Pegasus Device: Reckoning

The ponies of Shade’s End, a small farming village within sight of the Cloudsdale Meganimbus, were confused. Throughout the day and into the night, they had seen in the distance very peculiar clouds arrive at precise intervals around the city’s enormous perimeter. They were all the same size, and each carried what appeared to be a skyscraper. The clouds themselves weren’t the oddest, either. They had seen black specks erupt from the buildings and swarm like locusts, bringing slightly larger shadows down from their cloud and descending on the land beneath them. The ponies knew most of those areas were wilderness or farmland, though to the northwest, their neighboring village of Stratusedge had been directly under one of these mysterious clouds.

It was a Pegasus thing, they quickly realized, though this didn’t provide them with many answers. There was much hushed gossip and discussion amongst the simple folk of Shade’s End about what those pesky winged ponies were up to now. It was always something new with the aloof citizens of Cloudsdale, and though there was a small blanket of worry that seeped through the earth ponies and unicorns below the Meganimbus, most of them figured whatever was happening would clear itself up in a day or two.

They had hoped, that is, that that would be the case- though when a new cloud bearing its own building appeared on the east horizon and sped towards them, the evening sun’s reflection on it blinding their eyes while they stared, their worry turned to anxiety, which turned to fear. By an hour before sunset, it had arrived directly over top of the town, and stopped.

Oaktree, an old earth pony with a coat like his namesake and a mane grey like dying lumber, had been watching this strange cloud from his farm as it hung ominously above him. He recognized it as one of the Auxiliary Factories that had been sent out- this was the one that went to Trotland, he reckoned, given where it came from. But why was it back? And why were the pegasi moving it flying so… militantly? His head swivelled as he tracked two flocks of workers--their individual colours muted by black vests and barely visible from this distance--circling around the factory like arrowheads.

More ponies joined them, and Oaktree felt a sickness in his stomach he could not place as six separate groups of pegasi formed up into very distinct patterns that were remnant of old history books he had been taught from many decades ago; books on the race wars before the founding of Equestria, and specifically on the old spartan culture the city of Cloudsdale had been founded on.

“Move inside,” he called, following his gut. “Everypony, inside!” He started to trot towards his small home, calling out frantically. Some of the ponies around him started to move, but he feared his words were not convincing others stronger than their own curiosity was. “For the love of Celestia, go inside!” he shouted.

Above him, the squadrons broke, and the pegasi came down upon the village from six different directions. In what felt like an instant, it was as if Discord had returned. There were shouts and screams, shattering glass and splintering wood, and in general, complete chaos.

He almost made it to his house when a soldier landed hard in front of him. He was charcoal grey with a merlot mohawk mane, and though his face was stern, Oaktree could tell from his years that his eyes were sorrowful.

“To your town square, NOW!” the stallion shouted, pointing a hoof towards the market area of Shade’s End. “Do not enter your homes! Do not grab any belongings! Comply and you will be safe!” he continued to shout. Oaktree hesitated, and raised a hoof as he stepped back once. The stallion stepped forward and blazed his wings out, pawing the ground. Behind him, another two pegasi landed just as violently as before and kicked the door of Oaktree’s house in before flying in.

“Wh- what’s…?” the old earth pony stammered, and Stormy Night reared.

“You WILL move to the town square, or you WILL be considered an obstruction and removed! MOVE OUT, DIRTHOOVES!”

Oaktree’s brain welcomed the clear direction, and before he could even think about what was happening, he had turned and was galloping as fast as his ancient legs could carry him towards the market. He entered the town proper, finding only more bedlam around him. He joined a river of his neighbours, earth ponies and unicorns, being funnelled by shouted orders from above. More ponies joined the stream as pegasi launched into houses- some through windows or doors, and others plunging straight through the roofs of barricaded domiciles. There were calls and yelps coming from every direction, and Oaktree could not differentiate between friend or foe.

He rounded a turn in the street and saw the market before him--or what used to be the market. Already stalls and displays had been torn down and destroyed, piled up in the middle of the square and burning. There was a colossal whumph and Oaktree jumped aside as a massive metal barricade was dropped in front of the stores next to him.

