was clearly designed to apply an enchantment, but it was far more complex than anything I'd ever seen. So what was it? The only thing which immediately came to mind was Eyes Forward Sparkle, but even that required a less complicated set up than this. Perplexed, I decided that the best course of action was to take the matrix to somepony who knew about these things.

Tesla Jolt was the closest friend I had; the buck was a couple of years older than me, though you wouldn't notice, and a real gun nut. While I could recalibrate a flight harness in minutes, and knew the technical specifications of sky-tanks and Raptors off by heart; he could have an E-10 working like brand new even after years of disuse by wastelanders, or tell you the calibre of any common solid ammo weapon just by looking at it. He was noticeably short, only coming up to my forehead at full height, and he always carried a brown satchel slung over one shoulder. He had a sandy brown coat and a jet black mane that for reasons best known to him was always shiny, as well as a constant layer of stubble. He was also, like me, a huge fan of tabletop games, and every weekend we would meet up and pitch my tiny Enclave soldiers against his Steel Rangers. He noticed me coming.

"Hey, Cloudy! What's up?" he called without taking his eyes off of his work, wisely deciding not to bring up my escapades the night before. I approached, replying,

"Not much, but you'll never guess what project my mum let me take."

"Uh, I've got no idea," he admitted, "Tell me."

"I'm evaluating some weapon dragged up from the ground to see if it's any use to the Enclave. They call it; the holorifle."

"Energy or solid ammo?" he asked.

"It's energy," I replied, "But not like any I've ever seen. Shoots holographic cubes, so when they hit you you've got all that magical energy dissipating through you."

"Weaponised holograms?!" he exclaimed. "I've been saying the Enclave should do this for years! If only the tech wasn't so rare. You have to let me take a look."

"Sure thing buddy," I smiled, and gestured to my desk. He had been in the process of dismantling an E-10, and the weapon's innards were already laid out in a perfect order on his own table. The outer casing of the gun had been removed and the conducting rod with its gemstone tip had been removed. The focusing array, still within its housing, lay to one side of the open casing, but the wiring and spell matrices were still within the weapon.

I glanced quickly over at the two photos he kept on the table, half hidden behind the rifle. One I had seen a hundred times before; I had the same exact image framed on my own desk. It was of the pair of us on the day we graduated from training, giddy with excitement and grinning like idiots, my foreleg draped across his shoulders. The other was of him with his family; his father, a moderately well-known Major in the Air Force; his mother, a fiercely patriotic ex-marine who lost an eye to the Griffins; and him, several years younger than now, clutching a Wonderbolt plush in between his forelegs.

He followed me back to my desk, and the moment he saw the Holorifle his grey eyes lit up like a foal who's just been given three scoops of ice cream. He broke into a gallop and raced over to the table where it lay. He picked up my screwdriver, peeled the warning sticker off the casing, and began to further dismantle the various components, laying the whole thing out in a similarly orderly fashion to his E-10. The unknown matrix immediately drew his attention and he expertly unplugged it, holding up to the light from a nearby window. He squinted, trying to read the tiny letters etched into its surface. He suddenly sighed and dropped it, the matrix clattering to the floor. The filly-in-a-candy-store look had faded from his face, and he was clearly in a bad mood.

"That," he began, pointing to the matrix, "is a Larkin Matrix. It lets you see through all forms of cloaking and illusion magic through a clever series of spells, enchantments, and other tricks. They only ever made a few, since they're damn expensive. That thing's probably worth more than the entire rest of the weapon, or it would be, if it wasn't burnt out," he grumbled, setting it down and rolling his eyes.

"That sucks, I know, but you've still got the rest of the Holorifle to look at, and there's got to be some cool stuff there, right?" He seemed to cheer up.

"Yeah, I guess so," he conceded

"Don't sweat it," I replied, glad to see him getting back to work.

He picked up the screwdriver and set to work, dismantling the holographic array housing and laying out the parts with his trademark neatness. The main element appeared to be a large blue crystal, fused into a gray metal housing which connected the gem to the rest of the weapon's electronics.

