//------------------------------// // Chapter 4 // Story: Hegira: Eternal Delta // by Guardian_Gryphon //------------------------------// Earth Calendar: 2117 Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact) March 4th, Gregorian Calendar Neyla had been enamoured with Human flying machines since the first time she laid eyes on one. That a species bound by gravity, and not naturally possessed of wings, would put such time and effort into crafting such powerful extensions of themselves to tame the sky, was telling. Given her time with the JRSF, Neyla had learned to identify nearly every type in current military service, and had even studied several historical craft. She was amazed by the bravery it must have taken to trust such weak bodies to such piecemeal fragile machines, in combat situations. Most of the craft on the Northolt tarmac were cargo transports, VTOLs, or heavy gunships. A few sleeker shapes in the mouths of distant hangars marked the presence of a wing of FA-26 Scythe fighters. The air was thick with the scent of synthetic aviation fuel, a commodity reserved almost exclusively for military use given that its only advantage over electric fuel-cell powered engines were the indispensable tactical traits of speed and acceleration. Neyla had come to love the smells of Human military life. To be sure, it was not quite the familiar tang of leather, warm feathers, and hot steel, but it had an indelible kinship born from the enduring warrior qualities in both worlds. As a lone fighter thundered overhead, dull sky leaving a small flash of metallic fervor on the tailfins, Neyla smiled and bent to the crate before her. Her Scalebuster unit was being recalled to New York and, as such, new and repaired gear had been issued to replace anything damaged or missing from the Dubai assault, or any gear that might have become dated during their deployment. The crates had been shipped, one per member of the team, fresh from the Dublin armories to meet them at their layover in London. The next leg of the flight would be unseasonably long, as the craft would have to navigate around the barrier. Soon enough, it would be safer to fly over all of Eurasia towards the Western Americas rather than take the arcing path through the Northern Atlantic. Neyla gave the gear in the crate a once-over; A new RAC-9 repeating semi-automatic DMR railcarbine designed specifically by Gryphons for Gryphons, spare pistol ammunition clips, a new case of modified stun grenades with secondary EMP charges to disable potion dispersers, and five newer model mag-javelins. Tirinel snorted as he lumbered past, a brace of multiple crates slung between his wings containing his own gear, "I will never understand how your kind can do so much damage with such small weapons." The blue and beige Gryphoness grinned slyly, "Timing and accuracy. But a big flashy ice-breather like you wouldn't know much about that." Tirinel smirked in return, the expression so slight that the average onlooker wouldn't have caught it at all, "As you say. I am an ice-breather. I do not need accuracy, merely my excellent lung capacity, and sufficient cause to be angry." Neyla's smile became less mischievous, and more genuinely approving, "You certainly did a good job with that big red." The silver Dragon nodded once in agreement and reciprocation, "As did you." Neyla followed Tirinel into the rear of a CVA-5 super heavy cargo jet. The Dragon was able to fit with room to spare for other passengers and crates, given that the vehicle was designed originally to carry six main battle tanks. Neyla strapped her gear crate into an open slot, then waved and stepped back to the ramp. Tirinel raised an eyebrow, or at least the analogous scale plate, "You're not coming?" Neyla shrugged, the gesture raising both of her wings a few inches in a fashion Humans seemed to find highly comical in its mimicry of their own shrugging movement, "I wanted to fly myself. Get some endurance training in, and have some time to think. See you in New York." Tirinel nodded, as technicians helped him to secure his own plethora of gear crates, "Be safe, and have fair winds." The Dragon, like most of his kind, did not quite have the endurance to make the trip in a single go, and at the same speed Neyla could. She smiled and descended the ramp, cinching her arbalest and short scimitars tight in their straps. Those particular pieces of gear never left her side. They were of Gryphic make, and had been her weapons of choice for decades. Neyla sighed, and cast an eye to the teal