The Legionnaire and the unicorn

by twillale

Rating: teen
Tags: Other, Crossover, Human, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 4399

Shameless three-chapter action plug. Mobile Frame Zero crossover.

The Chub is my favourite frame. It's tough, it's reliable, and every engineer from Jakarta to Alpha Centauri knows how to repair it using nothing but duct tape. Of course, it's a pain to retro-fit with air filters, jets or any of that other fancy stuff, but it's not like we need it here. Not even the lion-scorpion things have anything more dangerous than claws, and those won't do you much good in a gunfight.

The ponies are nice. The food's good. Nothing to do but lift pay and enjoy life.

Short Mobile Frame Zero: Rapid Attack crossover. Written for pure self-satisfaction. Rated teen for robot violence.

Published 2013-01-30 20:20:02 UTC
Last updated 2013-01-30 20:20:02 UTC

Prologue

“Have you read these reports?”

Arin drops the booklet in her hand into one of the stacks covering her table.

“Yes, colonel.”

The CO of my cadre loosens the rumpled collar of her uniform and rubs her neck.

“I thought we’d already dug up all the weird shit in the universe when we met the Ijad,” she mutters darkly.

Though I’m inclined to agree with the sentiment I’m not sure if I’m expected to answer. I opt to stay silent, hands clasped behind my back.

“Well, it’s not my job to question the whims of nature. How’s your company?”

I have a feeling I know where this is going. Arin is messy, unsocial, and perpetually stressed out but she sure as hell knows where every last screw of the cadre is at any given moment. Which means that last sentence is code for...

“Fully repaired and rearmed, colonel. We’re ready to deploy on two days’ notice.”

“Good. Put yourselves in readiness to do so. We’re sending you over yonder.”

Eh, I knew it. Still, sitting on our collective ass at HQ is starting to grate more than just my nerves. It’ll be good to see some action.

“Yes, colonel. Details of the mission?”

A satellite map appears above the side wall. I recognise the forests and rivers from the first survey reports of the newly discovered world.

“According to the reports, the native—” Arin forms a ‘p’ with her lips before quickly changing her word of choice, “...inhabitants have access to wealth of mineral resources, but don’t seem to have the technology to mine it efficiently. Or, to be precise, they don’t seem to have the inclination. Their medical and weather control technologies prove that they have the potential to develop in the fields they find worthwhile." She pauses. "Well, that’s what this report says.”

The colonel slaps her hand onto the topmost report in the pile and turns back to me.

“Anyhow. The point is: they have a lot of valuable resources, and as usual Nanking wants those resources.” I furrow my brows in dismay. Arin holds up a finger and quickly continues. ”There’s a catch, though. According to the scientists, the locals have evolved some kind of... powers which we don’t really understand, so the science community is up in arms at the thought of sending in the corporations to strip-mine the planet bare. That, and the last time we went in ass-first we caused the Ijad rebellions. The Transit Authority doesn’t say anything as usual, but they’re scared shitless by the thought of another Free Colonies fiasco.” She leans back in the chair and steeples her fingers.

“Long story short, they’re going to negotiate a fair agreement over the mining rights.” The sarcasm vested in the two words could melt steel. “The extended survey and diplomatic teams are leaving in less than a week. I want you and your company to form the main ground component.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Alone, colonel?”

Arin nods. “There will be a Transit Marine detachment at the gate, of course—” I resist the urge to scoff out loud ”—but yes. Alone. No Expeditionary Marine kooks to flinch at every shadow this time. Your contact is some kind of local ambassador called...”

The colonel rummages around on her overflowing table, finally coming up with a data pad. She peers at the text, eyes searching for the right passage.

“...Ija— Huh. ‘Ijaii-Hru-Uihi’.” Arin stares at the pad for a second. “Translates to ‘Twilight Sparkle’.”

The colonel scowls and tosses me the data pad.

“She’s some kind of genius, apparently. Learned the basics of Solar Mandarin in a few weeks. All the mission data you need will be updated to that device.” Arin leans forward and looks me sternly in the eye.

“Now, listen. I’m sending you and your Legionnaires in because I trust you to keep cool if something goes to hell. This is a high-profile mission, so don’t screw up the negotiations. Aliens or not, I want you to keep the locals safe.”

“I didn’t realise you were such a philanthropist, colonel,” I note with a tiny smile. Arin narrows her eyes at me, but her lip curves enough to let me know I’m still only toeing the line.

“Hmph. Your orders stand. Now stop being a smartass and get your unit in gear.”

“Yes, colonel.”

I pocket the data pad and salute.