"So that's how they do it," Jolt muttered to himself as he extricated the crystal from the weapon's barrel.

"Do what?" I asked, genuinely curious. He replied,

"Produce the projectile, it's pretty much the same as the magical energy bolts that unicorns can shoot. Hang on a second, you do realise that this thing's still loaded right?" I suddenly realised that I hadn't unloaded it in my excitement, only to realise it was harmless anyway, and nodded.

"Yup, but you'd have to pump it before you could fire it; the cell in the chamber's drained."

"So what!" he exclaimed, "Would you ever attempt maintenance on a sky-tank with the fuel tank full, even if the engines were off?"

"Always ensure that the fuel tank is drained and the battery chamber is empty before accessing any maintenance panels or attempting to service the aircraft." I parroted, straight from the academy textbooks. He just rolled his eyes and shot back,

"Never begin maintenance or authorized modification on any firearm without first making sure that there is no potentially live ammunition in the magazine or chamber. The first rule of weapon engineering."

He had a point.

"Alright, you win. I should have emptied it first, okay?" I conceded. He smiled, and one by one lifted the three microspark cells out of the magazine. He moved back over to the barrel again, fiddling with the various parts.

"No use," he said, mildly dejected. "It's that crystal; it's a one-of-a-kind model, hoof built. The Enclave can't even produce one, let alone enough to make the weapon feasible."

"Ah,"

That was all I had to say; because that meant they'd take the weapon away, and leave it to rot in some ancient cabinet in the armoury. Then again, I could always try and convince my mother to let me keep it.

======

I trotted back to the house through the darkness of the late evening, having eaten lunch in the mess hall with Tesla and spent the rest of the day dreaming and fiddling with the Holorifle. Golden Heart was already home, and she greeted me at the door. I ate dinner greedily, and I was looking forward to an evening playing For the Enclave: Wonderbolts, when Sky Strider returned from his posting at the airbase with a letter in between his teeth. He placed it on the table and opened up the envelope, revealing the precisely printed typeface of an Enclave notice. It read:

Mr Sky Strider,
20 Stratos Lane,
Neighvarro, GPE.

This is a notification by the Grand Pegasus Enclave Air Force of your transfer from the Neighvarro 3rd Reserve Squadron to the Neighvarro 5th Fighter Squadron, following casualties incurred by the latter unit, active from tomorrow morning. Please arrive promptly to your new post at 06:00 at the Neighvarro AFB Command Center for transfer to aboard the Raptor-class cloudship Silver Lining.

Yours Faithfully,
Colonel Astral.

======

I awoke to the sound of my mother softly talking, the noise slowly becoming more defined as I drifted into consciousness.

"Time to get up, sweetheart, we have to wave goodbye to Sky; remember?" she said, shaking me slightly with one hoof.

"Alright, alright," I mumbled, stumbling to my hooves. The curtains in my room had been opened, but it was still dark outside so that the yellowish glow of the lights in the corridor outside my room and the soft blue light coming from my clock were the only sources of light. The clock display read 5:34, and slowly I remembered; he had come back yesterday with a reassignment notice from the Colonel. He had to be at the base by six, and was beginning active duty for several months, so we had to do our goodbyes now. From out in the hallway Sky Strider called.

"Mom, I'm ready! Is my little bro up yet?"

"Gimme a second!" I yelled back, interrupting my mom's reply. I grabbed my dressing gown and rushed out into the hall, where he was waiting. He was a good deal taller than me, with a bright bluish-white coat and a dark blue mane that was perpetually spiked up, even today. He wore his standard flight jacket, a fleece-lined brown garment with the emblem of the 3rd reserve on the shoulders; three lightning bolts striking down towards a medieval watchtower with a fire lit in the turret. It dated back to the Great War, when the 3rd Reserve had been the 601st Fighter Squadron, Equestria's primary border defence squadron.

