//------------------------------// // Chapter 11 // Story: Hegira: Eternal Delta // by Guardian_Gryphon //------------------------------// Earth Calendar: 2117 Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact) March 14th, Gregorian Calendar The light carrier was the staple of Earthgov command and control. Unlike the few, and massive Area Control Vessels that headed the fleet, the light carriers were sleek and fast. The ships were all of a fundamentally similar design; A single long thin flight deck, a fared and sleek hull, a pair of catamarans connected by fins at the rear, and a bridge that arched over the entire flattop, at the center of the vessel, connecting to the hull via structures on either side of the deck. A set of shield doors fore and aft of the center structure allowed aircraft to be staged, similar to the way destroyers would operate in a combat zone, even as the ship was still underwater and preparing to surface. Since most LCAs were designed to act as troop support, logistics nodes, and command centers, they often carried a higher proportion of VTOLs than fighters, of both the transport and gunship variety. They were also designed to sit lower on the surface than a full blown carrier, affording their water garages easy access to deploy defensive skiffs. The profusion of support technology, personnel, and vehicles onboard left very little room for offensive armaments, and as such an LCA was entirely reliant on its special forces battalions, VTOLs, fighters, and skiffs, to make an impact. The UES Blue Ridge, LCA-19, was the newest Light Carrier in the Earthgov fleet, and the next-to-last in the production run of large scale vessels. No one in Naval Command felt that there was any need to spend more money and materials on capital class ships given that the planet itself was on a death clock, and the Navy was already well equipped and future-proofed. Blue Ridge had left dry-dock only a few months prior, and was assigned to its first mission for mostly bureaucratic reasons; Why pay for extra shakedown tests when you could assign a vessel to a mission that was almost sure to be so quiet, that it would effectively provide the same opportunities? The bridge was mostly still and silent, an oblong chamber that was far wider than it was long, its bank of windows closed off with pressure shields. While travelling sub-surface most Naval ships kept their windows shielded incase of attack, instead projecting a three-dimensional tri-color stereoscopic representation of the outside onto the inside of the ports, effectively creating externally-aimed view screens. Being a command ship, the bridge of Blue Ridge was mostly dominated by a holotank, and consoles dedicated to communications. The helm and navigation controls were unconventionally placed at the rear of the bridge on a raised section to afford them a view out the main windows. The remainder of the space was arranged horizontally, with the holotank in the center, and two horseshoe shaped console banks on either side, opening towards the center of the space. Personnel sat both inside and outside of the U-shape, separated by vertical screens in most cases. Unlike other ships, the main bridge windows had a significant gap aligned with the holotank; This was taken up by an enormous edgeless always-on tactical stereoscopic holo display. Given that the ship was not yet at full mission-deployment status, only the officer of the watch, helmsman, navigator, a LADAR operator, and a weapons operator were on duty. The calm, punctuated only by the soft chirps of consoles and LADAR pings, was abruptly brought to an end by the arrival of the Captain. By the time he had taken his position behind the holotank, another weapons officer, his first officer, a flight operations manager, and a surface operations manager had arrived on the bridge. He glanced at the main tactical display, noting the ship's position on the top-down projection map. He swiveled his head slightly to compare the information to markers projected on the fore and aft window ports, before nodding to his XO, "Rig for surface mode. Stand by for perimeter flight and surface operations." The commander tapped a control surface on the holotank, and folded his hands behind his back, speaking into the PA system, "General quarters. General quarters. All hands, prepare to surface the ship. Alpha flight crews to ready-five, Alpha skiff crews to ready-five. Prepare command and control systems to receive encrypted support package linkups." After several moments of stiff, silent waiting, the Blue Ridge arrived at the precise co-ordinates of her destination marker. The main navigational AI even sounded a small chime on the bridge. The Captain crossed his hands behind his back and stepped towards the fore windows, "Raise the ship." A series of repetitive, insistent tones sounded from the ship-wide alarm system. The helmsman tapped several portions of his touch panel, and placed his hands on the large physical switches that adorned the center of the surface, "Venting ballast tanks. Standard zero-slant ascent. All