The morning sun crept from behind the glassy expanse of the North Luna Ocean, casting brilliant orange glows among the thick convective clouds and silhouetting the opposite sides of the nearby Smokey Mountains.
The lush elevations of the Equestrian countryside appeared uninhabited, untouched by human or even pony influence. Trees and grass swayed in a gentle wind. The only indication of unnatural presence, it seemed, was a long and winding dirt road leading to what appeared to be an abandoned water reservoir. In actuality, this structure was simply camouflage for a long-range communications dish and other sensor arrays belonging to a subterranean network hidden within the mountain.
The secondary command center of the Royal Equestrian Aerospace Defense Command (READ) was the fifth installation in a grid elemental to the surface defenses of the planet, with the Smokey Mountain Nuclear Complex housing planet-buster capable missiles among the standard stock of lower-yield ICBMs. They sat quietly in their secret underground silos, constantly fueled and maintained, ready for the moment they would see daylight as their hatches buried shallow in the dirt would open in a prelude to their devastating power.
Beyond the blast door built to deflect 60-megaton explosions, at the far end of a long tunnel leading deep into the mountainside, was the bunker system itself, containing the READ secondary command center and Royal Equestrian Northern Command (REQ-NORTHCOM) headquarters. This complex was the exclusive supplemental element of the defense network linked directly to the Royal Equestrian Department of Defense HQ in Canterlot.
A mix of pony and human technicians and other enlisted personnel filled the congested command center, scattered around various consoles and other designated locations. An array of giant monitors was situated forward of the cavernous room, with global maps and other readouts animating within the behemoth plasma displays. Beside them were the defense readiness indicators numbered one-through-five and appropriately color-coded by severity, with the number four highlighted in sapphire blue.
One particular pony technician at a rearmost console concentrated hard at the task that he was engaged in at the direction of Royal Equestrian Air Force General Hastings beside him. Hastings was the REQ-NORTHCOM second-in-command of the morning watch.
"Play stills thirty-five through fifty again," Hastings ordered.
The pony tech cycled through video stills on one of his console-integrated CRT monitors, repeating playbacks he had completed several times already. It was surveillance footage of the dogfight that ensued an hour ago at the Orion orbital.
"There!" Hastings declared loudly, "Pause right there!"
The tech did as ordered, freezing on a still of the unusual CRAI spacecraft mid-attack of one of the station's security fighters. It was blurry beyond comprehension of details smaller than the general fuselage shape.
"Is there any way to enhance that?"
"No," was the expert technician's immediate answer, "But I have another idea. Let me check something." He rolled over to a small shelf behind the console and grabbed a book from it, slapping it onto his console before hastily flipping through the pages. It was the latest edition of Jane's Equestrian Aerospace Recognition Guide, which he used to compare the fuselage shape on the screen with the silhouetted three-view illustrations in the book.
"Could the design be offworld?"
The tech shook his head. "I dunno, but I'm not finding anything here. It doesn't match any CRAI-manufactured fighter craft, but its tracer colors suggest its affiliation. They use a vacuum-capable reactive chemical that results in its signature red glow. We use blue LED strobes, and the Changelings and Griffons use green and yellow. It's not local, whatever it is."
"From what we know per current intelligence," Hastings added.
"What concerns me is the nature of the spacecraft itself. Look at the shape here, the size and the layout. The configuration seems to consist of mostly attitude and equipment packages, engines, weapon systems, stuff like that."
"Yeah, so?"
"So, where's the cockpit? I don't see any room for manned accommodation."
Hastings edged closer, bracing himself on the console. "You're saying this might be some kind of remotely-piloted unmanned vehicle? An RPV?"
"Possibly. But, I'm thinking it might be more than that. Like, not just an unmanned system, but a fully autonomous one. If you think about it, it would explain its combat behavior." The tech closed the book and shoved it aside, shifting focus back to the footage on the screen. "Here, look at this." He played more of the footage at normal speed. The unknown hostile chased the security fighter all around the vicinity of the orbital, relentless in its pursuit as it opened fire with its trademark CRAI-manufactured weapons.
"Talk to me," Urged Hastings.
"Just look at the maneuverability here. Look how it anticipates every move this friendly craft makes. I've never seen this kind of reaction time from ordinary pilots. Everything it does is executed like a cold calculation."
Hastings understood exactly what the tech was implying, as he stared off into metaphorical space with sudden realization. "It's an LAR... a fully robotic UCAV!"
"If I could make out the serials or insignia I might be able to check the database on global inventory, but these pictures are too garbled to extract anything. To be honest, I don't know what to do."
"I've got something here!" a voice shouted through crowds of other personnel. A human intelligence analyst staggered over to them, carrying stacks of folders in his arms that he urgently dropped onto the console. He kept one in his hands and opened it to a bookmarked page of interest. "Remember that CRAI documentation that surfaced on the GALCOM-NET a few years ago? Aerospace tech reports, archival footage, all that stuff?"