As I approached him, he suddenly tore one of the patches of his jacket with a hoof and passed it to me, grinning as always.

"Keep it, it's yours," he smirked. I rolled my eyes.

"This had better not be one of your practical jokes."

"Now why would I do that?" he replied. "My best bro's gotta have something to remember me by while I'm away."

"But, won't you need it?" I protested. He just smiled.

"Nah, they'll get replaced once I get there anyway. I'll just say I lost it or something."

"Thanks Sky," I smiled, and playfully punched his shoulder with a pale blue hoof. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my mom set up the old camera and set the timer.

"Alright, smile!" she said, trotting over to stand behind us. "Cloudy, wings out." I rolled my eyes and unfurled my wings. Just before the flash went off, Sky Strider's hoof darted across and turned my mane into a ruffled mess. The photo slid out of the device; it wasn't particularly flattering; Golden Heart and I in our pyjamas, and my mane a huge tangle, but it was something. "Okay, now just you Sky," she said. I shuffled out of the way as he turned so that the shoulder with a unit patch faced the camera. This photo looked much better, since I wasn't in it.

My mother collected it from the slot at the front of the camera and placed it within the family photo album, an idea she'd originally had when she was just a young mare, going through the complicated adoption process for Sky Strider without any prior knowledge. She had begun the album as a way of both showing her achievement and reminding herself about what happened. All of the important events from our life were chronicled within, and this was no exception.

Sky hugged me one last time, before doing the same to my mother. Finally, he put on his saddlebags and trotted down the stairs with us in tow. At the front door he said one last goodbye, before turning and taking off. Slowly he climbed, weighed down by his saddlebags, until he was just one of millions of white specks in the sky, indistinguishable from the stars. I looked down at the patch he had given me; "Neighvarro 3rd Reserve" stitched around the edges. My only reminder of him besides photos.

======

I arrived to the base promptly, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that the shipment of spare parts due in from Thunderhead had arrived a day early, meaning that I could now help with the repairs on Astral's sky-tank. I met up with Maelstrom outside the aircraft hangars, where he had already begun to remove the vehicle's maintenance panels and armour plating. He was one of the older mechanics who worked alongside us R&D techs, and he scowled at me as I approached.

"So," he spat, "Yer th' engineer they sent, eh?"

"Yup," I replied, a little apprehensive, "That'd be me. What's up?"

"What? Yer sayin' them egg'eads didn't give ye no information as to what we're doin'?" he growled.

"Oh, no." I said hurriedly, "You just seemed upset is all. I was asking why"

"Ugh, look: Yer less than 'aff me age, ye've got yer 'ole life left, an' yer in R an' D, so ye can become pretty much any kinda technician ye want, 'ell, ye could even switch to weapons if ye wants. Me 'owever, I'm stuck in a dead end. I failed th' academy tests 'cause I thought it'd be a breeze, an' they stuck me 'ere. That's the difference 'tween us; yer an engineer, I'm a mechanic," he finished. I stood still for a moment, trying to process the sudden recital of his life story.

"Oh, sorry," I muttered, he just grumbled.

"Don' git yer mane in a tangle; I'm jus' an old sod who fucked up 'is life in the formative years," he said, dropping down onto his belly and opening one of the many hatches on the side of the aircraft. "So, ye know a lot 'bout sky-tanks kid?"

"Yup," I replied; sky-tanks were my passion, the main reason (besides my mom) that I'd signed up. The old buck seemed to scowl just a little less.

"Right then, what's the first rule of aircraft maintenance?"

"Always drain the fuel tank and remove any spark batteries," I said rapidly.

"Smartarse," he spat. "You're right though, so get to it." He gestured to the fuel valve. Typical, he was saddling me with all the menial tasks, while I was supposed to handle all of the planning and digital stuff. Then again, in theory I outranked him, even though there wasn't a hope in Tartarus he'd take orders from a junior tech.