stations, secure for surfacing turbulence." The rumble of machinery could be felt as a small vibration through the deck plates, and the ship began to rise, as indicated by the sensation of ascent in the crew, and the passage of depth markers on the viewports. As the vessel neared the surface, the holography vanished abruptly and the shields retracted into invisible slots, leaving the crew with a view of the murky, lifeless water as the ship neared the surface. Suddenly, in a wash of spray and droplets, the Blue Ridge broke through the surface, rocking slightly as the forces of the tide caught the angles of the hull. The moment the ship began to settle, crews charged out of the island's stanchions and began to prepare the deck for operations. The Captain sighed and peered out the windows, "Launch a CAP, and put two skiffs in the water to secure our AO." He stood in silence as the XO repeated his orders to the appropriate personnel, before tossing an observation over his shoulder, "So. Vancouver. Not too shabby." Mr. Utah sighed, and let the stub of his cigarette fall to the pavement, stomping on it with the heel of his shoe. He gazed out into the foggy California morning, and pursed his lips. San Diego was home to a high concentration of Equestrians. The liberal and open atmosphere of the region, which dated back to pre-winnowing times, made it a hub for diversity in the Western North-Amerizone. To add insult to injury, it was home to the second Bureau ever opened. A few mere months after the first complex in Manhattan, in late 2104. As a result, San Diego ranked third highest city in the world for ratio of Converts to Humans, behind only Manhattan and London. To Mr. Utah, that made it one of the most despicable places on the planet. But not, he reflected with a wry grimace, entirely irredeemable. The local cuisine was palatable, the synthetic fauna was quite prolific, and the Bureau was in the midst of security refits. Thus, the Bureau was effectively an ideal target of opportunity. Mr. Utah glanced up at the waitress, and frowned. A Unicorn. The server who had taken his order had been Human. Nonetheless, he accepted the coffee, wincing as her magic field brushed against his hand, and scowling to make it clear that he was not in the mood for small talk. He glanced down at the steaming drink, then over his shoulder at the retreating Equine. Wordlessly, he leaned forward and poured the drink over the balcony of the café and onto the rocky coast below. Touched by a Pony, tainted by a Pony. As he drummed his fingers, and waited for the Human waitress to return, his contact finally arrived. The man was clad in a fluorescent worker's vest covered in dried coolant and lubricant. He clutched an equally grimy, and slightly dinged hard hat to his side, and wore a tool belt complete with a ruggedized miniature DaTab. Mr. Utah glowered, "You're late." The man raised an eyebrow, flopping into his chair and scratching his scruffy beard, "Yeah... So?" "It's cold. And wet." "Meh. It's California. If you don't like the weather? Wait five minutes." Mr. Utah pierced the construction worker with an icy stare, "Time is precious. Punctuality is mandated. Do not be late again." The man shrugged, "Or what? You'll dock me overtime pay?" "Or my associates will clock you out. Permanently. California is the highest ranked state in this global zone for automobile accidents due to synthehol consumption." The construction worker blanched, "Ah... Yeah I see whatcha mean. Punctuality. Right." Mr. Utah glowered, snapping his fingers to attract the waitresses' attention as she passed, then nodding down towards his empty coffee cup sharply. He turned back to his contact, "Is the site prepared?" "Jus' like you asked. The building is closed for renovations, but we ain't doin' squat now that the inside is cleared out, an' its just a shell." "You're prepared to accept delivery of the equipment? You understand your instructions?" Mr. Utah snatched the steaming fresh cup of coffee from the waitress as she once more arrived at the table, not even pausing to make eye contact. The worker nodded, "Yeah; We already signed off on your guys, and the trucks. Soon as it comes, we open the gates, and get the hell out." Mr. Utah took the entire cup of coffee down in one gulp, with no sweetener or cream substitute, "Good. I appreciate efficiency. Especially with regards to demolitions projects." Councilor Martins straightened her suit jacket for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. The male Unicorn standing beside her cocked a wry glower that bore more in common with a knowing friendly smile than an actual expression of malice, "You're doing it again." Martins sighed, "Sorry Astris. I forget. Your compulsiveness and mine don't get along particularly well." The Unicorn shifted his stance slightly, hooves rustling across the thin carpet. The hallway was comfortably adorned, but not especially ostentatious; Beige walls, dark blue business-like carpeting, and faux-wood sliding doors marked by recessed alcoves lit with tastefully dim sconce