Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 10th, Gregorian Calendar
Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger. His headache had begun shortly after his morning exercise, and had only intensified as the day progressed.
He glanced down at the holographic rectangle hovering over his desk and shook his head, grimacing. Four dead, thirteen wounded, and a hole the size of a tractor in the Bureau steps.
At that point, the HOB had officially gone from 'problem children' to 'terrorists' in Hutch's book, and he had snapped. Setting fires and turning over cars was one thing. Setting off an IED was quite another. As sad as the casualties made him, he was deeply relieved to finally have the one thing he had wanted more than anything since the situation began. Precedent to act.
The General sat back, and stretched, preparing himself. As he finished straightening his uniform jacket, the familiar two-tone sounded at his door.
"Come."
His office was swiftly filled by the ominous form of a glowering female Gryphon, two armored ConSec troopers, and the comparatively diminutive silhouette of a Human man.
Hutch gestured to the guest chair in front of his desk. The man did not move. Hutch glanced ever-so-slightly to his right, and without warning the Gryphon snagged the man's shoulders in her vice-like claws, and forcibly ensconced him in the chair, with surprising grace and gentleness all things considered.
He squirmed violently, and grunted, but it did little good, "How *dare* you! You can't force me to say anything, I have *RIGHTS!*"
Hutch raised an eyebrow, "I think you misunderstand. I'm not here to force you to say anything. You're here to listen to me."
The man relaxed slightly, and glared, "There is nothing you have to say, that I want to hear, unless it is apology and surrender. Take your filthy lies back, pack up that foul serum you keep, and ship it all away until Equestrians can come here on exclusively *Human* terms."
Hutch sighed, and flicked through the screens on his terminal, "Human terms... Interesting choice of words considering all four people who died today, were Human." The General paused, then glanced up, a dangerous light dancing in his narrowed eyes, "Mr. Reinmar Lansky. Twenty eight, unemployed. Criminal record dating back four years, recently added to the master Earthgov terrorist watch list, and ostensibly the leader of the local HOB movement as of last month. Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in?"
Lansky spat, leaving a glistening cluster of mucus on the surface of Hutch's desk. The general glared at it in disdain.
Reinmar glared across the intervening space, involuntarily shifting as the Gryphoness' claws continued to dig uncomfortably into his shoulders, "Do *you* have any idea how much trouble *you* are in General? How many people on this planet are truly ready to buy into the drivel you all preach!? Less than one percent. Did you know that? The rest of us will NOT be silenced forever!"
Hutch snorted; Half a dry chuckle, half a disdainful exhalation.
"You want to know the irony in this Lansky? I love freedom. I love the freedom of little daily choices, freedom of species, freedom of faith, freedom of speech..."
The General leaned forward, and stared deep into the bedraggled man's eyes, "...And most of all I love the freedom we all have to simply *live.*" Hutch's voice took a dangerous turn, the steel in his words piercing Lansky like a knife, "You. And your people. You have infringed on this freedom. And you know what else I believe?"
Hutch leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, "That when a scumbag like you infringes on that freedom, you deserve to lose all of yours."
Lansky stared defiantly, "You can't silence us. We have the right to be heard! And to Assemble! Your superiors---"
The General interjected, shaking his head, "Sure... On public soil. Funny thing? Smart-ass? Bureaus are sovereign independent soil, jointly operated by the races of the Conversion Accords. Your Earthgov citizenship rights? They don't count here. You have no right to assemble, and you? Personally? Have no right to an attorney. No right to remain silent. No right to a Human jury trial."
Lansky sneered, "Oh really?"
The Gryphoness tightened her claws, and the man winced. Hutch nodded, "Really. See, this is partly Gryphon soil. Dragon too. I'm sure either of them would be more than happy to begin extradition procedures on you. Do you know what will happen to you if you are convicted of an attack on Gryphon soil?"
Lansky glanced up at the Gryphon holding him to his chair. She grinned, and clacked her beak suggestively, the knife-sharp yellow edge glittering under the room's lights.