I hooked up a rubber pipe and connected the other end to a nearby tank. Without hesitation, I opened the valve; and a high pressure jet of fuel shot out of the joint between the pipe and the sky-tank, splattering dark sticky liquid across my coat. Thankfully, I had changed into overalls before I came outside, so my lab coat wasn't ruined. Rapidly, I shut the valve and refastened the pipe, properly this time. Glancing over at Maelstrom, I felt a surge of embarrassment as I realized that the buck found my antics funny. Opening the valve a second time, I let the fuel tank drain. His face returned to a scowl as he passed me a maintenance PDA for the pilot interface.

"There, now go do yer fing while I do mine."

He meant for me to recalibrate the Gatling lasers and reboot the pilot interface, and so I hit the manual release on the rear door. It opened slowly on specially designed pistons, but we would have to start her engines in order to close it. I stepped inside, my hooves clattering up the troop ramp, and headed for the cockpit. Inside I first opened the battery container and removed all six batteries; the PDA would provide power to the circuitry. I pulled out a screwdriver from my overalls and set to work removing the top of the control panel. Beneath, the sky-tank's central matrix revealed itself, connected both to the emergency joystick and the flight harness. As carefully as I could, I separated one length of cable that wasn't connected to anything with my teeth and plugged it into the PDA.

Line after line of blue text appeared on the little screen, as the device ran an automatic diagnostic spell. They wayward segment of scripting appeared in the centre, and I rapidly re-typed it. Recalibrating the sky-tank's weaponry proved equally simple, and so I ran a full system reboot and replaced the cover.

"'Ey, kid, ger out 'ere," Maelstrom suddenly yelled. I trotted briskly out, only to see him lying on his back, everything except his hind legs under the aircraft, covered in grease. He had removed all of the armour plates around the right cloud generator, leaving it exposed, and was fiddling with some pipes attached to it. "Gimme that 1 inch bolt o'er there." I obliged.

"What are you doing?" I asked, hoofing it to him, "They didn't report any problems with the cloud generators."

"So?" he snarled. "If yer gonna do anythin', ye better do it right. There's no point doin' an 'aff-arsed job. If I 'adn't checked this 'ere pipe, she'd 'ave been leakin' cloud fluid all the way from 'ere to New Zephyr."

Cloud fluid: the same sticky black substance that currently speckled my entire body. The sky-tank ran on spark batteries, but its engines were built using standard earth pony and pegasus tech, rather than arcano-tech built by unicorn magic like the Raptors and Thunderheads had. This meant that a specially formulated fluid had to be used as fuel to be converted into clouds. For regular clouds this stuff was pretty much just water, but for building-grade clouds you needed a special, thicker fuel. For cloudships extra ingredients were added to create dark storm clouds, as both a statement to those below and a guard against magical attacks to the engines.

"Check th' old flap servos, will ye?" called the old buck from under the engine. I nodded, even though he probably couldn't see me, and opened up the access hatch. With just my head and forehooves inside, I quickly noticed that a bolt connecting the motor to the chain drive that controlled the wing flap had worked itself loose, and set about tightening it, getting grease all over me in the process. Just then a soldier from Recon trotted past, a lieutenant according to his rank badge. I waved a cheery hello, and Maelstrom slid out from under the vehicle to do the same. The buck smiled, and spoke.

"Hey guys, how's it going? Is that Astral's sky-tank you're working on?"

"Yes, sir," I said, leaning out of the hatch to get a better look at the buck. He wasn't a pony I knew, but I was sure I'd seen him somewhere before. "There were some problems with the pilot's interface causing her to pull to the right, and the Gatling laser turrets were due for recalibration, so we figured we'd take care of any other problems we could find while we were at it. Sir." There was something I didn't like about him, even though he was perfectly friendly, and I made sure to make it clear that he was my superior. He turned to leave.

"All right," he said, "I won't tie you up any longer. Take good care of that thing, huh? Wouldn't want anything to happen to the Colonel." He placed a great deal of emphasis on the last sentence, and I suddenly placed it; fuzzy memories of a blurred dark red shape jumping on top of me and pressing up against my muzzle filled my vision.