lights. The colleagues stood before one such door at the end of the hall, counting off minutes on Martins' watch. She hated to be early for certain meetings nearly as much as she hated to be late. By contrast, in some cases, she considered 'on time' to be worse than late. Astris found it hard to keep up. He was an astronomer by trade, not a politician. His talent lay in discerning the movements of the stars. Martins' lay in discerning the movements of people's minds and feelings. And sometimes, in exploiting that knowledge for all it was worth. The Unicorn knew that, in their present case, Martins was mostly interested in logistical efficiency and common courtesy. They were working with allies and comrades, not enemies. The Counselor's compulsive need to be precisely on-time when dealing with her colleagues had always been a source of annoyance to Astris, but he took it in stride. He knew that more than a small share of his quirks had a tendency to annoy Martins as well. Nevertheless, the two had an excellent working relationship. They were both very good at their jobs, and both dead set on the same goal. Allowing humanity the option to preserve its form. Somewhere. Somehow. The day's meeting had, the astronomer reflected, been called precisely because the Genesist initiative was closer than ever to finding the where, and finishing the how. At long last, Martins' watch let out a single, subtle, dulcet tone. She nodded, adjusted her grip on the DaTab tucked under her right arm, and pressed the control panel beside the door. The slabs of wood-look-alike parted to reveal a large conference room. A dozen suited Humans, and a few Ponies, were in the process of arriving by the space's other two entrances, and taking their seats. Martins stepped through the portal, followed by Astris. The pair each took only a brief moment to glance out the windows that made up the room's opposite wall. The torrential rains of the morning had given way to an all-consuming fog that completely obscured the London skyline. As he seated himself beside Martins, at the head of the table, Astris allowed himself a brief moment of distraction to wonder how the Counselor dealt with the 'jet lag,' as Humans called it. Africa one day, Vancouver for a few, New York on short notice, and then to London. All in less than two weeks. He allowed himself a tiny grin. Perhaps, if she ever had a cutie mark, it would be a Human 'tank.' The metaphor for resilience, stamina, aggressive manner, and determination seemed appropriate. And the last time Astris had seen someone cross Martins, they had ended up looking not unlike the victim of a railgun shell. As the Genesist Party board finished situating themselves around the room-length granite table, Martins cleared her throat, "Members of the board; I call this emergency meeting to order." She waited a moment for the murmurs to settle, glancing at each board member in turn, "To explain why we're here, I am turning this over to one of our senior astronomers. Astris Lux." The Unicorn disliked public speaking, but it was merely simple distaste. There was no real fear behind it. Usually once he got started on a subject of interest to him, he could forget the audience entirely and get into a good flow. He stood, and smiled briefly at Martins, "Thank you Counselor." He swept his own gaze across the room, mimicking Martins. Both Humans and Equestrians were always advising him to 'maintain eye contact' when speaking publicly. "As you know, our facility in Lucapa devotes considerable resources to finding habitable worlds beyond this one. Assuming we complete even the full run of eighty four sleeper ships, we need to have a destination in mind before we can work out their course, provisioning schemes, and even certain final elements of their design." Astris swiped one hoof through the air above the control pad by his seat, activating the main screen at the head of the room, "Well. We've found a destination." After a second of total silence, the room erupted into intense whispered and murmured conversation. The Unicorn allowed the dull roar to propagate for a moment, before continuing to speak forcefully. As he did so, the conversation gradually died, "M Class. Elliptical orbit. Main Sequence star. Nominal sidereal period. Multi-month orbital period. Primarily Nitrogen/Oxygen atmosphere at suitable pressure. Surface temperatures in the ideal zone. High concentrations of liquid water. Comfortable gravitation." Astris began pacing before the screen, "This describes almost ten percent of the worlds in cluster AC-1359-AA-22-Z2. That is, at minimum conservative estimate, over eighty ideal-candidate planets." After almost five seconds of silence, Martins nodded, "We've done a great deal of legwork to confirm. This is *real.