Relocation Factor

Chapter 9: Static

For another moment of silence, Bren MacMillan and Rainbow Dash gazed up towards the stars. The satellite was gone; the rhythmic blinking had passed out of view long ago. Now, there was nothing moving in the night skies above Equestria. Bren now had no idea how to feel. Had you asked him a few days ago what he wanted, he would have stared you dead in the eye and elaborated on all the inhuman things he planned to do to Joson. But now? He wasn't sure. Maybe he could spend the rest of his days here. There had to be something he could do. Maybe. Just maybe. Did they have soldiers here? Yes, he remembered them saying something about the Royal Guard. But did he want to be a soldier again? Then again, what else could he do? But these were questions for later. As the old saying went, "No plan survives first contact". He'd figure something out. Something. Eventually.

For what seemed like years he just sat there, eyes trained upwards, face made of stone, going over thousands of options and scenarios in his head while running his hand through the mane of Rainbow Dash. Soon, he realized how futile it all was. The satellite was gone. Likely forever. And chances were that nobody heard him, because God knows where he was. This looked like it. He really was stuck here. He wouldn't get home. And that made Bren smile. Because what did he have back home? His mother? She sent him a Christmas card every year. If he stopped sending one back it'd probably be a decade before she realised he was missing. Craig and the rest of the team? They were dead, probably tossed in some mass grave somewhere. He was alone this time.

For the first time in years, Bren was excited. He had been given a fresh start. Beyond the fresh start he thought the Army would give him all those years ago. He now literally was worlds away. He breathed out, easy this time. And yet, he wanted to call home. Just for ten seconds. He wanted to talk to them, to hear a familiar voice, and to let them know he wasn't coming back. Maybe he could stay here. Maybe. He had always been one to take chances. Flip a coin. Roll the revolver's cylinder. Hit when you've got 19. Maybe he found the place he was looking for and maybe he hadn't. But damned if it didn't feel good. Roll the cylinder. You'll know for sure when the hammer strikes.

He snapped back to reality to notice the sleeping pony on his lap. He smiled. Doing his best not to disturb Rainbow Dash, he slipped his leg out from underneath her head and scooped his arms beneath her, lifting her and cradling her to his chest. She was surprisingly light; Bren guessed no more than 40 pounds. Transferring her weight to one arm, he opened the door to Twilight's house with the other. He set Rainbow Dash down on the blanket that normally covered him. He would tough out the night without covers. Not that it was that cold, anyway. But Bren wasn't tired yet. He placed the radio on the table and simply stared at it. Maybe it would talk to him if he thought hard enough.

xxxxx

Cpl. John Stalvorn

CANSOFCOM Joint Signals Monitoring Station, Petawawa Ont.

Corporal John Stalvorn waited at his station, an entangled web of communications equipment at his front. He sighed. This hadn't been a good month. 2 weeks ago, an entire 15 man patrol was ambushed and killed. Not a single survivor. The Taliban had hit them hard. From what he heard, there was no way they could have fought it off. A good friend of his, Sergeant MacMillan, was in that patrol. But something didn't add up. The bodies were gone. Taliban might desecrate bodies at the worst, but they were mostly hit and run. For them to haul off the corpses of 15 men, and not even parade them around on Al Jazeera was out of character for them. Suddenly, everything crackled to life.

"Hear….me….ver…" Stalvorn snapped to life, adjusting the console as best he could. The transmission was garbled, as if there were some kind of interference. It appeared to be relayed off a satellite. Satellite delay or atmospheric interference could be scrambling the message. "Mission….Starlight….Starlight…" Stalvorn twisted knobs and flipped switches. Nothing seemed to improve the quality of the message; he only succeeded in cutting out some of the noise. "…MacMillan…" Stalvorn froze. Brenny was alive. He shoved his ear closer. "…Ambushed….Starlight….Joson…Joson…" Stalvorn, furiously writing this information down, was confused. What was Starlight? Some kind of codeword? A signal? Bren had mentioned the name Joson twice. No doubt it was in reference to Colonel Joson.