He heard a commotion stand out as he entered the market, and turned around to see from one of the last houses two mares fighting. One was a unicorn with a whisk cutie mark, trying desperately to hold on to a jar of flour, while the other--a pegasus--kicked her precisely in her joints. The unicorn fell, and the pegasus leapt into the air and dove back down, landing both rear hooves on the fallen pony’s face.

Oaktree stumbled backwards and another vested pegasus appeared, shouting the same orders to him: do not look back, do not grab items, stay in the square. He complied, praying to the alicorns above that his friend Pastry Keen would be okay.

He finally made it to the centre of the market, and joined the crowd of frightened ponies huddling together next to the burning wreckage of their livelihoods. To the south end of town, he saw blasts of unicorn magic shoot into the air three times, and then a group of pegasi launch towards the source. After a moment, there were no more rays of light, and he shuddered and turned around.

He looked up at the factory that had brought such pain to his small town and saw now that great bay doors had opened at its base. Dozens of ponies were hauling massive shipping containers out of them, bringing them down to where Oaktree’s farm had been. When the containers were placed and unlatched from the ropes they were carried by, another dozen or so pegasi started flying towards his farm, hauling baskets of apples and grains, cases of milk, and satchels of what he assumed were bits judging by the flashes and sparkles as a few fell from the Corporation employee’s grips.

They’re taking all our food? The thought registered sideways in Oaktree’s mind. Why would they take all our food? We’ve supplied them with more than enough this year…

His train of thought was derailed as Mayor Eloquent and Shade’s End's entire detachment of Royal Guards burst out of the town hall on the other side of the square. The guards--all unicorns--immediately started launching shots of bright magic at the pegasi. One of the beams connected with the jaw of a mare, and she tailspun down from the sky straight into the bonfire in the square.

“What is this madness? This treachery? This is unheard of in Equestria! We have already sent word to the capitol, stop this at once or face the Princesses’ wrath!” the Mayor shouted, the earth pony jumping and stomping in place. “I demand parlay with whomever is commanding you to do this!”

A pegasus dove down from above--from where Oaktree did not see--dodging the Royal Guard’s missiles with deft maneuvering, and opened a container of bright, baby-blue liquid over them. It splashed onto them like paint and then evaporated into little rumbling clouds a second later, but the damage was done. The contingent of authority for Shade’s End collapsed, twitching violently, and when the bits of billowing thunder disappeared, a gang of pegasi scooped up the shaking ponies and hauled them away to the camp being built on the hill where Oaktree called home.

Oaktree saw more containers and other bulky objects pulled from the flying fortress and carried to the east of town. He saw Pastry Keen, still, on the dirt road. He smelled smoke and blood and gasoline. He heard a yearling crying, calling for its parents, somewhere in the square. He wished he could cry too, but he frowned only instead. There would be time for tears later. He had to be a beacon of stability for his friends, and he tore his eyes from the myriad of Corporation activity and walked amongst the survivors grouped around him, checking with each if they were okay.

Oaktree found himself hanging from two pegasi in now-familiar black vests. They brought him in through the front flaps of the large, olive-green tent that appeared to be the Corporation’s base of operations, and placed him gently in a cheap folding chair set before a wooden folding table. Across from him, a mustard coloured stallion in aviator sunglasses sat, not looking up from his clipboard.

Oaktree did not move nor make a sound. The employees who had grabbed him, wordlessly, from the town square had now since vanished into the rush of activity around him. Dozens of ponies flew in and out of the front entrance and hole in the centre of the tent ceiling constantly. To Oaktree’s left, there were a row of a dozen switchboard-looking machines, each with an operator in a vest and a headset. He strained his ears and tried to make out what they were saying.

“Copy that Squadron Three, we register your objective captured...”

“...Southeast food stores have been secured, proceed to eastern block Squadron Six, and…”

“...Five, proceed to terminal boundary and assist Squadron One with trenching. Further orders upon completion…”

Oaktree returned his gaze to the stallion in front of him, his mouth opening slowly in awe and confusion at the operation. He was still ignored, and so he craned his neck and looked behind the mysterious pony. Behind him were four large, rectangular… things. They spanned almost the whole width of the tent but were strangely ambiguous in their design- it was as if some pony had formed a solid brick of white plastic and called it a machine. Asides from the new Corporation logo--still familiar with its three towers on a winged thundercloud--a dark opening on one side, and two spigots over glass containers on the other, they were featureless. Something tugged at the back of Oaktree’s mind, a recognition that he could not remember or place, but it came with an ominous anxiety.