and gray dome above. It wasn't the Equestrian sky she knew and loved, but it had a certain magnificent desolation to it, and there were times she enjoyed the feeling of being utterly alone in a void. She extended her wings, and glided away, parallel to the runway. When she reached the end, she flapped hard and gained altitude quickly, catching the downdraft from a departing CAA-7 to provide a quick shortcut to added momentum. As she leveled off within the traffic pattern and settled into a long-range rhythm and speed, she reflected that as many times as she had been grateful for the solitude, there were twice as many times that it had eaten away at her soul like tendrils of ice. Earth Calendar: 2117 Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact) Fourth Month, Sixth Day, Celestial Calendar Sangre Naranja was true to its name. Orange and bloody. Fyrenn shook his head slowly as he observed what passed for a peacekeeping force in the town end a particularly heated debate between a Lupine Diamond Dog and a Vulpine. Forcefully. Fyrenn leaned against a rickety wooden railing, and swept his eyes up and down the main, and only street in the town. Ramshackle wooden and plate-iron buildings were interspersed with intermittent domes of stucco. The town's populace was mostly composed of Diamond Dogs, Buffalo, and the occasional straggling Zebra. At the end of Main Street, a large rail depot and station fed off into a series of covered pits for ore and cargo. The Gryphons had inspected the site from above, but seen no further evidence of slave trafficking. As such, Kephic and Stan had remained just outside the town until Fyrenn and Varan could scope it out. When it had been deemed more or less 'safe,' the bedraggled string of Ponies had been led in, and put up in whatever tavern or hotel rooms could be found. Though it had nearly taken the entire cache of bits and silver bars that the group had brought along, they had still managed to maintain enough spare currency to purchase provisions for a trip further south. All had agreed that it would be highly unsafe for the freed Ponies to proceed alone. The flaming example the Gryphons had made of the slaving pack would surely draw attention to the missing Equines within days, if not hours. Fyrenn and Stan had volunteered to watch over the group while Kephic and Varan made the necessary foodstuff purchases. Carradan had been swamped by the foals of the group, who were clambering over his wings as if he were a jungle gym, and their new adoptive uncle, all in one. The red Gryphon smiled at their resilience. Children of any culture seemed to have the durability of granite, and the flexibility of rubber. He shifted as his ears detected the pit-pat-pit-pat of small hooves to his right. He chuckled, "You're not scared of me?" Fyrenn turned to see the young colt shaking his head slowly, "Nnnnoo..." The colt cocked his head to the side, "I'm Roughshod. How old are you?" Fyrenn laughed outright, and closed his eyes for a moment, counting mentally. It had been some time since anyone had asked him his age, "Thirty one. What about you?" Roughshod placed his front hooves on the wooden railing, and peered up into Fyrenn's eyes unflinchingly, "Seven. My mom says Gryphons are dangerous... Is that true?" "Oh yes..." Fyrenn nodded slowly, "...But only to bad people." "Like those Trolls?" "Yes. Like those Trolls." Fyrenn sighed and stretched his wings, "You sure your mom would be ok with you talking to me? Especially about this?" Roughshod shuffled his hoof idly, "Mmmm... Not sure. Mom's not here. The Trolls took me on the way back from a trip to granddad's." The colt sighed, and Fyrenn thought he noticed a small teardrop in his eye, "Mom prolly thinks I'm dead now... I don't know how to find her again..." Fyrenn flared his right wing, tucking it around the young Earth Pony protectively, "Don't you even worry a little about it. I'll help you find her. Where do you live?" "Neighvada." "And that's exactly where we're going." Fyrenn gave the colt a light shove with his wing, "Now, if you want to get an easy laugh; Go ask Stan why his coat is pink." As Roughshod bolted off to rejoin his playmates in harassing Carradan, Varan stepped out of the general store, "Are you sure you don't wish for a fledgling of your own?" Fyrenn snorted, "Hell no... I'm absolutely sure I *do.