John Stalvorn upped and headed for Colonel Graham Joson's office. He needed to find out what was going on.

xxxxx

Bren stared at the radio. Analyzing every detail of it. Pointless details. Where the paint was chipped. How the serial number was on crooked. He had no idea what he was looking for. When he heard the door open behind him, he barely noticed over the soft sound of radio static. A soft voice almost made him jump out of his skin.

"Hello, Bren!" Fluttershy said. Immediately noticing the sleeping Rainbow Dash, she lowered her already quiet voice to an almost inaudible level. "What are you doing up so late? Trying to get your machine to work again?" She nodded at the radio.

"Nah," he replied. He thought for a moment, trying to come up with an answer. He ultimately just chuckled and told her the truth. "Hah, I'm not really sure what I'm doing myself. What's up?"
"Oh…hehe. I just wanted to come and check up on you. I haven't seen you since Zecora gave you the elixir, and all that screaming and shouting you were doing was so scary," she said, getting noticeably more nervous as she recalled Bren's violent slumber. A pop from the crackling radio startled her, causing her to leap into the air and wrap her hooves around Bren's midsection, shuddering violently.

"Relax, it's just static from the radio." Fluttershy squeaked bashfully and climbed down. Bren chuckled again.

"So…um, are you feeling better? I mean, you don't need to tell me if you don't want to…but I want to know…that is, if it's okay with you."

"Yeah, it's a world of difference…" Bren trailed off.

"Then what's wrong?" asked Fluttershy.

Bren sighed. "I had an opportunity to call home," Fluttershy looked awestruck. "But I don't think they heard me."

Fluttershy looked worried. "Oh, no! What will you do now?" Her voice had almost a childlike tone to it, not unlike a five year old trying to figure out what was wrong in a scenario he couldn't understand.

"That's…that's what I was working on when you came in."

"Well…I'll leave you be, then." Before the yellow Pegasus could leave, Bren stopped her with a soft hand, which she jumped slightly at the touch of.

"You don't have to. Honestly, I could use the company. But could we continue this outside? I was kind of enjoying the view."

"Oh, of course! I haven't really had that much of a chance to talk to you anyway!" Bren rose and followed Fluttershy out the door, taking the radio with him this time. Just in case. Back outside, he sat on the same patch of grass he was on before with Rainbow Dash. "So Bren, what were you saying about talking to your friends back home?"

"Dash thought she saw a shooting star, but it was a satellite, things my people put up in space to let us bounce signals around and talk to each other. I tried to get a signal, to have a word with anyone, or at the very least warn them about Joson, but I got nothing." He paused. "I guess I really am stuck here." Fluttershy looked both awestruck and depressed. "But I think it's too late for me. I don't even know where here is. And I'm willing to bet people back home don't either, nor would they have a way of getting to me even if they could somehow track me down." He felt a wave of emotion he hadn't felt in years; the stinging, watery feeling that lasts for only a split second when your body fights off tears. "But it's too late for me," Bren repeated. "What I really wanted to do? Let them know about Joson. Let someone know he's a dirty traitor."

"Bren, are you sure that nobody would be able to figure that out on their own?"
"Of course not. Some special forces patrol goes deep into hostile territory and gets whacked? Happens all the time. Who would suspect him? On the surface, he's got nothing to gain. If none of us could have figured him out, I doubt anyone else would have." Bren's fist clenched tight. "I'll bet you my left arm that bastard is at a funeral for us right now. He's probably sitting there, all decked-out in his best polished uniform, chest full of medals, in front of 15 identical empty coffins with Canadian flags draped over them. Telling everyone how we were the bravest men he knew and he was saddened that Canada had lost such good soldiers. Hell, the op was classified, so he probably lied about that too. Told everyone we died on a training accident or something. He's probably shaking some poor widow's hand and telling her how he can't imagine what she's going through."