“Mr. Oaktree,” the mustard-yellow pegasus said, startling the old earth pony. “Welcome to the base of the Thirteenth Primary of the Cloudsdale Weather Corporation. I trust you are comfortable? Luxurious seating, I know,” he trailed off, still not looking up from his clipboard. He reached a hoof out and grabbed--with perfect timing from a passing flying worker--a second clipboard, reading from it while handing the first one off to another. None of the three ponies broke stride in this action, and Oaktree felt he had witnessed some dance that had been practiced a million times before.

“Uh, no, uhm, Sir?” he said, not sure what he had just been asked.

“Hah!” the stallion laughed, and he set his new clipboard down on the flimsy table. “Excellent. We must be uncomfortable in the name of efficiency.” He chuckled and smiled warmly at Oaktree. “Forgive me, all this rigidness makes me yearn for some humor, though I’ll admit I’m poor at it. My name is Colonel Sundown, and I am the commander of the Thirteenth Primary Regiment. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Oaktree.”

Oaktree looked warily at Sundown’s outstretched hoof, before extending his own and shaking cautiously.

“Ah, well,” Sundown said in response to the weak hoofshake. “I don’t blame you, really. I get it. A lot of confusion and chaos in your life suddenly, right?” His voice was gruff and barky, though expressive and cheerful. Oaktree was reminded of the Spider-Mare movies he had watched as a child, and the grumpy editor from them. “Listen, Mr. Oaktree, you and I, we’re not so different. We’re both old stallions in a new and rapidly changing world.” He lowered his sunglasses, allowing Oaktree to see a pair of crow’s feet that looked much like his own, and then put them back up.

Oaktree noticed then that Sundown was indeed an old pony- a few stray hairs in his mustard coat were much brighter than the rest, hinting at a more vibrant tone from a former time. His crew cut mane was plain grey- likely from time now, and not from birth. Somehow, this connection reassured him.

“But, it is partly up to me to help bring about this change, and I hope you will be able to assist myself in this endeavour,” Sundown said. “Now, Mr. Oaktree, I’m not an unreasonable stallion. I’ve had you dragged into my ‘house’, placed you in the middle of strange circumstances, and now I mention I need your help. You must have questions, and I shall oblige you a few before we begin discussions proper.” He turned a hoof towards Oaktree, offering him the chance to speak.

“Well, uh, thank you I suppose, mist- Colonel. Colonel Sundown. Are we, are we at war?”

Sundown burst into laughter, but quickly calmed himself down. “No, no, Tartarus no!” Oaktree started to relax further, but Sundown continued. “No, you need to have two belligerant sides to have a war.”

“I… see.”

“Go on,” Sundown said.

“Well, uh, what are those machines at the back of the room?” He offered, testing to see the limits of what information Sundown would offer him.

“Pegasus Devices,” Sundown said, matter of factly. His posture stiffed, turning more professional than the previously-chill aura he had exuded.

Oaktree felt his stomach turn upside down and practice ballet. He remembered that phrase. He remembered the grainy photographs he had seen in the newspapers. He remembered the outrage and fear after the Royal Inspection and the announcement that had caused it.

“...But they…?”

“Were decommissioned and destroyed, with all patents and plans incinerated, eighteen years ago, yes. But they missed one, and well, our engineers are quite good at reverse engineering. Quite good, yes. In fact, these new ones, Class III, Fourth Editions, they don’t just create spectra. It’s really quite fascinating what you can, well, extract from various ponies.”

Oaktree felt dizzy. He felt like he was breathing at a forty-five degree angle. A serious question came to him, and he did his best to straighten up and look Colonel Sundown in his eyes.

“Where is our Mayor? And the royal guards? Some of your workers took them, I saw them brought over here.”

