=== Chapter 11: A Disposable Asset ===
Random listened to the drone of the teacher's voice, the warmth and closeness of the low-roofed shelter leaching into her bones and sending her into a comfortable doze where she lay on the soft floor. She couldn't remember the pony's name, but the stallion -- a pale yellow individual that reminded her of Packet, although his mane was silver, rather than off-white -- had a voice that could have been designed to induce sleep.
"--and so it is vital that you do your utmost to follow your Master's orders. Now, we move on to telekinetic manipulation of objects that are out of a pony's line of sight. The aim of this exercise is to refine your ability to detect objects by thaumic feedback in the field itself--"
Despite the teacher's inflexion-less monotone, the whole class was paying close attention. So unlike Backdraft's lessons at the corral, where knowledge was delivered with the aim to entertain, as well as train, that more than a few of the foals had drifted off, only to be jolted awake by little twinges of pain in their chests or bellies. One had managed to actually get to sleep; when his teacher had tapped him on the side of the head with one hoof, there was an instant of perfect horror on the colt's face before the punishment took hold and made him shiver all over.
It hardly seems fair when they are so young-- Random bit off the thought before her own pain could do more than make an ear twitch --but this is the fastest way to learn. Her attention wandering, she turned her head to stare out of the open edge of the shelter, looking out over the expanse of grass and fields to the central structure. Shapes wandered here and there in carefully separated patches of grass. Some were the familiar pastel colours of ponies, while others were steel grey or golden brown, little more than specks at this distance. Unlike the constant motion of the ponies, these were resting in groups under trees or against barriers. The mare shivered slightly; as small as they were, she knew those shapes. Gryphons.
Not that they ever mixed with the ponies, or indeed the other small herds that she'd seen in the distance. Their orders had been strict and uncompromising: do not leave the bounds of the field assigned to you, do not try to contact anypony in a different field. At least our new Masters have forbidden flight, she thought, glancing down at her pitiful wings, so I don't feel quite so out of place. Already, the skin was looking better, and the dark points of pin feathers could be seen easing their way out of her flesh. Not long now; might only be another megasecond...
A dapple grey pony, quite mature in her years, if her grace and economy of motion was anything to judge by, walked quietly into the shelter. The teacher paused when she came into his line of sight, eyes and ears tracking the mare as she walked. For a moment, his ears flicked back and his eyes widened, then the mare seemed to notice his attention, nodding her head. He swallowed heavily, lowering his head to stare fixedly at his students, mouth half open as if at a loss for words. A few of the foals also twitched, obviously wanting to turn around, but kept their attention firmly to the front of the class.
Random watched the little by-play with mounting confusion, looking up at the mare as she folded her legs to lay at her side. The grey turned, gaze seeming to catalogue every fault of Random's body, a look that made the younger mare shuffle her denuded wings in a futile effort to hide them. There was something about the pony, something that made Random feel like she'd been judged and found wanting. She shivered, suddenly doubting her worth despite everything she'd been told since arriving here.
"They talk about you, you know," the grey said, her voice a whisper too faint to even cause the nearest foal's ears to twitch.
"T-they do?" Random cursed the sudden tremor in her voice, but the doubt blossomed into something darker that started to grow spines, twitching and shivering in the muscles of her back. They... who are 'they'?
"The mare who managed to pass enhanced screening almost a gigasecond sooner than the next youngest candidate." The grey looked at her thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes. "I've been told it was an accident, and that you should have been given the same basic tests as the rest of the group you came in with." She leaned forward, her ears pricked. "Tell me; is it true that you had no preparation for it at all?"
Random shook her head, resisting the urge to gabble all the horrors she had seen while connected to that terrible machine, and grabbed on to the one part of the mare's words that gave her the most relief. "It was just me, then? We were ordered not to talk about the tests, I was afraid that the foals--" Random broke off, suddenly breathing fast.
"Outstanding," the mare breathed, her expression softening. She leaned forward, using one set of long primary feathers to gently lift Random's wing.
The young mare froze, almost rigid with shame, then slowly extended the wing so the pony could get a good look. Delicate sensations ran down the bare flesh, but Random had her eyes shut. Suddenly desperate to be left alone, to not have her failings picked over in public, she staggered to her hooves and cantered from the shelter.
Outside, her breath coming in faint little gasps, Random tottered to a halt, listening to the slow thud-thud of hooves on grass. Leave me alone... if I'd been stronger I wouldn't have done this to myself. Pain twitched and flickered in her chest and, for a moment, she wished she was back in that cage, surrounded by foals who desperately wanted the best for her.