For the first time, the man looked afraid. Hutch seized on the opportunity, "I want this to go smoothly. You want to avoid becoming a ceremonial execution meal." At the word 'meal' Lansky visibly blanched. The General smirked, and tapped one finger on his desk slowly, "You go back out there. You tell that uncivilized crowd of terrorist-wannabes you call a 'movement,' to disperse and go home nice and quiet-like... And I won't arrest you on the spot."
Hutch stood, straightening his jacket reflexively. He turned to stare out the window at the courtyard below, where the newly-intensified standoff between the JRSF and the HOB was framed in the stark contrast of emergency vehicle lights, "If you fail to comply, I will rescind all no-fire orders for those troops down there. And you will suffer the fury of Gryphons, and the fire of Dragons. None of you will leave with all your limbs intact, and most of you will leave in body bags, and frankly? I don't give a damn about the political consequences, because I have one hell of a migraine, and I'm tired of dealing..."
Hutch turned, and slammed a fist into the desk, causing the still-moist globule of Lansky's spit to fly from the surface onto the carpet, "...with your SHIT!" Hutch's tone instantly reverted to a calm, almost amicable tenor, with only a hint of sarcasm, "Have I made all this clear for you?"
Lansky nodded, barely able to move as he began to vent a multitude of bodily fluids onto Hutch's guest chair.
The General glowered in disgust, "And before you go? Clean my damn chair."
Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twelfth Day, Celestial Calendar
Fyrenn stared at the collection of mesmerizing characters, and yawned, beak opening wide in an expression of pure exhaustion. Amongst Gryphons it was, he had been delighted to discover, quite normative to publicly yawn and sneeze without shame, or conciliatory gestures, or need for apology.
The Red Gryphon was thoroughly sick of the myriad lines of encoded information that had become his waking obsession, to the point that he had more than a small temptation to shred the offending parchment sheets in his claws and scatter the giblets to the four winds.
In truth, Fyrenn was used to working far longer hours, and on far more difficult problems. But cryptography was simply not within his skill sets. The frustration of being unable to offer anything concrete to the investigation was compounding with the frustration of having an unsolvable problem to generate stress.
Fyrenn held no delusions. He knew he was the sort who could easily be tormented for years by an unsolved problem, particularly one with such high stakes.
The Gryphon reached for his coffee, and took a long satisfying gulp of the hot liquid. The large stone tankard, sized to the average Gryphon claw, also made a good insulator, keeping the drink piping hot for hours after brewing. Out of all the tiny life-pleasures of coming to Equestria, real coffee was close to the top of Fyrenn's list of favorites.
A voice brought him out of his reverie so sharply, that he had to make a conscious internal effort to keep from flinching,
"Keeping busy?"
Fyrenn glanced up to see King Siidran peering over his shoulder at the parchments scattered before him. The red Gryphon spent several seconds trying to figure out how his monarch had snuck up on him so adeptly, and so casually, before finally simply accepting that hundreds of years of seniority doubtless bestowed rewarding experience and skill.
Fyrenn inclined his head respectfully, and shifted to the side so Siidran could pick up the parchments, and rearrange them, "I'm afraid I'm not one for math. Would you believe I can't even do long division, or basic algebra very well? Consequence of being raised in a computerized society."
Siidran chuckled, a low but clearly amused sound that came from somewhere deep in his throat, ruffling his neck feathers slightly as it passed through his beak, "In your case, that's not a serious concern. You have plenty of time to re-learn what was lost."
Fyrenn stood, and stretched; Forelegs extended like a cat, wings outspread momentarily. The gesture brought immense relief to his stress-knotted muscles.
"Time for myself, yes. But I don't expect we have much time to solve this code, if we want to get any decent use out of it. When I was an Earthgov soldier we were taught that plans can change within days, or even hours, of a discovered breach in opsec."
Siidran tilted his head by a fraction of a degree, "Op-sec?"
"Sorry; Operational Security. There's Opsec, and Opspec; Operational specification. Each informs the other, and if the former is breached, you can bet your extra rations that the latter is going to change. Its usually a logistical nightmare, so I suppose we've accomplished *something* already..."