* But I don't think I'm ready for a mate and I'm not about to put some poor fledgling through the added stress of having only one parent, when they could have two." He shrugged his wings, and turned his head to fix Varan with a mock glare, "Besides. I'm a lousy cook." Varan began to chuckle. As Kephic arrived with sacks of food, and a quizzical expression, Fyrenn nodded slowly, "I mean, *really* lousy." Earth Calendar: 2117 Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact) March 4th, Gregorian Calendar The Lucapa facility was six hundred acres of fabrication, quality control, assembly, fueling, and storage space in central Africa. The Genesist-run base was the first, last, and only viable attempt Humans were ever going to get at escaping Earth without Converting. Lucapa was mankind's first and only real interstellar starship factory; Massive pits, hangars, and gantries filling the desert floor, to the point that they were visible from orbit. The objective was to assemble large, silvery, arrow-head shaped sleeper-ships. The Genesists would load the vessels with frozen Humans in cryogenic pods, provisions of all types, and data-cores containing copies of the internet, and every database on the planet. Most of the funding for the initiative, and the party, came from high level pro-Human constituents with major business connections. The remainder was paid for by mining operations beneath the base. The Genesists opted to sell off any materials that didn't have a direct connection to the construction of their starships, and the profit was enough to keep the organization afloat. Barely. The northernmost end of the immense compound was comprised of personnel facilities, labs, processing stations, and a large observatory. The latter was a cylindrical multi-story steel and glass building, with a satellite plexus on the roof. Inside, a cadre of Pony mages, Human scientists, and even a few Zebra astronomers worked tirelessly to find a few intrepid colonists a potential new home. A constellation of orbiting satellites, each fitted with a bevy of telescopic lenses, particle detectors, and long-range sensor palettes, searched the Milky Way for clusters of habitable worlds with precisely the right criteria to fulfill the explorers' needs. Far above, out beyond the taint of the ruined atmosphere, satellite GN-A-11-C opened the aperture of its detection aparati to the influx of cosmic radiation whizzing through the void. The plethora of useful information impacted the metal and glass of the sensors, registering terabytes of data in the space of mere moments. Within the space of another microsecond, the data had been transmitted down to Lucapa base. The stream of compressed information, translated into invisible wavelengths, struck the observatory satellite dish, and was instantly retranslated to computer code. From there it wound its way through a half hectare of positronic matrices held inside server racks. Multiple task-specific AI sifted each tiny fragment of information, cross-referencing their findings with more general-purpose constructs, and collating the data for final review. On the fifth pass of the final overall filtration, the carbon-searching AI nicknamed 'Bellicose' discovered a level one green flag. Upon cross-referencing, multiple overseer programs were able to determine that there were no less than seventy two green flags, ranging from levels three to one. Within five more seconds, the data had been fully prepared for viewing, and transmitted to a console. Councilor Janet Martins had come to expect and accept the reality of late night phone calls. When her preferred communications DaTab began emitting an attention demanding trill in harmony with her bedroom wall screen, she knew the situation was more pressing than a simple diplomatic call. As head of the Genesist party, Martins was responsible not only for her duties as an Earthgov Councilor, but also for administratively overseeing the Genesist Initiative itself. Those who knew her well enough to have some idea of her workload often speculated as to the source of her seemingly supernatural stores of energy and patience. She sat up, rubbed at her eyes, and took a moment to force her graying auburn hair out of her vision cone. A swift check indicated that the calls to her screen, and DaTab, were both from the Lucapa facility, so she opted to answer the DaTab given that it was close to three AM local time, and all she had on was a faux-silk nightgown. She pressed the accept key, and was treated to a spinning circle inscribed with the words, 'Establishing Secure Link: Standby' Martins sighed, and set the DaTab back on the nightstand, thumbing the 'SPKR' key as she did so. She stood, stretched, and glanced around