"Random? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been so eager to pry. It's been a long time since I went through my own enhanced testing, and I'd forgotten just how traumatic it can be. My name is Merlon KX7216." The grey stopped a short distance away, slowly reaching out with her neck. Hesitantly, Random responded, leaning into the nuzzle. The mare brought her wings forward, wrapping the younger pony in a cloak of steel-grey softness. "Only a pony in Security could possibly understand what you have been through. The test is the hardest one the Masters can devise, and the fact that you did so well--"
"I've not been able to tell anypony... the things they made me do, I-I didn't know what to do, there were no good choices, and--" Random's mouth snapped shut and she took a deep, shuddering breath. "What does it mean... that I was able to do those things?"
"It means, I think, that you have found your special talent. I've never seen a pony more suited to the work Security does... which is good, because my Master has a desperate need for a pony like you."
Then the medic was right, I'm not a failure. The thought hit like a lightning bolt and Random shivered, a feeling of bliss and of extreme lightness filling her from hooves to muzzle tip. "Your Master needs me to do something." Her face fell, muzzle dipping to touch the fur of her chest. "I've not been given a communicator, how..."
She stopped at the light touch of the grey's magic, an irresistible pressure that lifted her head and turned it to one side. "Why don't we go over there and ask?" she said with a grin. In complete silence, a Security airtruck was just settling down on to the grass, out of which stepped a Master of average height, with sleek brown fur and bright green eyes.
Random's breath caught in her throat, her lungs stopping entirely when the figure waved them both over. The grey nodded, smiling back. "May I present Sector Chief Orgon, my Master."
But I can't! A needle of pain jolted Random into motion and she followed Merlon at a smart trot, once more trying to make her wings disappear into the fur of her flanks. Legs stiff with fear over what the Master would say when he saw the state she was in, Random stumbled to a halt in front of the figure, dropping to her knees and pressing her muzzle into the grass at his booted paws. "I'm sorry, Master; I'm not fit to serve you properly. The testing..."
Her voice, muffled by the grass, trailed off as the Master knelt down beside her and laid a gentle paw on her head. She froze, every muscle rigid and mind full of whirling panic, waiting for the bite of the Maker's punishment for disappointing this Person who was so high up in the Master's hierarchy.
"The pony is just what Security needs. Random Walk DP2114 should take it from one who knows; it has not disappointed the Sector Chief."
The voice was calm and even, and Random dared to look up into the Master's face. He looked worried, brow furrowed in concern, then his muzzle twisted into a slight smile. A mixture of relief and joy made her insides turn to jelly, a feeling of warmth and love that filled her from tailroot to muzzle tip and left her mouth half open and a dopey grin on her face. This Master approves... but why was I tested in the first place? The thought was a fleeting one, completely overwhelmed by the numinous sensations coursing through her body.
"--state of the pony's wings is unfortunate, but it is nothing that cannot be fixed."
Random snapped out of her trance in time to catch the tail end of the sentence, a tightening in her chest washing away the residual euphoria. Cursing her own inattentiveness, the mare swept her ears forward and focused all her attention on this wonderful Master, just in time to see him nod to Merlon. Delicate little tickles and twitches assailed her wings, and she saw pearlescent glimmers of magic, nearly invisible in Celestia's light, flicker up and down their edges.
The Master saw her glance and sighed. "It is the least Security can do. The pony was never intended to be put through that level of testing; to do such a thing to one so young is against the law. The Person responsible is being... disciplined."
Random nodded vigorously. "Thank you, Master. I'm sorry to be so much trouble... I'm sure the other Master was only doing what they thought was necessary." The tickle of magic stopped and the mare glanced at Merlon. So soon, I had hoped... Her wings, already partly healed by the medic who'd pulled her out of the cage, didn't feel any better. If anything, they felt slightly inflamed and had acquired a nasty-looking red blotchiness that overlaid the yellowing bruises. Even the scattering of pin feathers was gone.
"I know it doesn't look very nice, but it was necessary to synchronise your feather growth," Merlon said. "Unfortunately, the few that had started sprouting would have come through deformed; better to start afresh." She smiled sympathetically, and Random found herself nodding in agreement.