“Well,” Sundown said, leaning back in his chair. The rickety frame creaked. “We brought them here to make the same offer we’re about to make to you, honestly. However, they were more determined to let their pride get in the way of their community's safety.” He looked casually over his shoulder at the Pegasus Devices.

The ballerina in Oaktree’s belly did a pirouette, and he lurched to his side and vomited. A worker was there next to him, holding a paper bag precisely in front of his mouth, and the earth pony heaved. A minute passed as Oaktree hiccoughed sick from his throat, and as soon as he groaned back into his chair the pegasus was gone, sealing the bag and heading out the roof. Another cog in the machine, turning exactly as planned, he realized, and he returned his shameful gaze to Sundown while wiping his mouth.

“You… monsters…” he said, voice hoarse. “Why?”

Colonel Sundown was reading the clipboard before him again and ignored Oaktree’s question. “Now, Mr. Oaktree, you’re a family stallion. You know what it’s like to personally care for friends and loved ones, as compared to running a town efficiently--if detached. I believe you and your late wife--may she rest in peace, I am sorry--” Sundown looked up above his sunglasses at Oaktree with actual empathy in his eyes, for just a moment, before continuing. “You and she had two sets of…” He flipped a page. “...Triplets, each of which have grown up and married and had their own foals, and two even with foals of their own.” Sundown stared at the shaking Oaktree through the impenetrable darkness of his glasses.

“...How do you know all of this?”

“Point is, Mr. Oaktree, you are a great-grandfather. There are ponies in this town who look up to you and respect you as an elder, as a seat of wisdom. Now, Logistics wants me to just find whoever I can get to order these fair folk around from within, but as I said, you and I are cut from a different cloth. I’d rather some pony who, while respected and listened to, is wise enough to advocate for their kind, their home. I am willing to work with you on that.”

Oaktree frowned. “Just what are you asking me to do, Colonel?”

Sundown stood up from his chair and flew over to a window in the tent that faced east.

“There’s a storm coming, Oaktree.” He drawled ‘storm’, putting emphasis on the word. “One the Flock can’t stop. One we can’t predict, really.” He took his sunglasses off and clipped them to his vest before continuing. “One we cannot survive alone. ‘The Reckoning’, head office calls it. A consequence of all the changes and controlling we have done of our weather systems over the last two thousand years.

“Some oceans will boil, and others will freeze. In some parts of the globe, there won’t be any air to breathe. In others, the pressure would crush a dragon to the size of a popcan in seconds. Mountains will fall to unrelenting ice and snow, ground down in the course of months alone.

“We can’t stop it, no,” Sundown continued, returning to his seat. “But we can create a refuge, a bastion of safety, that we might maintain the Equine races until the storm finally passes half a millenia from now. We want your village in that bastion, Oaktree. But there is a catch, as I’m sure you’re aware.

“Your village will farm and work like never before to provide for all of us in the bastion. Cloudsdale cannot survive on wind and water alone. However, Logistics would like me to make it abundantly clear to you; we can survive without you. Could the Flock farm these lands? Of course! What we lack in earth pony magic we have replaced with technology. But we don’t want to, you see.”

Oaktree closed his eyes, comprehending Sundown’s point. “Live as slaves or die free, then?”

“If you’d like to get poetic about it, sure. You can even tell them that, if you’d like. I want you to be our liaison with Shade’s End. No keeping secrets, no forcing you to lie about it. If you get your town to play along, I can help. Pull strings, make life easier, compromise, you get how it goes.”

A pegasus stopped by Sundown and saluted with a wing before handing off a note from the radio team, and then took off elsewhere, again all within the span of a second. Sundown read the note, and then rubbed his eyes, and replaced his sunglasses.

“Listen, we are running short on time Oaktree. I’ll repeat the terms, make sure we’re on the same page here, okay? Great. You will be the messenger between the Flock and Shade’s End. You will tell your people that, in exchange for a semblance of normal life, they will work to provide food and resources for all in the Safe Zone. All, I said, no pony will starve under the Flock’s watch.