Siidran gently pushed the coded missives aside, and gestured to the space around them. The library had dimmed as day had turned to night, and the skydome had gone jet black, dotted with pinpricks of intense starlight, "I understand the advice is trite. But perhaps you should take a moment and focus on something external to your problem."
Fyrenn glanced over to the tables where his friends and family were working with Tenek, and his abacus.
The device was nothing at all like the object, of the same name, from ancient Earth history. Gryphon abaci were complex pieces of steel and brass calculating machinery that had more in common, visually, with the Antikythera mechanism, and could produce calculation results easily as complex as a primitive computer.
Fyrenn briefly pointed to the device with a talon, "An impressive mechanism. How long has our civilization been using this type of thing?"
Siidran smiled, "Longer than the memory of my father's father."
Fyrenn whistled, "Not moving very fast in terms of technology, are you?"
The King inclined his head slightly, and sighed, "Sadly no. We are content with what we have, and this is good... Up to a point." Siidran turned and fixed Fyrenn with a serious, piercing gaze that startled the younger red Gryphon, "But Fyrenn? There is such a thing as being too content with the status quo. I see it affect not only our race, but many individuals, to their detriment."
Siidran stood, and began to pace around, Fyrenn, a move that disconcerted him even more thoroughly than the continued stern gaze of the monarch, "Do not be content to live with merely that which you can already achieve. We are at our best when we strive to go beyond our boundaries. Your Human forerunners' history is replete with examples of this lesson. Do not settle for simplicity, or loneliness. Be bold."
The King sighed, and seemed to relax into a less urgent, more remorseful mood, "Our race is dying a slow death of satisfaction. It is true that the lust for conquest can lead to ruin... But was it not your own most successful rulers who believed humanity had to "expand or die" ? It is true that we are strong... But we must *grow* as a culture."
Fyrenn cocked his head. Siidran nodded, "Would you believe it? More of us die now than are born each year. We need to explore, and to discover new lands, lest we become *too* content with what we have. And we must learn to make new things; New technologies and ideas, sometimes merely for the sake of evolving."
The Red Gryphon nodded, "And this is part of why you were willing to open yourselves to Conversion? To let those who were once something else be a seamless part of our whole?"
Siidran smiled slightly, "Exactly. My generation is too old, and too set in its ways. But your generation? My son's generation? You could bring about a golden age not seen, or known, since the days of the first-clans."
Fyrenn mirrored his ruler's smile, "If I were you sir? I wouldn't worry. I've never been the sort to be content with status quo."
Siidran's expression fell slightly, and he raised an eyebrow sternly, "Haven't you? Fyrenn..." The King sighed, and shook his head slowly, "Not all struggle, or adventure, or evolution, is about civilization, or invention, or politics... Everything starts with the heart, and the heart lives with the family."
Before Fyrenn could even begin to process a response, Siidran offered him a small parting smile, and padded regally away down the length of the room, vanishing out of sight behind the doors long before Fyrenn had even begun to suppress his swelling tide of emotions.
Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 10th, Gregorian Calendar
"What do you suppose we're doing here?"
Sorven's question managed to pull Neyla from her in-depth examination of the building they had entered, "I assume we are going to receive new orders..." The Gryphoness trailed off as she returned to scrutinizing the architecture.
The facility was in a mostly-complete state, but scattered about was evidence that parts of the site were still under construction. The complex was slated to be the new North American headquarters of Earthgov, and it was easily the most modern human building Neyla had seen.
While it was true that most buildings in human cities were, by anyone's standards, 'futuristic,' the Vancouver facility had, if possible, even more sweeping edgeless glass windows, minimalist brushed metal supports, and visible holo technology.
The floors seemed to be mostly marble, and they made a satisfying clack as Neyla's claws connected with them, every time she took a step. The lobby was an elongated 'T' shape, mostly made of sweeping transparent arches, and Neyla spied Tirinel around the corner well before they arrived at the junction of the passages.