Six months later, part I

“...see, the Royal Guard isn’t really a military force as much as a special police unit. Much closer to your Foreign Legion than to the Terran Expeditionary Marines, to use a human analogy.”

“Mm-h,” I mutter, trying to walk, shoo off the over-excited dog jumping at me, leaf through the maintenance log, and listen to Twilight at the same time.

“We don’t really have enough conflict which would involve actual bloodshed to warrant a standing military. I’m curious, though, how you manage such vast amounts of hard force. Don’t the faraway units ever just... decide to do what they want?”

I give up on trying to decipher the terrible spelling of the log, dropping the data pad in a pocket as we round the final corner before the hangar. I crouch to scratch Niyoosha behind the ears as I formulate an answer.

“Well, it does happen. Usually command is just decentralised enough that no single organisation on scene has enough power to overthrow the whole colony in one go.”

“But what about you? You’re the only human force on the ground here, aren’t you?”

“Well, there’s reputation to consider. I’ve served the Legion for almost all of my life, so I guess the brass thinks I can be trusted with the lives of thousands of civilians.”

I chuckle and continue into the hangar.

“Naser.”

I turn around and notice Twilight has stopped in the doorway. She avoids my gaze, as if afraid of my reaction to her next question. Niyoosha tilts her head questioningly and happily wags her tail.

“Have you ever... killed another person?”

Even though she’s looking away, I’m careful to keep my face neutral.

Well, I knew this question would come sooner or later. Options cycle through my mind. Lie? I have before, when the task has demanded it, and without compunctions.

I coolly examine my own hesitation, surprised at its very existence. Doing anything, anything at all, to endanger both the relations to the royal Representative and the mining negotiations goes against every code that binds me: UMFL protocol, my mission orders, and common sense. Looking down at the fidgeting unicorn, I realise that it doesn’t really matter to me.

“I have.”

Twilight jerks her eyes to mine, and I can see the conflicting emotions, clear as written words. She would make a terrible politician. I sigh heavily and rub my eyes.

“I’m... a soldier, Twilight.” I look to her wearily. “It’s the only thing I know how to do. And sometimes being what I am involves doing things that I would rather not.”

The blunt answer seems to drain the happiness from my friend, and it hurts me to the core. Even Niyoosha senses something is wrong, whining as she tries to lick the pony’s face.

This is why this job has been so heavy on me, I realise in a flash of insight. We are robbing this whole world of some of its innocence, with our colonies, our petty wars and our unending quest for ever more resources. And ponies like Twilight are the collateral.

It reminds me of home. I look away, taken by a sudden shame. I open my mouth to explain, to offer an apology of some kind.

Niyoosha sharply perks her ears, and bares her teeth in a deep growl.

That’s all the warning I need. Twilight squeaks in surprise as I sweep her into my arms and bodily heave her back into the corridor. The shockwave rolls into the hangar at the same second that we make cover, the roar of an explosion clapping over my ears like a physical blow. Dazed and with ringing ears I peek around the corner.

One hangar door is lying on the ground, thrown off its hinge, and some crates are scattered around the entrance but the building itself seems unharmed. The same can’t be said of the warehouse across the street, where a black plume of smoke rises from the burning ruins.

“What— What’s going on?”

Twilight’s voice is confused, and full of fear. A pang of sympathy flashes across my mind before cold, calculating combat experience asserts itself.

Priorities: protect the Representative. Find out what’s going on. React as necessary.

I peer back into the hangar. The sounds of several more explosions echo through the walls. Screams and shouts waft from far away, underscored by the chatter of weapons.

Shit.

I whirl on Twilight, grabbing her face with both hands.

“Listen to me, Twilight. I know this is scary, but we don’t have time to panic. Stay calm. Can you do that for me?”

Determination flickers. She grits her teeth and nods.

“Good. Follow me.” I draw my sidearm and click my tongue at Niyoosha. She faithfully stalks to my side, fangs bared.

Hugging the wall, we slip back into the hangar and quickly traverse the few dozens of meters to our goal. Sheathing my pistol I heave myself onto the first rung of the stepladder, quickly scaling the maintenance scaffold around my Chub. The handle on the emergency hatch screams murder under the gentle ministrations of my boot, and I curse lazy engineers to the deepest pits of hell as I struggle to pull the hatch open.

Wriggling through the emergency tunnel takes only a few seconds, but I’m drenched in sweat and painfully bruised when I finally flop into the embrace of the pilot’s seat.

My anxiety level drops immediately, the familiar contours of the controls like old lovers under my fingers. I grin as the hefty ignition pangs of the impulse reactor ring through the cockpit, rhythmic like clockwork—at least the maintenance crew didn’t slack on everything. The displays flicker at the surge of power, and the muscle cylinders flex and strain against the scaffolding.

