//------------------------------// // Chapter 5 // Story: The Conversion Bureau: Threshold // by Guardian_Gryphon //------------------------------// Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102 10:48 GMT ACV-10 UES Yorktown 5 NM East of the Azores Lawrence Thornton was frustrated beyond description. The trip to the Harrisburg landing strip had been equitable to torture for the British man; Agent Calton had treated him to the cold shoulder, and agent Konem had eschewed conversation for the sake of keeping his own head free of the fire zone. Things had, inconceivably, gotten worse. Thornton had been expecting a tight squeeze on the aircraft; perhaps some sort of fast courier with a small spartan cabin and a rough ride, in exchange for hypersonic speeds. The cabin on the FCT-6A was actually fairly spacious, but Thornton wouldn't have called it a cabin at all. Cal informed him that the proper term was 'hold.' Thornton quickly realized, to his abject horror, that It wasn't so much a fast courier as a fast troop transport. The 'seats' were rows of barely cushioned metal slabs, lacking acceptable back support or headrests, with five point harnesses and cargo netting. The rows of slabs were aligned perpendicular to a center uncarpeted steel aisle with tracks in it for rolling small vehicles, or cargo pallets, in and out. The windows were so small they may as well have been omitted, the lighting was dim and red, and there wasn't even so much as a cup holder by way of conveniences or comforts. Thornton's word of choice would have indeed been 'torture.' His final attempt at sleep had been thwarted by a loud voice bursting from the crackly, and all together grating speakers, warning the occupants, "Please secure your seats in preparation for trap." Thornton raised an eyebrow, groaning as he fiddled with his harness, "Trap is right... this is hell." Cal smirked, "This is military flying. Trap is the technical term for a carrier landing. Take my advice; lean back as hard as you can. We go from about one-fifty kph to zero in less than fifty yards." Thornton moaned, and finally succeeded in securing his harness with a metallic snap, "If I get whiplash, you're not getting a bloody thing out of me until I see the ship's doctor and get my pain relieved." Cal shrugged, "Fine by me. We can also have him sew your mouth shut, and we'll finally be relieved of *our* pain too." Thornton glared, and shot a quick glance at Konem, "Is she ever going to let up?" The black haired agent snorted, "I am *not* getting involved... this is *your* problem." Cal grinned, and Thornton glowered. Konem's answer confirmed for him everything he had suspected; Agent Samantha Calton was not going to be easy to please, easygoing, nor, apparently, forgiving. The scientist pressed his face to the window, just managing to catch a glimpse of their target; a scant few acres of armored concrete festooned with flashing lights for guidance. The Transport dipped into a harsh turn, obscuring Thornton's view and providing more than enough concerning sensations in his stomach to necessitate turning his head back in the direction of travel. Konem was grimly braced against his own 'seat,' but Cal actually looked relaxed, even pleased. Thornton began to wonder if she was ex-military. "Or clinically insane," he mumbled half-aloud. "What was that?" Konem raised an eyebrow, and shot the scientist a warning glance. Thornton shook his head, improvising as quickly as he could, "Just thinking you'd uh... have to be clinically insane to want to fly one of these and try to hit the landing mark on that pavement down there." Cal shrugged, "People who do it a few years develop a knack. Pilot could prolly put us within an inch of a perfect trap, in heavy seas... blindfolded." As if on cue, the whine of the engines increased tenfold, and the nose of the craft pitched up hard. Thornton leaned back, pressing his head into the scant comfort and protection of the cargo netting lining the backs of the seats. "I hope you're right!" He squeezed the words out through gritted teeth. The forces of the craft's hard braking maneuver were already taking a toll. There was a new sensation in Thornton's stomach, like falling from a great height in an elevator, as the craft plummeted to its rendezvous with the deck. A set of well placed hooks in the belly connected sharply with a titanium bar, attached at both ends to micro-maglev units embedded in grooves on the concrete. As the arresting bar began providing braking force, there was a severe jolt and the engine whine increased yet again; the twin turbines contributed to leech the vehicle's considerable momentum. Thornton was pitched forward violently as his body tried to obey the laws of motion, and