The Master made a polite coughing sound, then gestured for Random to rise. Stepping back a few paces, the Sector Chief turned and walked towards the back of the airtruck, waving one paw at the ponies. Pushed into action by Merlon nudging her rump, Random trotted smartly around after him, stopping dead with one hoof on the lowered ramp when she saw the inside of the vehicle.
It was all one chamber, containing a stall big enough for two ponies and lined with swivel couches for a dozen Masters to work at consoles. At the far end was a large screen, covered with text in the Master's unreadable script and lots of little windows, each showing a view from somewhere else. Under that... A smoothly curving shape, half a length across, its translucent casing glowing with rainbow colours from all the thaumically active crystals within it. Two headsets, like metal crowns lined with glittering gems, were tethered to the machine by thick, glassy cables. The memory machine filled the dimly lit interior with a shifting, pastel light.
Random felt her heart skip a beat and let out an involuntary gasp. The Master walked through the stall, reaching for one of the headsets and pulling it away from its bracket. Terrible memories surged up in the mare's mind, of walking down a white corridor and... She took a step backwards, stopping short at the warning prickle of pain that danced along her spine. Oh, please, not again, I-- The Master turned, holding out the crown and gestured her into the vehicle. Random's legs froze and a giant paw closed tight about her throat, jagged claws biting into the flesh.
Beside her, Merlon stepped forwards, her long, grey wings brushing Random's side. The simple contact broke the chain of recollection and, through tear-distorted eyes, Random saw the grey mare flick her ears. The Master hesitated, eyes darting between Merlon and herself, then his eyes narrowed. Understanding dawned, and his features smoothed. Smiling gently, Sector Chief Orgon put one paw behind his back, hiding the crown from view.
"Of course, how stupid of this one. Will the pony accept Orgon's apology?" He took a step backwards, placing the crown on its hook, then turned back to Random, holding his empty paws out in front of him.
He's apologising to me!? The thought was so outrageous that the pain vanished completely, and Random just stood there, mouth half open. The soft touch of a muzzle on her neck brought her back to the real world, and the mare dropped to her knees on the grass. "Yes, Master! You don't--" I'm so weak, and this Master is making all this effort to help me. More tears welled up, running down her cheeks to trickle through the fur on the underside of her muzzle.
There was another touch on her head, the feeling of claws stroking the patch of skin below her horn, while, at her side, Merlon pressed in closer, unfolding one wing over her back. "We will use the main screen; do not be concerned," the Sector Chief said, stepping back into the vehicle and turning to open one of the lockers by the lowered ramp. Pulling out a padded equipment harness, he unfolded it, using it to cover the glowing front of the machine.
Merlon left her side and Random's breathing slowed as her panic receded. The grey mare stepped up into the stall and lay down in one half, gesturing with one wing to the space at her side. Random walked up the ramp with her head lowered, then folded her legs and sat down. The Sector Chief watched them both, face becoming serious when Random finally settled. At a subtle gesture from Merlon -- nothing more than a little flick of the grey mare's ears, but the same one she'd used before -- Orgon did something to a wrist mounted device, causing the big display to go blank.
"How well does Random Walk know the pony Fusion Pulse TC4668?" The Sector Chief said, crouching down and using one paw to lift Random's head so he could look her straight in the eye.
"Very well, Master. She is of my foal cohort. Fusion came to see me when I... when I..." Random trailed off, hunting for the right word amid the subjective days of false memories. "I think she came to see me. I remember her asking me about the sharing spell I use when teaching magic to foals." That visit, and the promise that she had not been forgotten, had kept her grounded during some of the more harrowing experiences with the memory machine back at the Security Hub. Random had clung to that memory with the desperation of a drowning swimmer.
"The pony is correct. That is good... but unfortunately this one has some bad news; Fusion suffered an accident during her work at the Institute."
Random's ears drooped and fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "Is... is she still alive?"
"Fusion is... but she has changed." Merlon twisted slightly to look at Random while the Sector Chief stood up and busied himself at the main screen's controls. "We think that she has suffered a mental breakdown. When she was visiting the Institute with her sister, the pair of them became violent and attacked the Masters present."
The words were clear and she understood every one of them, but the meaning of that final sentence was so impossible that it just froze in her brain. "...but a pony can't--" Jaw still working, Random looked between Merlon and the Sector Chief, willing them to explain this absurd idea. How is this even possible? They are our Masters, I-- Little warning twinges of pain raced up and down her spine, distracting her from the notion, but she found that it was possible to ignore them. Memories of her time with the machine resurfaced, of Masters who she'd had to protect -- and had sometimes failed to do so -- and she grabbed on to them. Amid all those terrible scenarios were several where misguided ponies had accidentally hurt some of the People.