The silver dragon filled much of the horizontal space, but had a surprising amount of vertical clearance. It dawned on Neyla that the entire complex had likely been constructed with multiple species in mind; Perhaps a first for a major Earth governmental complex.
Neyla gestured between her comrade in arms, and Sorven, "General Sorven, this is Tirinel, my combat partner. Tirinel, this is General Sorven, she was present during the 2114 Manhattan attacks, in central operations."
Tirinel inclined his head slightly, a deep satisfied rumble emanating from his chest, passing through his legs, and vibrating the floor, "It is agreeable to meet you General. Have you been summoned to this briefing as well?"
Sorven nodded twice rapidly, "You got it. No one in the command chain will breathe a word about what's going on, so we're in for something intriguing, at minimum."
The trio continued down the corridor in silence, until they reached a bank of elevators. Sorven pressed the call holopad, while her companions simply beat their wings, and began to rise. The final portion of the hall had been thoughtfully designed such that there was a large-dragon-sized shaft of unobstructed space running up the height of the structure.
The wind from Tirinel's enormous, glimmering, membranous pinions blew Sorven's hair into a wild tangle as she waited for the lift. She arrived several moments later on the fourth floor, glaring at the silver Dragon as she tried with only moderate success to smooth her tresses.
Neyla tried, and mostly failed, to suppress a snort of amusement. Sorven shifted her glare to the Gryphoness, who responded with only a quick smirk.
The briefing room turned out to be quite close to the lift, and the space was no less impressive than the lobby. While the room likely could have been made several orders of magnitude smaller without sacrificing usability for most, Tirinel would have never been able to fit comfortably had the ceiling not been nearly two stories tall.
The space was shaped like nothing so much as a compressed ovoid dome. Much of the roof was comprised of interlocking triangular plexiglass tiles, and the rest of similarly sized and shaped matte gray holoprojection paneling, its purpose given away only by the tiniest of glimmers from the glass focusing lenses tucked into the corners of each plate.
Dominating the center of the room, framed by the rain-laden Vancouver sky, was a solid obsidian table surrounded by chairs. The furniture was multi-species in all of its form factors, the floor was thinly carpeted in a deep shade of blue, and the final feature to catch Neyla's eye was a large hologram of the Conversion Accords Seal floating over the table.
A variety of Ponies, Humans, and even a pair of Gryphons, were already seated around the table. Several spots were obviously open to Neyla, Sorven, and even Tirinel, whose place was designated merely by a large break in the chairs. Draconic furniture was seldom seen, and even more seldom used.
Neyla just managed to take her seat before the final arrival made his way in through a secondary access door. She recognized the salt-and-pepper haired man immediately as General Miles Lantry. He was a highly influential member of Earthgov military command, and one of the biggest sponsors of the JRSF.
Neyla was also vaguely aware that he had done something to elicit Fyrenn's distaste, but apparently nothing irreparable.
Lantry strode up to the table, and swept two fingers across the the surface before him. The hologram above the table vanished summarily.
"Folks. I'm General Miles Lantry, for those of you who don't know me, and I'm pretty darn positive you're all wondering why you're here."
The General tapped the table in several spots, manipulating small holographic interface elements, until a data-stream appeared behind him, projected over the glass portion of the room's dome.
Lantry gestured with one hand, continuing to face the assembled soldiers, commanders, and technicians, "To break this down succinctly; Every so often, an Equestrian dignitary will decide to make a public visit to Earth. Usually one of its Monarchs. When that has happened, heretofore, the Earthgov military has been primarily responsible for liaising with their royal protection, and providing escort while on-planet. Not anymore."
Lantry cycled the data through a fast-paced bevy of recordings, mostly detailing recent PER and HLF military escalation, "The situation has changed people. We are fighting conflict on a post-Human level, and that means a post-Human way of doing things is the rule from now on. Not the exception."