continue on its previous course at its previous speed. This action was arrested, painfully, by his restraining harness; the synthetic, rough, cloth-like weave digging into his shirt like so many claws of an invisible beast. Then it was, mercifully, over. Lawrence realized he had reflexively snapped his eyes shut during the ordeal. He carefully peeked out from under his left eyelid to see that Cal had already undone her harness and was collecting her black, suspiciously lumpy duffle, from the cargo netting. Thornton opened both eyes and began fiddling with his own harness. Why one would need to bring a duffel bag full of guns and ammunition to a secure Naval warship was anyone's guess, and the real reason was likely ridiculous, by his own estimations. Lawrence staggered free of his 'seat' in time to be jolted with a blast of cold sea air as the rear hatch began the slow crawl to its open position, accompanied by a drawn out pneumatic hiss. Cal shouldered her duffle and shot him a warning glance, "Don't stray, stay between me and Ralph." She had to shout to be heard over the engine spin-down noise, combined with the ambient roar of the carrier deck. Thornton glared; the flight had made him prickly and he didn't appreciate the agent's tone, "Why?" Ralph smacked him on his right shoulder, "Because if you make one wrong step you'll either get your head severed by a drone prop, or your arm sucked into an intake. No warning." Thornton gulped, swallowing his pride, and his newfound nervousness. Cal glanced over her shoulder to ensure he was following, then took off down the ramp at a practiced fast-walk. Thornton had to sprint to keep up. His first view of the carrier deck did nothing to assuage his discomfort and nervousness. It was nowhere near as uncomfortable or dangerous looking as he had expected. It was ten times worse. The wind cut through his jacket, as if to glaze his bones in ice, the pungent stench of jet fuel filled his nostrils, fouling his throat with an acidic tang, and the noise pierced his unprotected ears, rebounding inside his skull like a loose ping pong ball with steel spikes. Ahead of him, to Thornton's amazement, Cal strode forward looking not only as if she belonged in the environment, but as if she was enjoying it. Shaking his head, fingers in his ears to block out the bedlam, Thornton followed, eager to reach the shelter of the main 'island' tower. Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102 10:50 GMT Port of Madalena The Azores Puller strode into the makeshift processing camp with purpose. His rifle was intentionally slung at his back, but his sidearm was also clearly visible on his hip. He had already scouted the situation from afar, with the aid of a scope borrowed from Koenig. The problem was eminently evident. Thugs. Puller knew their type well; drug pushers by their dress, the way they carried themselves, and the barely concealed synthi-crys packs jammed into their duffels. Synthi-crys, crystal nirvana, or just crys for short, was the drug of choice in a post-plant world. Technically a synthetic 'grown' mineral, crys was well known for its hallucinogenic properties. Puller had seen it before; it was so psychotropically addictive that a single four milligram dose was often enough to enthrall a person for the rest of their life. The effects had been described by researchers as the ultimate high; dopamine uptake was inhibited, neurons were hyper-stimulated, and brain chemistry was fundamentally altered causing the organ to become practically dependant on the drug. Withdrawal was often fatal, unless aided by medical tissue-repair nanites and strong gene therapy. Puller's childhood had been spent in the particular zone of greater New York infamous for the crys trade. The mineral required specific conditions for its formation, one of which was a rare quartz derivative found only in volcanic rock. The powder was shipped in from sub-tropical locations, and combined on-site in target cities at locations known as Crusties. Puller knew that a decent number of the courier jobs he had accepted as a young boy led back to the cartels in some way. Nearly everything in the crys zones of cities did. That had been a strong motivation for his military application. The phrase in the suburbs was, "Gangland or Gunland." The military was often the best, and only way to avoid a life of crime for a young man from a low-income family. Puller had been luckier than most. The military didn't refuse many applications, but most ended up as noncoms. George had managed to score highly enough on his entry tests to qualify for officer school, and accelerated command track. The ill-clad, rowdy, and rude men he was striding towards were likely high level brains and mid-level