Fluttershy was so horrified she was quivering. "Bren…do your people really do this to each other? That just seems so…evil!"

Bren shrugged. "I guess. That word sort of lost meaning to me." He stood up and leaned against the trunk of the tree. "Fluttershy, your world is a lot different from mine. You know exactly who is bad and who isn't. Not where I come from. Asshole allies, friendly enemies, people doing the wrong thing for the right reason and people doing the right thing for the wrong reason. So much damned grey. I saw it in the police. I thought the army would be more black and white. Yes sir, no sir. Charge that hill. Run over there. Not there, there. And yet, here I am. I used to think I was one of the good guys. I'm not even sure what that word means anymore. I came for black and white and I got grey. Grey? What in the hell do I do with grey?" Bren chuckled. "You know what I was doing before I left for the mission that got me sent here? I was looking at joining the fire department." He looked at Fluttershy to verify that she understood the concept. She seemed to, so he continued. "That's the exception that proves the rule I guess. It's about as black and white as you get. No legal bullshit, no officer selling you out for a paycheck. I just pull your dumb ass out of the fire."
"That sounds like a good job, Bren! I think you should do that!" She sounded supportive. Again, five year old-like enthusiasm.

He laughed. "Yeah, sure. Let me borrow your fax machine and I'll send them my resume in the morning." He saw she was confused again. "Sorry. Look, firefighting is a young fella's game. Most of the new guys they recruit are barely into their twenties. I'm not the oldest guy around, but I'm no spring chicken either."

"Well, could you maybe go back to…what you were doing before?"
"The police? Not likely. They don't usually take you back if you quit. You'd better have a damn good excuse. Better than 'I had a case that didn't go the way I wanted so I ran away to join the army." He sighed. "Usually guys in my position and with this much time in don't leave. They're lifers. Hang around until you hit the 25 year mark, or your body can't take it anymore and retire to a nice pension and a free case of PTSD. Some guys leave. But they usually don't go to civvy street. Listen, guys like me have the most unique skill set in the world. Lots of people pay top dollar for it. Tons of guys clear out and then go to a private company and make triple the amount. I'd be lying to you if I said I wasn't thinking of doing just that. Clearing out and being a God damned contractor. Then I wind up here, and everything changes."

Fluttershy was still trying to wrap her head around how his world worked. "So if you hadn't been sent here, what would you have done?"

"Nothing. I'd be dead," Bren said rather bluntly, much to Fluttershy's shock. "Yep, no point in sugar coating it. I'd have a few rounds pumped into me and then dumped unceremoniously into the same mass grave they probably chucked my buddies in. Probably douse us in gas and light us on fire. Burn the bodies so they're harder to identify." He cleared his throat. "I don't know why it was me that survived. "

Fluttershy was flabbergasted. "Maybe…maybe you came here for a reason. Maybe Princess Celestia brought you here because she thought you could do good!"

"Did she? I'm not sure what that means anymore. But as far as I'm concerned, I've got a fresh start. Hell, let's see where it goes." He grinned. "Listen, I should get to bed. It's been a hell of the day. Glad we had this talk, though, eh?"

"Uh, yeah, Bren…it was good talking to you!" she smiled sheepishly. Bren returned the gesture and headed inside. He scooped up Rainbow Dash again and moved her to the side so he could lay down on his bedspread. Crossing his arms under his head, he stared up at the ceiling once and thought about what had just happened.

Cpl. John Stalvorn

CANSOFCOM Joint Signals Monitoring Station, Petawawa, Ont.

Stalvorn opened the door to Colonel Graham Joson's office, bringing his feet together and straightening his back while keeping his arms in place at his sides in lieu of a salute, since he was lacking a head dress. Joson returned the gesture, albeit from his seat and beckoned the corporal in, greeting him with a smile.