Breath coming fast, Random shook her head hard enough to make her ears slap against the sides of her head, forcing herself to accept this as the truth. Orgon looked at her solemnly, then nodded. "This one knew the pony was the right one for the job. There are not many who can manage to hold that idea." He sighed and ran one paw through the fur of his head, suddenly looking old. "This would not be much of a problem, except that it seems that the work that drove them mad also seems to have made them very strong. Security tried to get them treated to fix the problem, but..." He fidgeted, then appeared to reach a decision. "Perhaps the pony should see for herself." With that, he ran a claw over his comms bracer, making the main screen come alive.
The view was jerky and shot through with patches of heavy distortion, showing a wrecked corridor and the twisted and broken bodies of gryphons and what must have been Masters in bulky armoured suits. "Security tried to be as gentle as possible -- it is not the pony's fault she is acting this way." Orgon said with a sigh, "This was the result." The view drifted past a motionless body of a pony in armour, blood trickling from her half-open muzzle, then blanked out completely.
"Two ponies did all this?" Random said faintly, tearing her eyes away from the screen to stare at Orgon. Even after all this, the Masters are willing to forgive Fusion and Gravity, she thought, heart swelling with gratitude. Fusion helped me when I was desperate, it's only right I should help her. "What do you need me to do?"
===
There was nopony about as Lilac made his slow and unsteady way the short distance from the back of the infirmary to the fruit trees of the near-by orchard. Pausing, the youngster glanced back at his hind quarters, straightening up his left leg. This caused a shift in balance, and he flicked out his wings in an attempt to avoid falling over. Another staggered step fixed the problem, only to send him into the trunk of the closest tree.
Panting with the effort, Lilac sagged against the rough bark, then took a deep breath and sighed. Catching his breath, the stallion frowned in concentration and realigned his legs, then pushed away from the tree and took another step. Let's not try to be natural, he thought, I don't need to get all the joints right first time. Carefully he refined his grip, locking his legs from gaskin to fetlock, then moved the whole leg like it was a single piece.
This is much easier! His gait was awkward and lurching, but far easier than trying to simulate a real walk. The process required much less concentration, and Lilac lifted his head to study the canopy. The leaves were starting to turn, but many were still there, small curly things on gnarled branches. Also on those branches were the apples that were the source of the smell that had drawn him onwards.
Green, with a blush of red on the side most exposed to the sun, and marked with the occasional blemish from bird or insect, they were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. Saliva filling his mouth, Lilac reached up with his magic and plucked one of the larger fruits from its branch, wincing when the whole thing flexed and shed leaves in response to his tug. I really should get back. It had taken what seemed like forever to get this far, and would likely take just as long getting back. Still, one can't hurt...
Brushing an errant ant from the surface, he sheared the apple in half with a flicker of violet light, catching a spray of juice across the muzzle. A little of the taste leaked into his mouth, and Lilac took a large bite of the succulent flesh. The remembered flavour of that apple back in the lab was nothing compared to the taste of one fresh from the tree. Lilac's hind quarters thumped to the leaf litter as his magic flickered out, his mind filled with wonderful sensations.
The crunch of the fruit between his teeth, the sudden flood of juice laden with a mixture of tart and sweet flavours, and the near overpowering smell all combined to overwhelm him, and Lilac sank the rest of the way to his belly. A few big bites later and all that was left of the apple were a few spots of juice on his forelegs. Sighing with contentment, the youngster pulled himself upright and started back, pausing only to grab another dozen of the fruits.
===
Trocar skimmed low over the corral, back-stroking his wings to come in for a four-hoofed landing at the front entrance of the infirmary. There were very few ponies about; even the school shelter only held the very youngest foals, kept occupied by Back Draft while their parents did the Master's work. No Spiral, the blue stallion thought, well, at least that explains my reassignment. I'll just have to wait until she returns to find out what's going on.
He nosed through the infirmary door and started to check on the patients. Triage training to the fore, he swept the ponies with brief pulses of magic, looking for anything critical that might have occurred in the indeterminate time between Spiral's departure and his arrival. The process was near-automatic, the basic checks carried out at an accident scene. Heart beat, respiration, internal or external bleeding; it took less than fifty seconds for the eight ponies sleeping in the stalls.