They simply nodded for him to get to the point, glancing at the folder that he singled out.
"Take a look at this," The intel analyst insisted, handing the open folder to them. "Page sixty-nine of C-Zero-Zero-Eight-Stroke-Five-Fifty-Two, Summary of Global Autonomous Systems and Field Applications."
They needed no indication of what the analyst was referring to, as one particular low-quality, photocopied image stood out to them among the others on the page, with the caption of "Fig. 7a – Proposed configuration of Mayflower Aerospace, Inc. fully-autonomous, vacuum-capable LAR since third airframe revision." The fuselage shape and layout of the apparent robotic system matched exactly was was shown on the fuzzy surveillance footage.
Hastings flipped to the folder's publication info with sudden apprehension. "My god, is this the correct date of publication?"
"According to the Chief Analyst," the lower-rank analyst responded.
"It's five years old! It only took the CRAI seven months of development and field testing of the JJ-32 Sabretooth, and an additional year to fill inventory requirements after mass production. Who knows how many of these LARs have been produced, right under our nose." Hastings slammed the folder onto the console. "Why wasn't anyone following this project?"
The analyst cleared his throat before answering. "Well, it was a proposal that was said to have been dismissed for an orbital bomber platform discussed later in the report. My guess is they couldn't fund it and changed their mind. The LAR system seems more cost-effective, after all."
"Or they're playing us for fools again." He turned to the pony tech still seated at his console. "Get Canterlot on the phone and get them up to speed on the situation. Inform them that the CRAI have a new spacecraft in their inventory. The joint chiefs are probably having puppies over the Orion incident already."
The tech was already in the process of dialing before Hastings could complete his sentence.
"Not to mention Celestia," The analyst added.
Hastings turned back to him. "And I want you on a shuttle to REDOD HQ in Canterlot in twenty minutes. Report your findings to them immediately. I'll call for a meeting with the Princesses before you arrive."
"Yes, sir."
"Can we be sure of their CRAI origin?" Asked Princess Celestia, seated at the far end of the long conference table in the REDOD War Room. She was accompanied by her sister by her side, Captain Shining Armor of the Royal Guard, and other various officials in designated seats, as well as the REQ-NORTHCOM intel analyst on the opposite end.
The analyst nodded. "The REQ-NORTHCOM Chief Analyst has already confirmed their CRAI origin. We think they might've been produced offworld, but we don't know where yet."
Shining Armor turned to Celestia. "Your majesty, I strongly advise that we upgrade to DEFCON Three." Others concurred with his suggestion.
"Go ahead," Approved Celestia.
A nearby READ official reached for the secure phone after a nod from Shining and dialed the Smokey Mountain Complex. "READ authorization One-One-Eight-Seven-Alpha-Zulu, increase readiness to Round House. Repeat, increase readiness to Round House. Condition Yellow." A short paused followed. "Acknowledged." He hung up and nodded to Shining that the order was successfully carried out.
Princess Luna spoke up: "What resources do we have at our disposal that aren't already on alert status?"
Shining grunted. "We might be able to reassign some outer-sector naval blockades with additional fighter support, but we'd be exposing vital strategic positions. Besides, we still don't have a proper capability assessment regarding these new drones."
Celesta sighed loudly, her uneasiness apparent and mutual with her sister. "They're getting more advanced by the day. Not even that."
Uncomfortable silence swept the room for a moment until the phone rang.
"REDOD SR-Primary," The READ official answered, "Go ahead." His eyes turned to saucers as he processed what was being informed to him on the other end. "What?! When?" All eyes were on him as he listened to the apparently alarming news. "Right, will advise." He hung up the phone and acknowledged the other officials. "A CRAI logistics carrier was just intercepted and captured seventeen minutes ago. It was en route for Gateway. Its payload consisted of several LARs, fully armed and prepped for battle. They're being sent to the Royal Aerospace Factory right now for analysis."
"Gateway?" Celestia asked with consternation. "That's a bold move."
Luna rubbed her chin, assessing the situation. "They must have a lot of faith in this new weapon system to attempt such an attack. I don't think these are trials that we're dealing with."
"Agreed," Said Shining, "They must've already field-tested them beforehand. Good Goddess..."
"How many did they find?" Celestia asked.
The READ official wetted his lips before answering. "Thirty units, your majesty."
"Thirty?!" The two princesses spoke in unison.
"Thirty... production models it seems."
"It's true then," Shining started, "They aren't prototypes. Not in that large of a number. Your highness, this situation is a lot more dire than I expected. I don't think we have enough fleet support to repel an invasion force. Even with Changeling or Griffon fleets at our disposal."