enforcers for the cartels. The main reason to operate on Pico would be both to mine the needed quartz derivative for Crys, and to sell it to any visiting tourist or businessman stupid enough to look for a high from any source without asking first. The pushers were congregated around two senior medtechs. Puller winced and quickened his steps as he saw one of the thugs shove a lab coated woman to the side roughly. "Gentlemen!" The colonel projected his voice to draw attention, "Is there is a problem here?" Puller's words brought a halt to all activity in the vicinity. The queue of people slowly making their way into a medical exam tent paused to glance nervously at the brewing confrontation, the beleaguered medtechs took a cautionary step back, and the attention of the drug-runners instantly shifted to Puller. A heavyset, tall, unwashed man in a white shirt fixed Puller with a particularly vitriolic glare, and stepped forward to face the armored officer, "You here to put us on the boat Milboy? 'Cause otherwise, this ain't none of your business." Puller glanced from the drug lord, to the queue, and threw out his hands expansively, "As far as I know my friend, they're putting everyone on the boats... there's the line. No one is getting left, no one is getting detained. So what's the problem?" "The problem, my 'friend,'" The man took another step forward, coming chest to chest with Puller, "is that none of you patetas seem to grasp how the concept of a line works." Puller shrugged, intentionally emphasizing his sidearm with the motion, "Uhhhh first come first served? Early bird gets the worm? No cutting? Look the longer you stand here babbling the more people get into the line ahead of you." "I think you're missing the point, so let me make it clear; me and my men here? This is our island. Anyone who's ever felt differently ended up buried in a shallow sandy grave. Would you like to be the next person to argue? We own this town, therefore we go to the head of the line." Puller shook his head, "No one is getting priority except for families with young, the sick, and the wounded. Rich, poor, influential, average... doesn't matter. Now.." his tone changed subtly, but rapidly, taking on an extra glaze of icy steel, "either get in the queue with everyone else, or come with me and get 'special treatment.' We have some nice warm brig cells back on the boat that I just *know* you belong in. What will it be?" The drug runners chuckled, a disparate conglomeration of harsh menacing sounds. Several reached for ill-concealed pistols. The leaders smirked at Puller, "Baaaad choice my 'friend.' Bad choice." Puller shrugged, "I agree. This could have been done without any fuss. Too bad you're undergunned." The man withdrew a massive civilian model chemical-charge pistol from under his dirty white shirt, and pressed the barrel casually to Puller's shoulder, "Oh yeah?" Puller nodded, "This is Kallis Manufacturing Type R-86 hardened medium combat armor, designed to repel RAC rounds at midrange. Tritanium plating with an internal kevlar interweave, and a built in energy diffusion matrix. That cheap-ass little gangland pistol would bounce off this so hard at point blank that it would break your wrist into a thousand bony little pieces while I sat here laughing quietly." The drug lord stiffened, and hammed the pistol into Puller's throat, "Won't do you much good if I pop you in the head now will it?" Puller chuckled wryly, "Not if your head pops first." A plume of red burst from the man's skull before he even had time consider the statement. As the body began to fall, the resounding 'CRACK' of the rail-snipe shot caught up to the stunned onlookers, echoing with morbid finality from building to building down the block. Puller casually wiped a few flecks of blood from his face, and withdrew his pistol, "You gentlemen have three choices. Touch another weapon, and my man will put an armor piercing round through your braincase so fast the grey matter will compress. A 'shallow grave' aside, you can either take off down that alley double-quick and never let me see you again, or you can wear the cuffs, hit the brig, and at least get off this island before every grain of dirt gets swallowed into the pit of hell... or wherever its all gonna go. Any takers?" Two of the gangsters went for their weapons. The first and closest dropped instantly, accompanied shortly thereafter by the distinctive rail-snipe report. The second took two of Puller's rounds to the chest before he even managed to chamber a round. The colonel leveled his sidearm at the nearest of the remaining men, "Fall out." The man hesitated. Puller placed his finger on the trigger, " Now." The rest of the thugs took off at a jog towards the alley. Puller