The engineering lift slowly begins descending to ground level at my command, and I quickly run through the most critical systems while Twilight and Niyoosha ride the elevator up. I notice with a sideways glance that Twilight stands glued to the canine, her eyes nervously darting around. I don’t blame her for feeling out of her depth.

I pop the cockpit for the few seconds it takes for the pair to scramble inside the Chub, furry legs and tails slapping my head and shoulders as the passengers try to squeeze into the narrow space behind the pilot’s seat. I flip around in my seat, clicking Niyoosha into her harness and tightening a simple cargo strap around Twilight’s midsection. I grin at her obvious discomfort.

“Safety first.” I wink, more levity in my voice than in my mind. Twilight smiles back weakly.

Strapping myself in with a free hand, I flex my hands on the controls and kick the emergency release switch with my foot. The scaffolds eject to the sides with a loud pop, and the Chub lurches into the center of the hangar with heavy, stumbling steps. I raise the barrel of my assault cannon to attack level and swivel it to cover the doors. The command array flickers to life on demand, and familiar voices crackle over the aether.

“—ltiple fires in grids echo seven through echo nine. Cyan one, please move to location, over.”

“This is cyan one, copy that.”

“Your priority is to protect on-site personnel, disaster recovery is en route with fire-fighting equipment. Cyan one, confirm.”

“Cyan one confirms: protect personnel. Pulsar shows multiple unknowns in area, going in weapons hot, over.”

“Roger, cyan one. MC out.”

I flick the transmission key with my thumb.

“Come in, mission control. This is deep blue. Give me the situation, Laura.”

“Mission control reads. It’s good to hear your voice, commander.”

The tactical uplink spews my console full of data as mission control confirms my authorisation. I breathe out in relief as status indicators flash green across the board. That means at least the majority of the company’s mobile frames are still operational.

“We’re not sure, sir,” Laura’s voice continues over the static, its tense edge now well-hidden under her usual ice-cool veneer, “a couple of our hangars and warehouses just went sky-high, and it appears the base is under attack by unknown hostiles.”

“Frames?”

“And infantry, sir. They aren’t many, and from what we’ve seen they aren’t too well-organised, but they took us by surprise.”

I stop to think. Indirect-fire weapons would’ve registered pre-strike, and the frames would’ve taken the rest out after the first shell landed. Besides, Laura is too much of a pro not to mention that. Bombs?

“Terrorists?” I mutter, mostly to myself. I almost jump out of my skin as Twilight flops against my shoulder.

“What?” Her shrill scream cuts into my ear like a knife.

“Easy! Stay back there, and don’t flail around!”

Twilight jerks back, probably surprised by the harsh tone of my voice. She quickly recovers, though. I can see her worried eyes reflected in the empty screen on my left.

“Sorry. Are you... going to fight?”

“If I have to,” I grunt as I carefully edge the massive bipedal machine towards the door. A warm hoof presses against my shoulder, gently this time.

“Naser... can you try,” she swallows audibly, “not to... kill anypony?” She almost stumbles on the terrible word.

I pause as I extend a camera arm outside and rotate it around. Several seconds pass in silence.

“I will try.”

I see her nod with closed eyes, and lean back. I clear my throat and flick the radio key.

“Mission control, this is deep blue. I have Representative Sparkle on board. Give me a link-up location, and assume combat command until I get there.”

“Roger, sir. Navy three will meet you at the mess hall in an estimated seven minutes. Confirm, navy three.”

“Navy three confirms: rendezvous at mess hall. Stay whole, boss. The Legion protects.”

“The Legion protects,” I confirm with a smile.

The reactor screams as I push the cylinders to full power. The acceleration pushes me back into my seat, and the massive bulk of the Chub dances through the hangar doors, weapon primed.

Six months later, part II

The courtyard is a mess. Thick pillars of smoke roil and twist as they reach towards the sky, fanned by huge fires. Trucks full of people dart this way and that, trying to get away from the center of the base where the noise of battle is coming from. Bursts of weapons fire echo from the Canterlot-side gates, where most of the buildings are clustered.

Staying slow, I head down a narrow passage between two smaller buildings, peeking my camera arm around corners and over walls every now and then. Looks like this part of the compound is completely dead. I share my attention between the surrounding scenery and the tactical uplink.

“It looks like they’re staying close to the gates,” Twilight notes from behind me. I glance at her reflection, finding her peering at the slowly changing tactical map. I grin at the familiar furrowed brow, curiosity evidently winning out over fear.

“Yeah. They’re either badly under-equipped or out for a very specific goal. At least I hope it’s one of those options.”