Trocar's ears drooped and he chewed at his lips, looking with dismay along the central corridor. Only eight! What happened to all the others? The rash of fugue deaths had hit Spiral hard; the mare had refused to talk to him during their brief time before sleep last night, so he'd settled for just wrapping her in his wings and trying to ignore the tears running down her cheeks. Reluctantly, he left the front of the infirmary and walked to stall eleven.
Inside, his eyes were drawn to the refrigerated compartment and attendant autoclave. The refrigerator was full, hazy pony-shapes visible through the frosted glass. Swallowing, Trocar slowly pulled open the door, sliding out the upper tray. On the steel surface was a black plastic bag, and the medic gently pulled open one end and looked inside. "Ah, Maker... I thought you were going to pull through, Ogive." He let the plastic drop and stared mournfully at the other two bundles in the lower layers.
"At least I can take this burden from you, Spiral." Trocar pulled Ogive from the bag, opening the door to the autoclave with a shimmer of blue light. The pony, limp in his magical grasp, was deposited carefully in the metal lined chamber. "See you in the next cycle, Ogive," Trocar whispered, closing the door and setting all the controls to their maximums. Head bowed, he turned it on.
===
There was the crunch-crunch of hoof on gravel. Lilac paused, wobbling slightly in the deep shade under a tree at the perimeter of the orchard. The infirmary was in sight, no more than ten lengths away, and the hoof-steps had to be coming from the path that ran around the building. A quick dip into shadow sight showed the other pony, little more than a collection of moving glows in the near invisible silhouette of its body.
Blue, a deep blue. Lilac stared at the horn colour in consternation, then glanced back at his hindquarters. In the shadow universe they burned like they were on fire, heatless pale purple flames that licked over the dark core of his non-magical flesh. The youngster opened his eyes; in the dim light under the low branches he was almost as obvious.
He quickly piled up the apples and let his concentration fade, then folded his legs and lay down, the telekinetic glow vanishing just as the pony rounded the corner. Fairly slender, and a similar blue to Gravity, although his mane and tail were more of a purple than the mare's original pale blue. Big panniers, bulging with external pockets and pouches, lay across his back, long enough to cover his labour tattoo. They had a lumpy look, as if their owner had packed them in haste. The pony slowed, pausing at the door to stall eleven, then nosed it open.
Is that Trocar, then? Lilac shivered, his stomach twisting. What's he doing back here? Did Spiral send him here to look after me? Biting his lips, the youngster took hold of his legs and performed the complicated series of actions required to stand upright. This done, he half fell, half trotted down the shallow slope to the infirmary, fetching up against the stone wall with a solid thump. Ears down and cringing at the sudden noise, he watched the other pony through shadow sight while trying to silently get his breath back.
Trocar, if that's who it was, spent a few moments doing something with one of the compartments in the wall of the stall, then his magic flared and pulled out a large shape. Black, but outlined by blue fire, it was clearly the body of a pony. Lilac's breath hitched and he froze, but there was no sign of a medical scan. More magic flared, this time around the machine next to the refrigerator, and the pony was pushed into the narrow opening. The door closed and the crystals lining the chamber started to pulse with waves of light.
Lilac's telekinetic grip on his own legs faltered and he nearly fell. But she's not dead! Still operating by shadow sight, he blindly felt for the door and yanked it open; the sturdy metal hinges parted with a shriek and the heavy panel was flung away, cartwheeling across the grass. Not bothering with the fine control needed to move his legs, Lilac settled for dragging himself through the opening, slamming one insensate hip into the door frame as he did so.
Something tugged at his flesh, only really detectable where it stretched the skin further along his side, but that barely registered. Ahead, the crystal lined guts of the autoclave abruptly went from soft flickers to brilliant light as the microwave emitter at the base went to full power. The pony standing in front of the machine was just reacting to his presence, light flaring about horn and wings as he whirled around, but it was too late.
Letting go of everything else, Lilac narrowed his immaterial grip from a soft, amorphous zone of presence to a hard spike, lashing out with as much force as he could muster. There was a crashing impact and the glow from the autoclave went out, the door popping open and releasing a puff of super-heated air smelling of burnt fur. Balance completely gone, Lilac fell into the room, hitting the floor with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs.
The shock rattled his head enough that even the tiny effort required for shadow sight was too much, and the youngster's eyes flew open. Black, greasy smoke poured out of the half open door, dull orange flames licking up from the top. The control panel, where Lilac had aimed his blow, was stoved in like somepony had driven a spike through it, and random sparks flashed from the ruined electronics.