* And potentially? Reachable." A man at the opposite end of the table frowned, fidgeting with the end of his tie, "I thought we were still decades away from a faster-than-light drive?" Martins grinned like a shark, "We were. Until about five years ago, when we began quietly exploring options to fuse magic and technology to get the job done. As of now? We are less than three months away from a first test." The board was on the verge of exploding into protest. Astris could see it in their faces. Martins raised a hand for silence, and incredibly, she succeeded. She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table, "Before you begin the doubtless long stream of questions and protests---" Astris stiffened and held up a hoof, "Shhhh." Martins stared at him, raising her eyebrow in an expression that said 'EXCUSE me?' almost as forcefully as if she had uttered the words. Nevertheless, the silence bought Astris time to verify what his ears were telling him, "Do you hear that?" The human members of the board glanced at each other in confusion, but one of the Ponies further down the table cocked her head, then nodded and glanced up at Astris, "Sounds like a high pitched whine. Maybe a camera flash or---" Astris flattened his ears, "Or a bomb." Most of the board members had expressions ranging from dumbfounded confusion, to disbelieving amusement plastered to their faces. But Martins' countenance was grim. She knew Astris. She trusted Astris. He was potentially the most observant being in the room. Martins stood, and gestured to the door, "Everyone out. *Now!*" Almost half the room began to stand, and shuffle towards the doors, but the entire scene instantly ground to a halt as one of the board members snorted, "This is ridiculous. We're going to evacuate because one of our astronomers heard an off-pitch holoemitter warming up?" Astris was about to protest, when the whine, previously only discernable to Equine ears, rose in volume and became audible to all. His eyes widened, and as the pitch of the unseen device reached feverish levels, he whirled and leapt at Councilor Martins, who was standing in the just-opened doorframe, "GET DOWN!" After that, everything happened in such swift succession that Astris had to replay it over and over in his mind afterwards to get it straight. As he and Martins sailed through the door into the hall, the whine intensified to a painful level. Nearly two thirds of the board members were able to scramble out of the room's three exits, before the whine abruptly ended in a loud 'POOF.' The noise came just as Astris and Martins hit the floor. The Councilor struggled reflexively, but Astris shook his head, "No! Wait!" An instant later his worst fears were confirmed as he felt the cool mist of liquid landing on his back and clumping in the fur there. Martins' eyes widened, "My God..." The Unicorn glanced over his flank to see the board room engulfed in a purple cloud that was slowly settling over the table, chairs, and members who had failed to heed the warning in time. As he turned his gaze back to his friend, he noted that the hallway was spattered all over with lavender goop; A tertiary effect of the Potion Bomb's detonation. He held up a hoof, "Councilor... Be very very careful. *I'm* covered in Potion, the *floor* is covered in Potion, and if you make any sudden moves *you* will be covered in Potion." Martins nodded slowly, "I'm going to move on the count of three. One. Two..." Astris tensed. "Three." As Martins spoke, he calmly pushed himself backwards, using the floor as leverage. As he fell away into a puddle of Potion, which was harmless to him, Martins crabbed backwards swiftly, purposefully, and carefully. She looked, for all the world, as if she wasn't even afraid. Astris stood at almost the same time as Martins did, resisting the urge to shake himself and send globs of the purple substance coating his fur flying in all directions. Martins, having safely reached the opposite end of the hallway, whistled. She shook her head slowly, "Damn." "Well... No civilians died, so you've got that going for you, the likely injuries notwithstanding." Hutch set DaTab he had been reading down on a workbench, and leaned against the steel surface, crossing his arms, "But you two did a lot of damage. You didn't co-operate, didn't pre-plan your insertion. One of you nearly got yourself and the hostages killed, and one of you nearly killed the other in the process of saving the hostages. Did I miss anything?" Taranis thrummed as he set down his helmet, filling the armor bay with a resounding clang, "An accurate account from a factual standpoint. Though it was slightly emotionally biased." Klarien huffed, "Biased? Right... My head is *still* splitting---" The cobalt Dragon raised an eyebrow, "The situation would not have deteriorated, had you followed me instead of your own path." The Green Dragon raised an eyebrow, "Why. Why should I have followed you? Why not you follow me?" Taranis glared, though his voice remained calm, "Because I have decades of military experience. You don't have nearly the same level of tactical expertise. You even told the General you hoped to learn from him." Klarien hissed in self recrimination, and pinched the scales between his eyes, "Yes... Yes I did. I suppose I was just hoping to make a good impression." The blue Dragon raised an eyebrow, "You have potential. But