“You do? Why?”

“Because the remaining alternatives are that they’re total amateurs, or fanatics looking for martyrdom. Unpredictable and willing to die for the cause. Or both.” I shudder at the thought, and slightly adjust our travel speed up.

“If we’re lucky we’re getting away with— shit!”

I step around a corner and almost walk straight into a frame, the canopy painted with a sloppy red ‘X’. It must’ve stepped out in the span of the one second that I retracted the camera arm. Apparently just as surprised as I am, the pilot of the labor frame clumsily swings a wildly spinning mining drill at us.

Still, it is to all ends and purposes just a re-purposed industrial machine. My Chub, stripped of all but the most essential armour, and with cylinder reflexes ingrained over a decade of active service, reacts almost faster than I can nudge the controls. Metal screams against metal as I violently deflect the incoming drill with one arm and shove the much lighter ST-1 frame off-balance with my assault cannon. With a twitch of my wrist I center the stubby barrel on the enemy’s cockpit.

I hesitate for the barest second, then aim and squeeze the trigger twice.

The Chub jolts. Molten metal and debris the size of small vehicles smatter against the cockpit. Twilight screams. The assault cannon cycles a new round into the acceleration chamber with a final clang.

I shove the broken frame to the side and step through the smoke, weapon at the ready. I hear a whimper behind my back, but my eyes never leave the battlefield.

“Stay calm, Twilight! He’s not dead!”

There’s a choked breath and the rustle of movement.

“He’s not?”

“No.” I twist the Chub’s torso slightly, to get a better view of the downed frame. The remaining arm and leg twitch wildly as clear cylinder fluid bleeds out from the burnt remains of the other two limbs. A tiny, bipedal shape crawls out of the intact cockpit, coughing, and retreats from the smoking frame at a limping jog.

Twilight lets out a relieved exhalation.

“...Thank you.”

“He wasn’t a real threat,” I grunt, feeling my face run hot for some god-awful reason. “And we’re not through this yet.”

I round the corner and stop to take in the scene. In front of what I realise to be the native trade liaison station, a number of both humans and ponies clad in what I assume is supposed to be some sort of red uniform stare at our Chub with obvious alarm.

What really catches my eye, though, is the line of tied-up humans and ponies, some of whom I recognised as cooperating locals or employees at the trade station. The prisoners are in the process of being roughly led into a pair of covered trucks.

“What the hell?”

Bullets harmlessly ping off the frame’s armour as the red-clothed humans panic and open fire with various small arms. I switch my microphone output to the external speakers and take a deep breath. Terrorists or not, whatever they are my priority here is to protect the members of the trade station. After all, we Legionnaires are primarily an heavily armed police force; cowing rabble like this is practically what we do.

“This is commander Eliaszadeh of the United Mars Foreign Legion! Lay down your arms and surrender!”

My massively amplified voice blasts through the alleyway, loud enough for some of the would-be kidnappers to clap hands or hooves over their ears. Twilight roughly pokes my shoulder.

“Put me through as well.”

I raise my eyebrow, shrug, and twist the microphone towards her.

“...and this is Twilight Sparkle, Representative of the Equestrian royal courts. Your actions are in direct violation of agreements between the Princesses and the Terran government. Comply to our requests and there will be no need for violence.”

Well, now. She would perhaps make a bad politician, but I think she’d make a pretty convincing leader. I nod appreciatively before underlining the implied threat with a few menacing steps forwards, hefting the stubby cannon on my right hand.

The alleyway devolves into a panic as the red-clad group scrambles into the trucks, leaving their disoriented captives hobbling back into the safety of the station. I take aim at the closest truck, then nudge the cross hairs off it.

“Crap!” Who knows how many civilians they managed to stow on board?

I stumble into a jog behind the escaping trucks, bursting out into the open near the northern edge of the compound. I cut into an ongoing conversation on the radio.

“Break-break-break! This is deep blue. I ran into a group attempting to kidnap trade liaison personnel. Human and pony, red clothing. I need something to stop two trucks with possible civilian hostages heading east, over.”

“Deep blue, this is Mission Control, copy report. Re-routing air wing there as soon as possible. Did you say human and pony? Over.”

“Yeah, I don’t—”

Concentrated on the transmission, I don’t see the launch trail before Twilight shouts a warning. I barely have time to raise an arm before the direct-fire missile impacts, throwing the Chub into a wild spin and slamming us into the ground, hard. Warning signals paint the cockpit red as I try to comprehend what just happened.