her newly issued apartment. The lights were at their dimmest setting, with illumination provided only by a few discreet floor lights, and the glow emanating from the city of Vancouver, visible through the floor to ceiling east-facing windows. The space was mostly bare; The items that had adored Martins' Harrisburg residence were still mostly packed into a series of crates, stacked in the corner of the living room. She had no plans to unpack. The apartment was a temporary solution, intended to provide a space for sleeping until the official diplomatic quarters of the new Earthgov Vancouver Council Facility were complete. As she stepped to the refrigerator, and withdrew an energy drink, the DaTab finally made a connection, chirruped once, and went to the call. A male voice Martins recognized as her chief Unicorn Mage emanated from the speaker, "Councilor?" She took a draught of the synthetic fruit juice, laced with vitamins and a caffeine substitute, before answering, "I'm here Astris." Martins tapped a control on the countertop, and brought the wallscreen on, set to a muted newsfeed. The voice on the other end of the DaTab paused, then spoke with barely restrained excitement, "Councilor; How soon can you be here?" Martins glanced at the DaTab with an expression of mixed confusion and curiosity, "We're in the middle of emergency deliberations to repeal a tax bill. What's the rush?" Astris took an audible breath of anticipation, before speaking again, "Because... We think we found it. We've found our destination." Martins paused, staring, before dashing to the nightstand, and abruptly shoving the lighting control to maximum, "Expect me by tomorrow." Earth Calendar: 2117 Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact) Fourth Month, Seventh Day, Celestial Calendar "Octal for your thoughts?" It took Fyrenn several seconds to process the voice. Octals were the small gold, silver, and bronze octagonal coins that Gryphons used for currency. Every coin had a series of pits on one side, and corresponding nubs on the other so that they could fasten together in rods for easy counting, carrying, and storage. Fyrenn glanced over at Kephic, and grimaced, "Trying to reason out how we're going to go about breaking the codes we discovered." Kephic shook his head emphatically, and dipped one wing to account for an updraft generated by the morning sun, "It takes more specifically trained minds than ours. We'll head home, restock, and relay what we now know." The pair flew on in silence for several more moments, soaking up the warm morning sun. Below, Varan flew at a slower pace and much lower altitude, conversing with a mother and her foal, as Stan helped guide the rest of the group down the dirt road to Neighvada. Sleep and nutrition had done wonders for the Ponies, enough that their incredibly powerful metabolisms had come to bear once more. Fyrenn knew they would reach Neighvada within half an hour. He stared down at Roughshod, who was trotting in tandem with Stanley, pestering him with questions. To Fyrenn's amusement, and pride, Carradan was smiling, laughing, and fielding the constant stream of chatter with incredible grace and kindness. "Do you have any idea where to start with finding his mother?" Kephic cocked his head slightly, and followed Fyrenn's gaze. The red Gryphon nodded, "There is a Royal Guard contingent on-station thanks to the recent unrest. She will have doubtless been on their doorstep every hour of every day begging for answers." Kephic nodded sagely, "I'd expect nothing less from a worried parent." After another forty minutes of amicable silence, Neighvada was at last large on the horizon. Within another five minutes, the group had entered the city. The large settlement was a study in juxtapositions; Traditional Equestrian architecture reminiscent of the late middle ages, mixed-in with adobe buildings crafted from natural clay and sand deposits found nearby. Technologically, the city was nearly as eclectic as its architecture. Heavy initial newfoal immigration, a small but growing pre-existing enclave of Gryphons, and the Diamond Dogs attracted by the nearby mines; All had lent their unique concepts to the city's infrastructure. Magelights were interspersed with torches, and more modern gas-powered street lamps. Some of the foundries and metal refineries were powered by traditional bellows, others had powerful boiler-driven blowers and mechanical after-burning smoke-stacks. Tellingly, the Town Watch arrived to meet the group at the north entrance of the city. Five