The blue pony's surprise was over in an instant; still staring at Lilac, his magic enfolded the autoclave door and slammed it shut. "What in the Make--!"
"Not dead!" Lilac wheezed, trying to get the words out past a suddenly swollen tongue. She's still burning in there! His magic scrabbled at the damaged door, fighting to overcome the other pony's telekinesis. He was strong, he knew he was, but the pony did something that Lilac couldn't quite understand, and his magic faltered. Directed sideways and off at odd angles, the undirected force buffeted loose equipment and made the various storage compartment doors rattle, like a strong breeze had suddenly whipped through the room.
Blue magic picked him up and deftly flicked him over, his paralysed legs flopping and spinning uselessly. Lilac opened his mouth, liquid warmth running down his muzzle, but the magic spread over him like a film of oil, folding his legs and wings in, and keeping his jaw shut. The pony started to say something, then froze at a sudden noise from inside the autoclave.
A series of thumps, very fast, but with no discernable pattern; the hollow ringing of hoof and bone against metal surfaces.
The clinging, elastic grip across Lilac's body lessened as his captor was distracted, sudden uncertainty on his face. The youngster focused all his strength onto the field across his muzzle, shredding the magic. "She's in hibernatio--" he managed to choke out, before the blue haze returned and his jaw snapped shut once more.
There was a sudden surge of power, a hard shove that sent Lilac slamming into the infirmary's wall. Half stunned, he saw the pony yank open the autoclave's door and pull Ogive out. The mare, seared black over one side of her body, trembled and shook uncontrollably, smoke and wisps of yellow flame curling up from around the sides of her belly. The smell, an appalling mix of burning hair fur and cooked flesh, filled stall eleven in an instant, bringing Lilac back to the here-and-now.
Magic folded over her body, not the simple haze of telekinesis, but the complex swirl of multiply parallel spell casting. Ignoring the sudden aches from his own body, Lilac studied the other pony as he worked, not daring to move lest he proved to be a lethal distraction.
===
Trocar, his ears still ringing from the sudden impact that had smashed the autoclave just at the start of its cycle, worked feverishly. The mare, Ogive, lay on the stone floor at the centre of a thaumic dance that penetrated all areas of her body, probing and investigating every possible threat to her survival. Nerve blocks came first, stilling surging activity in the somatosensory axons and removing the pain, then jamming the impulses responsible for the muscle spasms. Stimulation of the reticular activating system completed the preparatory work, sending his patient into a sleep so deep that nothing would awaken her.
The surface burns looked terrible, but they weren’t what would kill Ogive in the short term. Superheated air had penetrated deep into her lungs, burning and cooking the delicate tissues. This was not the normal state of affairs, but had been brought about by the inexplicable presence of the thick silicone tube that somepony had thrust from nostrils all the way down to the first major bronchial branch. The pipe had protected the structures of larynx and trachea, and this, at least, wouldn't require any remedial action, but had sent the hot gas further in without any cooling.
Liquid was seeping from damaged alveoli throughout Ogive's lungs, filling the sponge of tiny spaces and further reducing the volume available for gas exchange. Trocar dove straight in, draining the fluid and fixing the tiny, grape-like structures, but the damage was too extensive and he could feel the mare's blood oxygen levels falling despite his best efforts. Still he spared no thought for what he'd done, but carried on working, not letting the near certainty of failure even enter his mind.
Alien magic started to twist and curl within the other lung, and he opened his mouth to curse the interloper, but kept silent when he saw what the other pony was doing. Clumsily at first, then with rapidly improving skill, the young stallion was performing his own repairs. Though he was unable to match Trocar's own multi-gigasecond expertise in traumatic injury, the pony's efforts were just enough to allow them to keep pace with the damaged tissues and keep Ogive from drowning in her own fluids.
Spiral, what in the Maker's name has been going on here? The thought was fleeting and he spared no mental effort in following it through; the strain of this urgent work was something he experienced at every accident he attended, and he was well used to pushing all other considerations aside.
A kilosecond later and between them they'd rescued enough of Ogive's lung tissue that the mare would not suffocate. "Keep doing that," Trocar said, his eyes shut and concentration fixed on his work, then switched to sealing the many leaking blood vessels in his patient's surface musculature. He cast more spells, cleansing and re-infusing the fluid he'd saved from her scarred lungs back into her bloodstream, all to prevent the mare from sliding any further into shock.