"Dear sister," Luna turned to Celestia, "We made need to go to DEFCON Two and prep the planet-busters. It's the only option we have at this point."
The intel analyst raised his hand. "Umm, I-..." He stammered and lowered it back down. "I-I think I have an alternative."
"Please," Celestia insisted, "We're all ears."
He cleared his throat. "What if we reactivate the old Sirius-Six-Eight fleets under Lunar Guard Captain Sterling's Royal Trials Division?"
Shining Armor scoffed at the idea. "Those old rust cans? Gimmie a break."
"Listen, two of those carrier starships are 125th supervessels. The Dreadnaught and the Stonebreaker. We can retrofit them and companion vessels with modified systems developed by the Royal Aerospace Factory, the one at Fort Arsenberg at Sirius-Six-Eight. Captain Mead's been pressuring us to the recommission the Dreadnaught for years anyway, we might as well grant his wishes."
"What about fighter support?"
"Same thing. We can send the Fort Arsenberg factory all the specs on these LARs straight from the Equestrian labs via the GALCOM-NET encrypted channels, and have them modify available FB-82s in accordance with their capabilities."
Celesta pursed her lips. "We need good pilots too, don't we?"
"I already have a list of candidates. We can ship them out to Sirius-Six-Eight along with additional deck fighters on the Arsenberg vessels within the hour."
"How long will this endeavor take before we can achieve full combat readiness?"
"Well, that depend-..." He stopped short, realizing that anything other than absolutes would likely occlude his proposal. "Forty-eight hours. READ can have all defense networks on standby until then."
Celestia nodded in agreement. "Very well, make it so. I'll contact the Fort Arsenberg factory myself and get them up to speed. Luna, I want you and Captain Armor to coordinate the reassignment detail. Have the required spacecraft pulled out of drydock and sent to the Gateway maintenance docks immediately."
They nodded and promptly left the room.
"And you," She turned to the analyst, "Report back to REQ-NORTHCOM and advise as the situation unfolds. Update us with any new developments, major or minor, it doesn't matter."
He got up and compiled his folders and paperwork before leaving. "Yes, your majesty."
A thought crossed her mind just as he headed for the door. "Wait a minute, please!"
He halted and turned to her, dropping a few papers as a result of his clumsily abrupt action. "Yes, your majesty?"
"Who were the two pilots that first engaged the CRAI drones at Orion and where are they now?"
He rushed over to the table and dropped his pile of documentation onto the slick stone surface, fumbling through a lightly-crumpled folder full of dossiers. "Um... Lunar Sector Security pilots Rainbow Dash and Gilda. Rainbow's craft suffered minimal damage, but Gilda's was destroyed. Both pilots survived and are still at Orion right now, according to this."
Celestia broke into a proud smile as she heard the familiar name, then reverted back to her professional demeanor, turning to the READ official. "Get a hold of Orion. I want to speak with their commanding officer ASAP."
Rainbow Dash and her maintenance crew thoroughly examined the streaked and battered hull of her fighter, aghast at various burn marks and impact points near the engines and other vital components.
"Three AP punctures near your oil-cooler," One of the engineers reported.
She got closer to where he was located. "Where?"
He pointed to three jagged holes in the ballistics paneling that protected her powerplant.
"Celesta damn it... I didn't even detect those!"
"You sure you ran a diagnostics check on your software before take-off?"
"Of course I did! I didn't even hear the impacts through the airframe!"
"You didn't feel any vibrations?"
She sighed, turning to walk away from the depressing sight. "No, just the grav-pistons stabilizing the cockpit. As usual."
"You need to upgrade your grav systems, Dash. How many times do I have to tell you that? You're using outdated hardware that-..."
She turned around sharply to confront him. "I know, I know! Fuck, how many times do I have to explain it to you? The new grav systems are too disorienting! I lose coherence when banking above five-hundred knots."
"You have to let your body adapt to it, Dash!"
"Look, maybe it works for your human physiology, but for ponies its a fucking hindrance! I don't have time to work with these upgrades when I'm busy shaking CRAI off my ass!"
He raised his hands in surrender and proceeded with the task at hand.
"Just find out why my damage-report system malfunctioned. Is that too much to ask?"
"Rainbow Dash!" Someone called out from across the cluttered maintenance section of the hangar bay. It was a young station guard from operations rushing over to her. "Captain Butes wants to see you in his office right away."
Aw, horseapples.
The corridors to the operations section of the station were dark and labyrinthine. Several sections were still blacked out and messy with maintenance equipment, fairings and padding yet to be installed on various opened panels, exposing the inner workings that were jammed with circuitry and conduits. The air was thick with smoke from welding machinery being used to mend the still incomplete orbital.