The General paced slowly back and forth across the width of the room, staring down the length of the table as he continued to speak, "From now on, whenever we have an off-planet visitor, we will be tapping the best performers from a variety of ConSec, JRSF, and Special Forces positions to comprise a protection detail. You're all here, because her Royal Highness Princess Celestia is coming here, in two weeks, to be part of the dedication of these facilities, and to issue a new public statement on behalf of the Equestrian members of The Accords. You will be her protection detail."
The revelation brought forth a chorus of whispered commentary from the assembled creatures.
Sorven leaned over and whispered to Neyla, "Dunno about you, but I didn't see that coming."
Lantry smacked his palm against the back of his chair, "And with any luck, Kara, neither will anyone else."
Neyla wasn't sure if Sorven was more embarrassed by Lantry's use of her first name, or that his aging ears had somehow picked out her covert commentary from six yards away.
For his part, the General cracked a small smile, "Let's get to work shall we?"
Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twelfth Day, Celestial Calendar
Fyrenn sighed as he fiddled with his fish. The dish had been cold for quite some time, and he half-heartedly made his way over to the hearth to warm it. For the second time.
He had moved to the Great Hall after a rushed breakfast, and had stayed there well past noon meal, still staring at his assigned sheet of code. He felt no closer to a solution. He sighed, and speared the filleted fish neatly with a talon as it began to sizzle, opting to hork down the majority of the food in a single gulp.
He was on the verge of beginning a new pacing spree, when Tenek and Kephic arrived through the Hall's north-east stairwell entrance. Fyrenn raised an eyebrow in question. Tenek sighed, and placed his abacus on the main table, "As much as it pains me to admit it, this code is uncrackable. At least, uncrackable with the equipment we have here, and my knowledge."
Fyrenn cocked his head, and Kephic sighed, placing the remaining sheafs of meaningless hash on the table beside the mathematical instrument, "Tenek did his best. But the formulae associated with the encryptions are too complicated to crack, even with our best abacus."
Tenek nodded morosely, "I have never seen anything like it before. It is almost as if the encryption were based on math created by a machine orders of magnitude more complex than our best equipment."
Fyrenn's head snapped around to face the mathematician.
"Say that again."
The urgency in his words brought an expression of concern, and curiosity, to Tenek's beak.
The Gryphon in question stammered slightly, "Ah... Well it seems, to my eyes, that this encryption would have had to have been created by a larger, more powerful, more complex mathematical machine."
The red Gryphon sat back on his haunches abruptly, eyes slowly unfocusing in shock, "That's it. That's *exactly* it!" His face became more animated, and he swiveled to stare at Kephic, eyes alight with the fire of discovery, "Where do you think all the encryptions and codes on Earth come from?"
Kephic's eyes widened by several centimeters as he finally guessed at Fyrenn's conclusions. He spoke haltingly, "So... You are suggesting... That a computer was used to encrypt this information?"
Fyrenn threw up his claws, "Is there anything *else* in either world that could create math that complicated?"
The speckled Gryphon shook his head slowly, "No. Not when you put it like that."
The red Gryphon nodded abruptly, "Right. So now..."
His brother finished his thought, "Now we find a computer capable of decrypting these sheafs?"
Fyrenn nodded. Kephic sighed, "Earth is a several-day trip away. More for the return journey. By then, these may well have become *entirely* useless."
Fyrenn stood frozen for several moments. Then a grin began to spread over his beak, "And what if I told you I knew a way for us to get these decrypted in less than two days? Assuming we fly hard, and fast..."
Tenek snorted, "I'd say you could work miracles."
Fyrenn's smile widened, "Prepare to be amazed."
Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 10th, Gregorian Calendar
Hutch started abruptly at sound of a voice, clearing its throat, over his right shoulder. He spun to see the last person he expected; who was also, incidentally, the last person on the planet he *wanted* to see.
"Miss Loryss."
She tossed her tangled nest of gray hair, "It's Councilor now. Actually. You said I should pencil myself in. So here we are."
Hutch didn't even bother to remind her that he had requested she have his secretary pencil her in. He knew that there would be no getting rid of the offending politician, now that she had come all the way to the Bureau.