stocky Pegasi in Royal Guard Armor, muzzles fixed with the same stony expression members of the corps always seemed to wear. Fyrenn and Kephic made a swift landing, and the former offered a curt nod to the Sergeant of the Guard, "Greetings. We freed these Ponies from a pack of Diamond Dog slavers, moving northwards. We'll need some help arranging safe lodging and later transport for the dislocated, and I know at least one of them lives here and needs help finding his family." The Sergeant nodded, "We'll make all the appropriate arrangements." His gaze swept the Gryphons, "Any tactical report you could give us on the state of the land to the north of us would be greatly appreciated." Varan inclined his head, "Consider it done." Varan departed with a master-at-arms, while Kephic and Stan herded the majority of the freed prisoners towards the garrison. Fyrenn singled out Roughshod, and took up a slow walking pace beside him, "You ready to see your mom again?" The young Colt nodded emphatically, and yawned. Fyrenn smiled. "You are sure of this?" For a response, Varan merely nodded once. The Master-at-arms winced involuntarily, "This bodes ill for us. There have been more disappearances in the region of-late. Now perhaps we know why." The chart-room of the garrison was old. Stucco construction with low hanging wooden roof-beams. The lighting was still provided by torches, an example of Equine stubbornness and resistance to change. Large maps of the Equestrian Nation hung on the walls in tapestry form, while more detailed and recent regional charts on papyrus covered the surface of the main oaken table. Varan had spread out the maps pilfered from the train, and helped the Master-at-arms to make a set of detailed copies to be sent to the Commander of the Guard in Canterlot. The older Stallion smiled at Varan, "Thank you, your raid has given us information that will prevent future tragedies." Varan returned the smile and rose, stretching, "I hope so. I certainly hope so." The house was modest wooden construction with wattle and daub structuring. All the lamps inside were lit to hold out the evening dimness, and Fyrenn's ears detected the subtle hints of conversation inside; A fact he verified with his eyes as they pierced the veils of the curtains to reveal a female Earth Pony, and two female Pegasi comforting her, and helping her to prepare a meal. Fyrenn shifted his wings, and fisted his claw to deliver a slight rap to the weathered acacia wood door. The conversation instantly died. Seconds later, there was a sound of hoofsteps, and the door opened. Fyrenn smiled down at the Earth Pony mare, and gently shifted his right wing to reveal Roughshod, sleeping soundly on his back, head to the side, chest rising and falling, tiny snores emanating from his throat. The mare gaped, tears of joy and shock welling in her eyes. She charged forward and then, with surprising grace, gently shifted Roughshod to her own back. The young colt whimpered in his sleep, then smiled and sighed contentedly as he sensed the scent and heartbeat of his mother. She in turn smiled up at Fyrenn, her expression conveying more than words ever could. She didn't speak, neither did the Gryphon. He merely smiled in return, nodded once, then turned and walked down the front steps of the porch. Fyrenn turned as he reached the street, extending his wings for flight. He stole a final glance at the reunited mother and son, soaking up the warmth of the moment he had been party to creating. He smiled, holding back tears of his own as he took to the sky. Earth Calendar: 2117 Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact) March 5th, Gregorian Calendar For years, ever since he had been assigned his post at Fort Hamilton, Hutch had enjoyed stepping out for lunch, rather than partaking in the officers' mess. He enjoyed the opportunity to sit, away from his work, and simply observe passers-by; Taking the pulse of the city. The General's preferred Lunchroom was a small venue renting out the base floor of an older Skyscraper a block from the Fort. As far as Hutch knew, the proprietor intended to continue operating at least one final week before evacuating. The General had made a point of coming for lunch every day, for he knew he would miss the restaurant. It had become something of an avatar to him for the loss of New York itself. Hutch stepped through the front door, and sighed with a twinge of remorse. The crowd was light, and the door was plastered with an evacuation notice. The General straightened his gray digital