Dash coughed and waved it away as she tried to ignore the noxious smell and bitter flavor of hot metal particles floating in the air, occasionally shielding her eyes from the bright blue arclights. It certainly did not help matters that some of the engineers were also smoking while engaged in their work.
Once she arrived at the hatch door to Captain Butes' office, she was greeted by a familiar griffon seated on a bench just to the right of it, giving the whimsical impression of a school child waiting to see the principal.
"Dash," Gilda shouted, "There you are!"
"'Sup, G? What does the old man want?"
"I dunno, he's still in there with an STC guy. Told me to wait here 'till they're done."
"Probably about me ditching my externals."
"Could be. I just know that if you didn't, we'd both be toast. It was a sweet move if you ask me."
She grinned at her friend's encouragement, then shifted her attention to the door as it opened to make way for a disgruntled human traffic controller. He stormed past them and briskly disappeared behind a bend in the smoke-filled corridor, leaving the door open behind him. She could faintly hear irate mutterings about deserting his post or something to that effect before he was gone completely.
"Get in here, you two!" Butes yelled from inside the room.
They did as ordered, closing the door behind them and stood at attention before their superior officer. His desk and other surfaces were a mess of seemingly unorganized papers and digital tablets that made his office look as if a JDAM struck his filing system.
"What the hell kind of a circus act was that you pulled out there today?" He squalled with a paper held firmly in his hand. "This is Lunar Sector Security, not the goddamned Wonderbolts!"
Dash looked to Gilda for a moment, then back to him. "I'm not sure I follow."
"Then maybe you'll find it easier to follow this F-Com log." He referred to the paper he was holding and proceeded to read the text aloud for them. "82-degree roll at 4.5 meters proximity to target prior to closure of its overshot trajectory. Weapons hot while friendly spacecraft was within line of fire. Auxiliary fuel reserves jettisoned." He glanced up to them for a moment to add a comment: "Which is a helluva waste of expensive fuel just to neutralize one hostile spacecraft!" Back to the paper. "Furthermore, capture and recovery of friendly escape pod at six meters from collision course with an STC control spire on the station's surface."
The two pilots grimaced as he slapped the paper onto his desk in reddened fury, a large vein now visible on his forehead.
"You are not a SAR pilot! We already had emergency shuttlecraft dispatched to her location as soon as her beacon went active! Your little rescue stunt put the both of you and a 77.6 billion bit spacecraft in danger. Not to mention the physical integrity of Orion, which already took a beating from your stray shots."
Dash stepped forward in her own defense. "I had no choice! She was in a dead spin without attitude control. Those Bug shuttles wouldn't have made it in time considering the velocity she was at."
"You do realize you were closer to Bingo after cutting your reserves, right?"
"Look, I made a judgment call that I have no problem repeating given the opportunity! I had a friend in danger. Another good pilot, I might add, sir."
"Your concern for your friend and fellow pilot is irrelevant to jeopardizing expensive Lunar Security property. It was a foolish risk as I could've lost two good pilots today!"
Gilda shot him an enraged look to meet his own.
"On the other hand, it looks like I'm losing one good pilot today after all."
Gilda finally spoke up. "Wait a minute, that's not fair! What gives you the right to discharge her from security service when she-..."
"She's not being discharged, now shut up and listen!"
She turned away before the conversation could become further heated.
Butes picked up another piece of paper before he continued. "Brace yourself for this one, Dash. It seems your stunt's caught the attention of top brass at the 125th. That's right... Battlewings."
Rainbow's heart skipped a beat, with Gilda equally shocked as she turned back around to face the commanding officer.
"According to this they're impressed with how you handled the situation. To further emphasize the fact, Princess Celestia herself got a hold of me an hour ago. She wants you to report to Gateway at oh-six-hundred tomorrow for reassignment."
Dash was flabbergasted at the news as she struggled to gather her thoughts before responding. "I-.. I dunno what to say. The 125th wants me?"
"I'm about as shocked as you are."
Her critical thought returned as she glanced over to her friend beside her. "What about Gilda?"
Butes shook his head. "Just you."
Gilda snorted, obviously hiding her disappointment. "They couldn't handle a rebel like me anyway."
Rainbow took a deep, assertive breath. "I'm not going unless she can."
"These orders are specific, Dash," Butes insisted, "Celestia wants you, and only you."
"I don't even have time to think about this?"
Gilda turned to her with reassurance. "It's okay, Dash. Really. I want you to do this. You earned it."
Dash met her gaze. "Gilda, are you sure?"
She nodded with a smile. "Yeah. Give 'em hell for me."
"I will." She reciprocated a smile of her own. "Guess I'll see ya 'round, huh?"
Butes put the paper down. "Just one more thing before you go..."
Dash turned to him with her smile fading, brushing her long and tangled mane out of her face.
"Get a haircut."