The Colonel's brother, the pony who had beaten my sorry ass half to death like it was nothing, had just walked straight past and not recognised me. Then it occurred to me; he didn't remember, hell, I hadn't remembered. I breathed a sigh of relief; it seemed to have blown over. "O-of course not, sir," I stammered, hoping he didn't suddenly work it out, "We'll have her flying as well as the day she rolled off the assembly line."

With him gone, I threw glance skywards and the dark shape of a Raptor drifted across my vision. That was odd; she was clearly heading towards the city; but no cloudships were due for docking. I squinted, trying to make out the yellow letters printed onto her. I was secretly hoping it would be the Silver Lining, but it was the Midnight Run. Still, General Silver Bolt's cloudship wasn't due back for ages, so what was it doing heading for the Neighvarro skyport? "'Ey, ger yer 'ead outta yer arse an' ger over 'ere." Maelstrom's call pulled me from my thoughts, and I hurried over to where he was working.

"How come you're so cheery towards him then?" I asked.

"Cause, ye see, 'e's somepony who's made sommat of 'is life, an' 'e ain't anypony I could 'ave been," he said in an almost patronizing way, as if it were obvious. I just rolled my eyes.

That evening, I was trotting home through the base in a relatively good mood, when several other pegasi galloped past me, rushing towards the base's command buildings. I picked up my pace, breaking into a gallop and unfurling my wings; while they weren't good for flying, they were handy when I needed to run.

Outside the command center several ponies had gathered. The same buck from earlier was standing outside the offices, talking to the colonel. They were both a complete mess; he was fumbling with a battle saddle, trying desperately to get all of his gear on, and she had been crying. A commotion among the gathered ponies drew my attention; a power-armored buck was pushing his way through the spectators.

"Olly, olly, oxen free! Ready or not, Lieutenant, here I come!" a loud, heavily modulated voice suddenly came from within the building, just before the trooper finally reached the colonel's brother. Out of the command complex strode an armoured pony, wearing a pattern of Advanced Power Armour that I didn't recognise. He tilted his head back slightly and began to talk, though I could no longer make out the words.

Suddenly the recon buck grabbed a pulse grenade from the soldier's webbing, shoved the armoured buck towards the stranger, and threw a pulse grenade between them, deactivating both of their suits.

He took off, tearing away into the night sky even as a flight of Enclave soldiers raced out of the building in pursuit. I watched them as they flew into the distance, tracking them by the orange flashes of Sunburst and Novasurge rifles firing until they were out of sight

======

It was only later, when I finally returned home, that I learnt of why he'd been running. I switched on the radio in our kitchen to hear the local news and from the device came a government broadcast:

All loyal citizens of the Enclave are encouraged to be on the look out for the outlaw known as 2nd Air Lieutenant Mach, wanted for crimes against our glorious nation including accessing restricted information, assault, desertion, insubordination, refusal to cooperate with authority, resisting arrest, theft of government property, and high treason. He has been described as tall, with a blood red coat and brown mane, and is believed to be armed and dangerous. Citizens are advised not to approach the outlaw, and instead should contact the authorities immediately should they believe to have seen him. A reward is being offered for any information leading to his capture.

I wondered how much they'd inflated his crimes, as was often the case for such incidents. I highly doubted he'd actually committed treason; that was normally just a label the Enclave slapped on ponies they didn't like.

"I worry about him, you know," a voice said softly. I spun around; Golden Heart was slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, head buried in her forehooves.

"Huh?"

"It's Sky Strider," she just sighed, "They've got his squad going after the outlaw. What happens if they run into him, or get attacked by Steel Rangers, or…"

"Mom," I interjected, "He can handle himself. I'm sure he's having the time of his life right now, down there on the surface." I just hoped my words sounded sure enough, because inside I was as scared as she was.