nothing much more than that." Klarien hissed again, an aggressive tone creeping into his voice, "Is that an insult?" Taranis gazed at him, unblinking, "Any fool can train for years, and still be limited by a lack of raw talent. You *have* raw talent. Do you think that assesment an insult?" Hutch held up a hand, "Regardless of what either of you think, command agrees. Klarien; You have a great deal of potential. Taranis... You're very skilled. But unorthodox. You managed to piss off the rest of the JRSF command board with that simulation 'performance.' So here's how it works now..." The General paused, the only sound in the Fort Hamilton armor bay was the hum of the lights embedded in the concrete ceiling. Hutch glanced back and forth between the Dragons, "You *are* going to be deployed to hunt the HLF ties to the Occupy Bureaus movement. Taranis, you're in charge. Klarien, you're his partner. And you both report directly to JRSF command board, via me." Klarien inhaled slowly, "And if we end up with another... 'performance' on our claws? And we upset the command staff again?" Hutch shrugged, "We can't prosecute, or punish you. They'll kick you out of the JRSF, might even ask you firmly to leave Earth. But I think the main reason you ought to ensure you don't drop another 'performance' like that is because it would damage the JRSF, damage the Bureaus, damage the reputation of your species, and *destroy* our chances of nailing these scum-sucking leeches who are feeding the HOB bomb materials." The green Dragon sighed, "Good points." Taranis nodded, "Indeed. When do we begin?" The General tapped the DaTab absently with his index finger, "Tomorrow. I'll see you both here. with any luck I'll come bearing gifts." Hutch stood, collected his DaTab, and began marching out of the armor bay. Klarien cocked his head, "Gifts?" Hutch nodded, without turning or slowing his pace, "Metallurgical analysis of the bomb fragments. Merry Christmas." Earth Calendar: 2117 Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact) Fourth Month, Fifteenth Day, Celestial Calendar She found Cloudsdale to be as comfortable a living place as she had ever inhabited. The architecture was far less solid than what she had been raised with, but it had its own ephemeral appeal. Perhaps even beauty. The Pegasus shivered; The air temperature was dropping sharply in preparation for an oncoming storm of epic proportions. She would be able to go home and sleep through the event. Her work had more to do with permanent rainbows, which provided several architectural and magical benefits to the city as a whole. She had no role in direct weather manipulation. She paused on the cloud outside the factory, and stretched. She didn't know her co-workers well, but they were nice enough to her. Occasionally she joined them for drinks. But she felt tired, and had no desire to make her way home, in a massive storm, while 'buzzed.' The Pegasus finished stretching, and beat down sharply with her wings, ascending rapidly. The storm clouds had already begun to gather, and gain their own momentum, as energy was fed into them by professional weather-Ponies, creating a temporarily self-sustaining momentum-gaining reaction of pressure, moisture, and temperature change. She arrived at the entrance to her apartment complex with a minute of spare time; Exactly sixty seconds on the dot according to her calculations. She had her routines down to a science. It helped her cope. As she fished a key from her saddlebags, she paused and stiffened. A familiar sensation, one she had not felt in years, had begun to creep up her neck, raising the fur on the nape. Immediately, she whirled. What she beheld confused her, but only for the briefest of moments. She stared into the eyes of her mirror image. An identical twin, right down to the tiniest aspects of shading in her mane. As her mind went from civilian mode to combat mode, comprehension instantly dawned, and she glared, "So. That's how it is then?" As her doppelganger spoke, voice eerily similar to her own not only in tone, but inflection and cadence, she swiveled her head and noticed three male Pegasi slowly stepping out of the shadows, hooves silent against the surface of the clouds. "Naturally. Tragically, you cut things too close. Got caught in the storm on the way home. They'll find our body sometime tomorrow... Perhaps the day after. You don't seem to have many friends to show for these last years... And once they verify that it is in fact you, down to the cells..." The original Pegasus nodded, her muzzle turned down, "They will stop looking. So what did you do to draw suicide role? Piss off your hive queen?" Her twin smirked, "I volunteered. I am almost twenty one. My time is at hand in *any* case. This is an admirable way to serve. One, Two, and Four will be amply equipped to restrain, and carry you. Leaving me behind ensures that they will not be followed, and you will not be missed." The Pegasus glared at her illicit twin. She knew the Changeling would not hesitate to fly directly into the teeth of the storm, intentionally