holstered his sidearm and sighed. One of the medtechs approached, looking shell shocked and bewildered, "Thank you... but... was that really necessary? Won't they just come back?" Puller gazed off down the alley after the fleeing figures, "No... no I don't think so." All at once, the white shirted figures were engulfed in an expanding orange fireball. The concussion wave arrived at the same time as the sound, ruffling Puller's hair and deafening most of the surrounding bystanders temporarily. Puller cast a sidelong glance at the slack jawed, horrified med tech, "Any other problems you just let me know. Call the 'big top,' ask for Colonel Puller. Right now, I'd suggest you calm these people down, let them know the situation is well in hand." As he walked off down the sidewalk to join Luis and rendezvous with Koenig, Puller cast a final glance back at the doctors, "My advice gentlemen? Carry your sidearm. They don't certify you with it so you can use it as a paperweight." Equestrian Calendar: 2nd Month, 7th Day, Year 1002 PB (Post Banishment) One Hour Before Nightfall RES Ascendant with Royal Expeditionary Force A Day's Journey South South-West of Canterlot Flux found he had very little to do aboard ship, and yet he was not bored for even a solitary moment. After they had come underway, the Captain had called a lower ranking crewmember to show Flux his quarters, and help him ensure all his effects and instrumentation were secure and organized. The cabin he had found himself in was sumptuous by the general standards of ships, both air and naval. There was a thin, but comfortable carpet on the floor, a large brass-rimmed porthole, an adjustable vent that fed into the ship's central furnace for heating, and an oaken table ringed and banded in silver. One corner was dominated by an empty teak wardrobe, another by a single-pony wrought iron bed with a thick mattress, and crimson sheets that looked at once warm and inviting. Light came from two magelights bolted to either lateral bulkhead, which were controlled by a small brass knob adjacent to the door, and a twin by the head of the bed. Despite all the comfort on display, the 'facilities' were still a communal affair; but they turned out to be close-by down the corridor, clean, well lit, and proportioned to give the users privacy from each other. Flux chuckled inwardly as he intuited what must happen to the excess 'compost' while the ship was in-flight. He decided it was better to be above the ship than below it, given the choice. After a stop in the hold to check in on his gear trunks, Flux had been content to simply find a perch on the main deck, out of the way of the hustle and bustle, and simply watch the fleet soar. The sun played off the brass fittings of the other ships, reflecting back to the silver and gold trimming of Ascendant and creating water-like patterns in the teak of the deck. All the vessels were under sail-power; the winds had turned favorable and rowers would not be needed until such time as the weather changed; which the ship's resident weather Pegasi seemed to think would not be for several hours or more. Flux gazed next at the flight patrol as they dipped and turned, running a final sweep of the clouds ahead before switching out for the next watch. The concept of the air-patrol made Flux slightly nervous; the only reason to send armored Pegasi and a Gryphon on scouting duty was if trouble was expected. As the patrol came to an end, most of the Pegasi made beelines for the other ships in the convoy. The Gryphon, however, returned to the Ascendant, alighting not far from Flux, near the starboard fore hatch. As he arrived, Brelik issued forth from belowdecks, and exchanged a few hushed words with his compatriot. The black Gryphon then took to the skies to head up the newly forming patrol. The tawny Gryphon, who Flux had not yet had a chance to greet, began to make his way leisurely to the aft of the ship. The Unicorn decided that his curiosity outweighed his timidity, and he spoke up as the large, menacing creature passed, "Heh... Hello. I'm Flux... I don't believe we were properly introduced." The Gryphon cocked his head, and his beak took on a slight grin, "I suppose not. Busy day afterall. I am Sildinar. I've heard of you in the Kingdoms; you attracted some attention from my father once when you were conducting a study of our biology." Flux nodded and blushed slightly, "I'm flattered that you remember... I still regret never getting the chance to visit the Kingdoms-proper." Sildinar shrugged, an amusing gesture that caused his wings and shoulders to flare simultaneously, "Perhaps when this is over I can arrange the trip for you. The terms of our agreement with the Royal Sisters stipulate that we