The General gestured to the seat across from him. The Bureau cafeteria was mostly empty, given that he had intentionally selected a late hour for his lunch. The usual dull roar of friendly chatter had given way to the softer chatter of scattered conversations, and the hum of the central heating.
Menera took her seat in a manner that managed to come off as both prim, and arrogant, to the point that Hutch wished he could simply upend his food tray onto the Councilor's lap. He even considered the option seriously for several seconds.
Before he could make up his mind, however, Loryss began the conversation, "I was very interested to discover that my path to the Bureau was... Unimpeded today."
Hutch snorted, grinning in-spite of himself, "So you saw what became of the HOB? They cleared out pretty damn quick once the Gryphons put on their first intimidation display. Haven't seen a single one for hours."
Loryss nodded slightly, the motion of her head inclined oddly, almost as if to make the gesture intentionally grating, "Indeed. That is why I am here."
The General's hope for a swift and congratulatory ending to the encounter was dashed instantly, as Menera continued, "General... Don't you think you could have been a bit more..."
Hutch cocked his head in abject confusion. Loryss finally settled on a word, "...Patient?"
The General stared for several seconds, open mouthed, "...Patient?"
Loryss nodded slowly, "Mmmhmm. If you will recall, Mr. Hutchinson, we discussed how the Bureau Occupation movement, while misguided, were protesting very real wrongs. Did we not?"
Hutch gripped his juice glass tightly, the force of his grip causing the plastic to make a nearly inaudible squealing noise, "Misguided is when someone smashes a store window in frustration, and forgets to take a bath for a week because they're too busy hoisting a protest sign. These dillwads detonated an IED on our doorstep. Four people *died.* That's not misguided ma'am. That's terrorism."
Loryss sighed deeply. The sound bore a patronizing tone, as if she felt she were trying to explain a complex topic to a difficult child, "General; Did it ever occur to you that one terrorist is not enough to call into suspicion the whole of a legitimate protest? Much less remove them illegally?"
Hutch chuckled slightly, the sound nearly as patronizing as the Counselor's own tone, "Miss, I may be known for doing my job with a bit of a heavy hand... But I'm also known as a stickler for protocol. I checked the precedent, I followed our opspec, and I did quite frankly, the only thing that made any sense. Scaring them off prevented the need, and removed the chance, for further bloodshed."
The Councilor shook her head, "And it never occurred to you that, starting with the repeal of the moving tax today, the HOB might simply disperse once there was nothing left to protest?"
Hutch's eyes came so far out of his head that Loryss recoiled visibly. The General's tone lost all pretense at respect, "Are you out of your damn *mind*?" He threw out an arm, gesticulating in the general direction of the lobby, "Some idjits have no crusade beyond *having* a crusade. You start to capitulate? They will take you for every cent you're *worth.* And sure, probably, they weren't all terrorists... But you have to admit this all stinks of the HLF. The Humans-Occupy movement was a perfect spawning ground for homegrown Liberation Front bombers."
Loryss sighed, and sat back, as if offended, "Are you *quite* finished?"
The General shook his head emphatically, "No ma'am I ain't. But I think I'd better stop before I say something not suited for mixed company, or something that upsets your prim-rosy view of the world too badly."
The Councilor stood, and huffed, "I *had* hoped to discuss this calmly General... But I can see that the rumors surrounding your command style are decidedly understated." She began to step away, then turned abruptly, "Since you will broker no civil discussion, allow me to lay some new 'opspec' for you."
The way the woman used the military term made Hutch want to stand up, lunge across the table, and strangle her with her own pink fuzzy purse. Loryss punctuated each word with a slow nod, as if it would somehow impress her directive on Hutch the way a parent might impress an order on a naughty child, "Keep your hands *off* the HOB."
Before Hutch could speak, she barreled ahead, "You are not to infringe their rights again. And if I hear of any such punitive action, I will most certainly take similar steps against your command. Are we clear?"