camouflage jacket, bringing the lone red stripe into line, and helped himself to a seat in the back of the room. He smiled, and waved to the proprietor; A young man with a dark green apron, shock of blond hair, and thickset circular cosmetic glasses, returned the gesture. He knew Hutch's usual preference. A thick BLT sandwich, made with real Equestrian ingredients, fruit juice, and a hot coffee. The General fiddled with the rank chevrons at his collar. Five interlocking gold chevrons, two of which were stamped with silver stars. He watched the patrons for a few moments. Several Humans, a family of Ponies, and even a lone Gryphon, before shifting his focus to the street beyond. Most of the street traffic was either utility vehicles, or transport trucks ferrying people and their belongings to the airports, seaports, or train stations. Foot traffic had also diminished, with most of the passers-by walking quickly and keeping their eyes fixed on the pavement. Subtle indications of nervousness and despair. Sometimes, when the sun was out in Equestria, a current of lighter mood could be felt as a result of the warmth, and golden light. But it was a cloudy day in both worlds, and public moods were mirroring the weather. Hutch refocused on the Lunchroom as his meal arrived. The floors were a classic teak-like synthetic surface, the walls were painted a pleasant shade of beige, trimming was composed of faux gold, and the finishing touches came in the form of a green granite bar top, and tabletops. The General offered the proprietor another smile, "Thanks Len." He spent several minutes indulging in his sandwich, relishing in the divine taste of real, juicy, fresh meat and vegetables. While Ponies were responsible for the import of most of Earth's fresh food, they had deep running inhibitions against meat. Most beef and pork products came from the Gryphon Kingdoms, with the remainder of demand being picked up by Minotaurs. Hutch had finished his sandwich, and just begun his coffee, when he was abruptly jarred by the arrival of a second guest at his table. The General had been so preoccupied staring into the swirls and bubbles of his after-lunch drink, that he hadn't noticed the man's approach. It took him several seconds to fully register the newcomer; Beige trench coat, black slacks, cream colored suit, and matching fedora. Hutch sat back and shook his head, "Matthas Korvan. What's the matter? Looking for a job? I suggest you look elsewhere. You're not really military material." Korvan slowly removed his chapeau, and set it lightly on the table, "General. I'm not here to beg. I'm not here to search for a job. And I'm certainly not here to be insulted." The General snorted, and took a large sip of his coffee, "Oh? Then what are you here for, because I have very little else for you besides insults, and I'm not ashamed to admit it." The ex-Councilor sighed and leaned back in his chair, "You and most of Manhattan, General. But I'm not here to receive anything from you, but to deliver something *to* you." Hutch merely raised an eyebrow, the disdainful expression twisting his lip was question, and opinion, enough that he didn't need works. Korvan leaned forward conspiratorially, "I'm here with a warning. I hear you've met my... 'Successor.' " Another snort prefaced Hutch's response, "If you're referring to the insufferable woman whose clothing is the only thing as loud as her jumped-up arrogant---" Matthas slammed a fist into the table, rattling Hutch's cup in its saucer, "Hutchinson! Do *not* underestimate this woman. You're making..." Korvan glanced around before lowering his tone once more, "You're making the same mistake I did. And it cost me my seat on the Council. More than that; Very soon there won't be a New York left, and without a representative district, my political career is going to suffer mightily as a result of my impeachment." Hutch chuckled, "You enjoy understatement almost as much as you enjoy undercutting others don't you?" Korvan snatched up his hat and stood, glowering, "I don't give a damn what you think of me General, and I expect you don't much care for my opinion of you as a man either. But you've always struck me as a discerning military leader so please take my advice. Have care for Menera Loryss. She. Is. Dangerous." Without any further preamble, or parting gesture, Korvan stormed out of the lunchroom, collar turned up against the wind. Hutch breathed deeply, widening his eyes momentarily, before picking up his coffee and finishing it in a slow, thoughtful drought.