are here as scouts and guards only; I expect our duties to be over long before those of everyone else." Flux jerked his head in the direction of travel, and the setting sun, "What do you suppose our duties are?" Sildinar raised an eyebrow, "I should not say; out of respect to our host... But I'm certain someone of your intellectual capacity is more than capable of intuiting what Brelik and I have concluded." Flux nodded, and remained silent for several moments. When he next spoke, his tone was low; one of distinct concern, "Do you honestly think we'll run into trouble?" Sildinar nodded, "Of one kind or another. If forces along the way do not interfere, then we will almost certainly encounter something unsavory at our destination. We can only hope that what we are searching for, and whatever undesirable thing we discover, are not one and the same." Flux nodded once more silently. Sildinar sighed, and stretched, his legs and wings splaying out, and nearly clipping Flux in the process, "I do believe I shall hunt now, so that I will not disrupt tonight's meal with my carnivorous habits. I will see you shortly." With that, the Tawny Gryphon leapt over the rail, and spiraled down towards the forest below, leaving Flux to ruminate on his serious predictions. Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102 14:28 GMT Earthgov Council Facility Harrisburg Pennsylvania Councilor Sulerahmen was nearly asleep when the call came in. The quiet, but insistent polyphonic tone, accompanied by a blinking hologram over the bedside table, meant that rest would have to wait. For how long was entirely dependant on the nature of the call, but secretly she hoped that whatever the business was, it would be concluded swiftly. Innara didn't like to admit her limitations publicly, but she knew her tolerances well, and she had reached her limit for hours-without-sleep over thirty minutes prior. She tapped one quadrant of the blinking blue disc, enabling voice communications but no video. A voice emanated from a hidden speaker, "Councilor? You asked to be informed when Dr. Thornton arrived on-station... Yorktown Ops just called to confirm he arrived safely, with escorts. They'll be dispatching him along with the agents, as soon as they can synch up a ground team on-site." Innara nodded once in relief, and affirmation, before realizing the operator on the other end of the call could not see her, "Thank you for notifying me." "My pleasure ma'am." The connection terminated, and the Councilor rolled over to resume her desperately needed rest cycle, thankful that at least something had gone right in the previous twenty four hours. Earth Calendar: 1/19/2102 14:30 GMT Government Facility A52-S429 Location Classified The full Triumvirate was not technically in session, but Asp and Krait were nonetheless manning 'The Keep.' Nero contingency mandated at least one member of the Triumvirate be there at all times, two was preferable. ExCET's branches and barbs extended deep into the government, and various corporations; the only way for such a monumental secret to remain a secret was to limit knowledge of its full extent to as few people as possible. The Triumvirate knew things that weren't even stored on master databases in the Keep. The three men were the most essential component of the organization; in a potential beachhead scenario their lives were the most important asset on the planet, as far as ExCET protocol was concerned. The two men kept vigil silently, for the most part, speaking only to confirm findings or make operation requests. Deploying all of ExCET's forces was a considerable undertaking; agents in-place, sleepers who didn't even know they were sleepers, bribed and blackmailed politicians who thought they were in the thrall of drug cartels or terrorists, and legitimate front corporations who's every operation ExCET dictated, were among the assets being brought into play. Such an occurrence was so rare that it had in fact only taken place once before. Silently, both men and their absent third compatriot, held out hope that the events of the present would be just as anticlimactic as those of 1947. Krait straightened at a small tone from his panel, and raised his eyes to meet Asp's, "The Scientist has arrived on-station. My calculations place him on-site at the anomaly within four hours. " Asp nodded, and worked his keypad furiously by touch, "According to my predictions, he will have initial findings extensive enough to suit our needs, within twenty hours." "I will inform Adder. We should have at least two active components on-station if a termination order becomes necessary." "Agreed." Silently, the Asp and the Krait watched as the world caught slowly fire, waiting for the right time to strike.