"What do you need, corporal? The secretary said you needed a word with me. Please, have a seat." The officer gestured to the empty chair across from him. Stalvorn nodded and obliged.

"Thank you, sir." He swallowed and thought of the best way to word this. He decided to go simply with the facts. "Sir, it's about Sergeant MacMillan's team. I think some of them may still be alive."

The Colonel tightened his pudgy jaw. "Listen, John, you know as well as I do that they were killed in action. I know you were close with Sergeant MacMillan, but you need to accept the fact that they're gone. Such is the tragedy of life in the military, and it's even more amplified in our line of work-"

"That's not the case, sir. I received a transmission from what appeared to be him twenty minutes ago."

Now Joson went pale. He cleared his throat. "Close the door." Stalvorn obeyed and then took his seat once more. "Now…I need you to tell me exactly what you heard in this message of yours."

"I didn't manage to hear much since the message was so weak," Said Stalvorn. "It sounded like it was a weak satellite transmission. He identified himself by name; I think he may have had to abandon all existing mission callsigns and code words. If that's the case, he's in deep trouble. I know it was him, sir. I'd recognize his voice anywhere."

"Did you manage to make out anything else?" said Joson, trying to hide his nervousness the best he could."

"The only other clear things I could make out were two different words that he kept repeating." The Colonel leaned in closer and silently urged him to continue. "The first was your name. The second sounded like 'star light'." Joson began to slowly sit up, his eyes widening. Stalvorn continued, absentmindedly focusing on the desk in front of him. "I'm not sure what it means. I think it's some kind of code word, but I pulled up the list of call signs and code words for the mission, and it doesn't match any, not even the backups or running passwords."

Joson pulled a sheet of paper and pen out of his desk and scribbled something onto it. He folded it into a neat pocket sized square and handed it to Stalvorn. "I need you to go to this address at midnight tonight and wait for me there. Tell nobody about this and make sure to trust no one as well." Stalvorn quickly stuffed the paper in his pocket and nodded quickly before getting up and heading to the door. "Don't worry, son. We'll get to the bottom of this." Stalvorn nodded and once more gave his straight arm salute, a favour which Joson half-heartedly returned. The second the door closed behind the departing corporal, Joson plucked a phone out of his desk and dialled a number.

"Greaves, it's Joson. We need to re-activate and run additional tests on the Alpha prototype. I want you to find the data that contained the last coordinates it was set to and begin testing. The sooner we can move equipment and men through the better. I'll explain everything tonight. Meet me at the usual place at the usual time. Come well dressed. We have a loose end."

Bren awoke suddenly as something shot through him. A pain in his chest that felt like a bad acid reflux case. A feeling lingered in his mind like the last wafts of scent from a candle in an empty room. It felt like hate. He hated something. But he wasn't supposed to. He was cured, dammit. Zecora had whipped up that magic juice and flushed all of the bad feelings right out of him. Looks like she missed one. Bren grimaced. Maybe it was too good to be true. Maybe trusting magic wasn't the best idea for this one. Sitting upright, he looked around the room. Early daylight was beginning to pour through the windows, and Rainbow Dash was once again nowhere to be found. Bren put his head back down and tried to get comfortable again, but couldn't. There was something like a constant itch within him, one that no matter which way he turned, left him restless for movement. His body was telling him, no, get up, you're not supposed to be here. He sat up again and scanned the room, his eyes settling on the corner where his neglected weaponry and gear lay. Then it made sense.

Bren needed to shoot.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hoo boy, been a long time for this one, and for that I really, really apologize. I know a lot of people like this story, and that's why I'm really sorry for having to make you all wait this long. Let's just say life got in the way, hard, and leave it at that. In any case, I'll try to get back on a more regular schedule now, as we're passed the filler chapters mostly and heading into the meat and bones. Once again, thanks so much for the kind words of support and reviews.