Hutch raised an eyebrow, his scowl hardening to blood-curdling intensity, "Ma'am... With no respect of any kind, seeing as how I can't muster any; You're not in my chain of command. None of your fellow Councilors are. This is Bureau turf, so I have every right to enforce JRSF security measures. With absolute impunity. And if you show up here without an appointment again, I will call a couple of my fine feathered friends, and have you escorted out in a way that will make you feel very much like a shrew in a hawk's beak. Is that clear enough for you?"
Loryss glared, "We will speak of this again. And I'm afraid you won't enjoy it."
As the irate politician departed, Hutch sat down to finish his meal, mumbling, "Rules be damned, I'll make sure you won't either."
Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twelfth Day, Celestial Calendar
Fyrenn smiled, as he turned his helmet over and over in his claws. The armor, like most of the gear Gryphon Knights wore and used, was of his own personal design. He had even had a claw in its forging, under the close tutelage of master armorers.
He set the protective covering on the oaken table, and turned to ensure one last time that his pack was secure. Next to him, his brothers and Carradan were repeating his routine, except that in the Pegasus' case, he was busy cinching down a set of canvas saddlebags.
As Fyrenn finished tending to his pack, he spied Siidran and Linnea entering the hall. Linnea went around to each member of the party in turn, issuing encouragement in her usual motherly fashion.
Before she made it down the line to Fyrenn, Siidran gestured for him to come to a more private corner of the room.
The red Gryphon snatched up his helmet, and quizzically obeyed his King's summoning gesture. Siidran offered him a smile, "I just wanted a moment to bid you farewell. Your journeys often run long, and we see each other far too little."
Fyrenn smiled, and dipped his head in respectful appreciation, "Perhaps we will see each other again sooner."
Siidran offered Fyrenn a claw, "I would enjoy that greatly."
Fyrenn reached out and grasped Siidran's foreleg in the customary fashion, which reminded him of the medieval predecessor to the handshake.
The rest of the group had already departed for the Concourse, and Fyrenn loped through the corridors to catch up. He arrived outside just in time to note the presence of Sildinar, garbed in armor and a pack of his own.
Linnea had apparently just concluded a farewell embrace with her son, and as she passed Fyrenn on her way into the mountain, she smiled, "Fair winds Fyrenn. Return soon; Food and fellowship reside eternally in these halls, and their doors are always open to you."
To his surprise, she then placed a wing over him briefly, in a motherly hug, before quietly padding away into the corridor.
As Fyrenn joined the group, looking slightly bemused, Carradan chuckled, "If she could, I betcha she'd want to be mom to every orphan in both worlds."
Sildinar raised an eyebrow and glared sharply, "*If* she could?"
Carradan scooted to the side, "I think I'll fly beside Fyrenn this leg. On the outside of the formation."
The group laughed heartily as they took to the sky, wings framed by the setting sun as they sped south, and east.
Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twelfth Day, Celestial Calendar
"I fail to understand."
Three's muzzle twisted into a grimace, "We're not here to understand. We're here to observe and report."
His partner, Four, shook his head slowly, "I realize that. But my confusion disturbs me."
Three sighed in exasperation, ruffling his wings to display his annoyance, "How so?"
Four gestured with a pastel colored hoof, towards the structure nearest them, "What is its purpose? Aesthetics?"
Three shook his head, "How should I know? And what does it matter?"
Four was on the verge of pressing his point, when Three smacked his right foreleg with a hoof, silencing him, "She's here!" The revelation was delivered in a whispered monotone.
The pair of Pegasi ducked behind a stray wisp of cloud, and watched as the object of their attentions exited her place of work, and took to the air. Four hissed, "It is most definitely our target. How do we proceed?"
Three hovered for a moment, hoof against his chin in a pensive expression. Finally, he spoke, "You follow her to her residence. I will alert the others."
As Four prepared to follow the target, he cast a quick glance back at his superior, "Then... We will be moving soon?"
Three's eyes flashed green, as the sun caught their secondary layer of refractive lenses, "Soon."
The pair of not-quite-Pegasi each darted off in a separate direction, leaving behind the structure that had been such a source of confusion to number four.
The Cloudsdale Rainbow Factory.