“If you so refuse, I will have to have two of my soldiers drag you, an old and respected pony, kicking and screaming into a Pegasus Device, where you will be converted into fertilizer and battery acid, and then we will find the weakest-willed authority figure left in the town and make the same offer to them. Then they’ll either agree, and Shade’s End interests will be far less protected, or they will disagree, and we will throw every citizen outside of the Safe Zone, where they will drown in fog and mummify in sun.”

Oaktree lowered his head. Time had taught him much. He knew, for instance, that the right thing to do would be to stand up for his town. He knew the right thing to do would be to refuse, and die, and force the Pegasi to take care of their own without the subjugation of his friends and family.

He also knew he loved his foals, and his grandfoals, and his great-grandfoals, and how he could never commit them to death for his own morals.

“Fine. I will speak to them, Colonel. Please, just don’t hurt any more of my friends.”

The commander flew up from his chair slowly and made his way over the table, resting a forehoof on Oaktree’s shoulders. “It ain’t easy, I understand. You’ve made a good decision today, Oaktree. For the Flock, and for your town.”

Stormy Night wiped the sweat from his brow and inadvertently replaced it with dirt. He sighed, and used a wing to wipe the dirt off his brow, replacing it with sweat again.

“Whatever,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. His radio was going crazy next to him, with all six squadron’s orders being relayed and replied to by every pony at the same time. So long as he didn’t hear the word ‘Five’ again, he didn’t need to pay attention to it.

He was mostly caked in mud and perspiration from assisting Squadron One with digging the trench for the air cyclers. A massive operation in its own right, even he was surprised when his squadron had met up with the Twelth Primary’s trench team and completed the circle around the Meganimbus. He counted himself lucky- he had heard that Primaries Two through Four had solid rock they had to blast through to make the template. A little dirt and grass and a sore back for the next week was a good trade-off in his mind.

Now, he was on his back in said trench, with wrench in mouth and dust in eye. Above him, two sections of a black metal tube hung precariously above his face, and he motioned with a hoof for the right side to come in closer. The pegasi lifting the tubes complained yet complied, and with precision the two pipes fit together like childhood building blocks.

“Okay!” Stormy shouted. “Hold ‘er there for me!”

He spit the wrench out of his mouth, grabbed it with a hoof, and got to work fastening a series of bolts on each side of the pipe. He worked fast, twisting his body to help him torque the nuts enough they wouldn’t budge--not in his lifetime, anyways-- and then quickly scrambled out from under the tube.

Seeing him free, the ponies in the air collectively sighed and released their payload. Stormy Night coughed as a blast of dust and dirt shot out from the trench when it landed, and he instinctively wiped his eyes again, spreading more mud on them. He swore and flew out, blind.

“Somepony get me a damn towel already!”

In response to his demand he felt something smack him in the face and wrap around his neck, and he laughed while he furiously rubbed the ick off his head.

“Wise asses,” he chuckled, and then moved to the end of the newly attached section. “Alright, team. Just eight more of these and then we’re on to the command modules. Don’t give me that look, guys,” he cautioned, pointing at the three pegasi holding the carrying straps, “At least you don’t have to worry about being crushed when one of you loses your grip.”

One of them rubbed his neck and gave a nervous laugh, but no one else did. Stormy Night gave his eyes one last rub with the towel and then looked around with clear vision. To the east, he could see strange and unnatural movements of clouds, and he swallowed hard. They were on pace, but he worried it may not be soon enough. He landed in the trench and stood by while the lifting team reassembled with a new section of wind generator.

With his back to the east, Shade’s End was in his sight now, and he frowned while catching his breath. There was a large plume of smoke coming from the center of the town, and even now the occasional shout and yell could be heard. Squadron Two was currently taking a registry of every pony in the town and their addresses, but he imagined keeping a town’s worth of ponies in a small market square would cause more than enough chaos than was necessary. He grimaced, and thought of all that the Flock was doing, and how they were doing it. Was this guilt he was feeling? But they were saving this town, right?

He followed the black, acrid plume of smog up until he caught sight of the Cloudsdale Meganimbus. Determination pulled his guilt away, and he nodded so slightly that only he could notice it.

“Alright, let’s move it,” he yelled, circling a hoof in the air. “Let’s beat Logistics’ expectations, shall we? Double time!” he called out, sliding beneath the next two sections of pipe.