My head feels like a lead weight, pulling my neck painfully sideways as I hang suspended from the safety harness. Uncomprehending, I let my eyes wander along the smoke trail leading from our badly damaged frame and into the high hills outside the base perimeter. And to what stands on one of those hills.

The impossible sight sobers my groggy brain up immediately. I painstakingly reach to tap the controls and, miraculously, the sensor dome manages to laboriously rotate enough to magnify the faraway image, sleek lines bristling with sensors coming into sharp focus.

The unmistakable outline of a gunmetal grey ST-10 Osprey is clear against the sky. A top-grade, custom-built special forces frame is calmly pretending not to be part of a poorly executed assault by a rag-tag, wannabe terrorist group. My brain’s ongoing short-circuit is interrupted by a loud groan.

“Ugh... What— What happened now?”

I turn to look at Twilight, scowling at the blood running down her face in thin streams. Niyoosha whimpers, so I know she’s still alive, but I have to prioritise. I’m sorry, girl. I fish a woollen cap out of a pocket and try to press it down on the unicorn’s head wound.

Twilight screams in pain.

“My horn! I’m hurt in my horn!”

I force her to hold the cap with her own hooves, turning back to the controls.

“Hold it, it’ll stop the blood flow. Can you use magic? Can you get us out of here?”

A second of concentrated silence is broken by a pained whimper.

“...I— no. I can’t.”

“Shit.” I flick the transmission key. “Any blue, come in any blue, over.”

Only static answers me. The damned comms array must’ve been damaged. Frustrated, I rack the controls, only succeeding in pitifully scooting a few meters across the open ground. I turn back to the screens, realising the frame that shouldn’t be is still observing us from the hill.

Too late I realise the Osprey was waiting to see if we were still alive.

Too late I notice the tall tube rising towards the sky.

I watch the shells leave the mortar.

A dozen contingency plans flash through my mind, all discarded in turn. There’s simply no time to run. I raise the mangled assault cannon in front of the cockpit, aware of the gesture’s futility.

The shells climb to the apex of their arc, then seem to stop and hover in front of my eyes. The world compresses into those little black dots against the sky.

I feel strangely calm even as my heart tries to leave my chest.

“Twilight.” My voice sounds odd over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. I grasp a soft, furry hoof with my hand and turn to the pony with a wild, gritted smile.

“It’s been a true honour to call you my friend.”

Realisation dawns and I can see her work through the same flimmer of emotions that I did. She doesn’t panic. I knew she would’ve made a good leader. We stare at eachother for a silent moment, before I turn my eyes back to the sky, think of home, and wait for death.

A shadow falls over the cockpit.

...and the sky explodes.

I get about half a second to stare stupidly at the crossed scimitars of the UMFL before the third shockwave of the day hits me. A tinkling shower of shrapnel pelts the immediate area around us, dazzling sunlight reflecting off the tiny pieces of metal. A massive, rectangular riot shield angles down with a pneumatic hiss to better protect the wielder from the distant Osprey.

I stare at the very familiar blue and dark green arm holding up the shield. The static of the comms array is forced back by the close proximity of the overriding transmitter, the tense but controlled voice crackling over the loudspeakers.

“...suppressor reloading, deep blue is safe. Weapons free.”

Hell breaks loose around us. A coordinated battle line of blue and green frames sweeps into the field, compact rifles chattering behind Legion-standard riot shields. The hilltop explodes as hundreds of high-velocity shells impact with the packed earth, blowing trees and boulders into splinters.

The Osprey deftly dodges the destructive barrage, disappearing over the crest with a flash of booster jets. Fucking booster jets!

I realise I’m still squeezing Twilight’s hoof with a vice grip. It takes an effort of will to open my hand. I leave an imprint on her hoof.

“Sorry,” I sheepishly nod at the hand-shaped spoor.

“It’s all right,” she says seriously.

We look at each other. I snort at the dried streams of blood drawing a circle around her muzzle. That’s how tightly wound up I am. Twilight, in turn, giggles at my manic eyes, which sets me off laughing. Soon we’re both whooping with released tension, tears running down both our cheeks.

Niyoosha starts barking. I manage to undo her restraints even though I’m laughing so hard my whole body is shaking. Wagging her tail, the seemingly unharmed canine immediately attacks my face with licks, only driving me to laugh more.

“Are you all right in there? Open the hood!”

I release the locks to the cockpit. Tala’s look of worry softens several degrees as she finds Twilight laughing uncontrollably at my feeble attempts to ward off my dog.

“Well, looks like you’re still alive and kicking, boss.”

I chuckle and wipe a stray tear with a sleeve.

“Are you kidding? You’re not rid of me that easily.”

“I’m sure we aren’t, sir,” Tala replies with a grin. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”