killing herself and sending her body plummeting to the ground far below. The practice was a common method of abduction. If an infiltrator chose to shift completely to a form, they could lock themselves in it and loose all connection to their base state. The advantage, to the Hive's purposes, was often to create dead bodies that were indistinguishable, even by magical detection, from the original. The other infiltrators, the ones her double had referred to as One and Two, approached. One roughly yanked the saddlebags off her back, and Two pulled the apartment key from her mouth. The latter dropped the glistening gold item into the bags, as One fitted them to her twin. The mirror image smiled coyly, "Are you sure you don't want to kiss yourself goodbye?" The Pegasus spat, "Go to Tartarus." Her doppelganger chuckled as she snapped open her purloined wings, and began to hover, "That's the idea!" One sighed deeply, "This can be as simple, or complicated, as you desire. But be aware; The latter choice will involve a proportionately greater level of pain for you." The Pegasus rolled her eyes, "Well. I have been accused of being a masochist." Without any further warning, she lashed out with her back hooves, catching Four off guard. He tumbled sideways into Two, sending the pair rolling across the clouds in a tangled mess. She took advantage of the distraction to open her wings, and shove downwards as hard as possible, blasting off with the maximum force of magical boost she could muster. As she passed safe city-navigation speeds, vapor cones forming on her passive magical displacement field, the rain began to fall, driven sideways by gusts of incredibly powerful wind that threatened to overwhelm the envelope of her innate magical protection. She chanced a look over one shoulder, and winced. One was closer than she would have liked, Two wasn't far behind. Worse still; Four was nowhere to be seen. She rolled left, to avoid being ambushed, then dove abruptly to avoid a cyclonic air current. The latter maneuver proved to be her undoing. Four had unwisely, but successfully, braved the current, and used its momentum to launch himself onto her back, forcing them into an uncontrolled tumble that was mercifully cushioned by the clouds of a nearby building roof. They punctured the layer of white fluffy moisture, finally rolling to a stop on the upper floor. She wasted no time in delivering a vicious bite, crabbing backwards as Four juked away, the green back-facets of his eyes glittering as a bolt of lightning split the sky outside. The floor fluctuated slightly as One and Two entered through an open window, joining their compatriot and once more surrounding the female Pegasus. She huffed, "Really? This is your strategy? With your lack of coordination, it's virtually guaranteed that I'm going to kill one of you. That's going to make dragging me all the way back to your Hive a truly 'enjoyable' experience for the two survivors." One glowered, but his tone remained eerily emotionless, "Why is it so difficult for you to simply accept your fate calmly?" The Pegasus raised an eyebrow, "It's called feeling emotions for *yourself.* You should try it sometime. Much like slicing off your own muzzle and swallowing it, it would be an improvement." One glanced between his two subordinates, "Take her. Please try to avoid unduly damaging her." The besieged Pegasus opened her wings, and tensed, stretching out into a pre-battle position, "You want me? Fine. I'm going to make you earn your capture in *blood.*" Before the battle could be joined, on the instant before she planned to pounce, a familiar object whistled through the air, passing through Four's skull and continuing on through the cloud of the floor. A long, thick, heavy Gryphon Arbalest bolt. Four stood staring cross-eyed at the three inch wide, bleeding hole in his skull, before wincing, and concentrating. Within moments, he had dropped his morph, resuming his default Changeling Drone shape and repairing his distributed, redundant internal organs in the process. One and Two swiftly followed suit. The owners of the arbalest bolt hit the building like the storm itself, tearing through the roof so violently that most of it sheared off and drifted away as wild wisps of cloud, to be sucked up by the storm. The Pegasus sighed as she recognized a male Pegasus, and three Gryphons, along with an unfamiliar Unicorn who leapt off the back of the latter avian. She blew a strand of mane out of her eyes, and glared, "Why in Discord's name are *you* here?" Fyrenn snorted, " 'Oh! Thank you for coming to the rescue!' I don't suppose gratitude is too much to ask?" The red Gryphon unsheathed his sword, and levelled it at One, glaring. Carradan shrugged as he squared off with Four, "It's... *her.* What do you expect?" Skye raised an eyebrow in disgust, "Um... No! You are not seriously gonna tell me that *this* is the witch you replaced me with. *This* is IJ?" Kephic inhaled and winced, "Skye? IJ. IJ? Skye." Varan exhaled slowly, speaking in a dry tone, "And may God look upon this day with mercy."