This done, and with the knowledge that Ogive would survive her accidental immolation, Trocar suddenly became aware of the demands of his body. A bone-deep fatigue made his eyes sag and magic falter, and he took deep breaths, staring at the unknown stallion. Who are you? The youngster was still concentrating, so Trocar used subtle flickers of power to examine the pony.
No labour tattoo. The stallion was sporting a frankly hair-raising scar that seemed to pass from flank to mid back, right between hips and wing shoulder. That must have broken his back... and there's the blood. The stallion was bleeding freely from a jagged rip to his flank. Trocar's eyes travelled to the door frame; one of the hinges sported a clump of bloody fur. The desperation in the pony's eyes, glimpsed when he'd come barrelling through the door. A sudden flash of anger took his breath away, flipping just as rapidly to horror. Dammit, Spiral, why didn't you tell me about this! Whatever this is...
"That's enough for now," Trocar said. The other pony lifted his head, and the medic flinched at a glimpse of circular scars on the side of the young stallion's head. I've heard of things like this, but I didn't really think the Mas-- A warning flash of pain derailed that particular line of reasoning and he shook his head. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?" The words came out angry, made harsh by the irritant haze of burned fur.
"I'm Lilac GZ7011. I--" He swallowed, ears folding back and eyes darting from side to side. His gaze settled, not on Trocar's face, but on the communicator disk attached to his chest. Little flickers of light, barely more than fireflies glittered around his horn, then cut off. "Spiral was training me, helping me to heal my..." Wings fluttered and Lilac's head swung around, giving Trocar a great view of the surgical marks on the shaved side of his head, settling to stare at the scar on his flank. "...injury. I'm s-still working on it." His voice fell to a trembling whisper, teeth chattering as shivers wracked his body.
"Don't worry; this isn't your fault." The words came out automatically, the rote comfort for an injured pony, no doubt being punished by the Maker for some perceived failure. And it's not, either. He did all he could to stop me. Suddenly feeling sick, Trocar turned his magic on the other two ponies in the refrigerator. It was the work of a moment to find the intubated airways and the delicate tangle of magic regulating heart and lungs. The nature of the spell was obvious, now he had all the pieces.
Deep hibernation, bodies cooled to near death. When the autoclave fired, it would have raised Ogive's core temperature... she must have woken up. Trocar swallowed, struggling to control his breathing. If Lilac hadn't interfered, I'd have burned all of them. The awful thought hung in his mind, an impossible barrier to pass, and he let out an involuntary moan.
"It is. All of this is because of me; if I hadn't--"
Trocar mutely shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. Not true; if you hadn't been here I'd-I'd-- The words wouldn't come, and he felt the bite of his own punishment push sharp spines into his chest. Struggling to think of other things, he focused on the what, rather than the might-have-been. These were all ponies in fugue... was Spiral trying something to try and knock them out of it? There were those case studies, experimental treatments with low success rates... "Where is my Spiral, Lilac?" he said.
The other pony looked up, tears running down his muzzle. "You must be Trocar, then; she mentioned you. Her Master wanted to see her, so she went to Naraka."
That explains my recall, at least. But why all these secrets? She's been evasive for the last few days... is it because of Lilac? He's obviously from one of the Eugenics Board places -- perhaps the same Institute that was attacked by the rogue? A sudden realisation struck Trocar, and he leaned back, studying the young stallion carefully. "Was Spiral ordered to keep you a secret, Lilac? You are from the Institute, yes?"
There was a look of amazement on Lilac's face, and his mouth dropped open. "Yes," he said weakly. "I was told there would be big trouble if other ponies knew I was here."
"Makes sense," Trocar muttered, "it's one thing to hear rumours of the EB's work; something completely different to come muzzle to scarred muzzle with a living, breathing example." It was hard enough for a medic to bear, let alone some pony not expecting it. He could cause fugue just by walking through the corral. Lilac was obviously distraught, so Trocar reluctantly resisted the urge to ask more questions. I know enough for now, and at least Spiral is safe.
"How much medical training have you had, Lilac?"
"Basic soft tissue repair, because of..." Here Lilac turned his head, giving Trocar another flash of his recent surgical marks. "...and a day or two here with Spiral, so I could fix my small intestine. There was a laser, and--" Lilac's mouth snapped shut, his ears flattening once more.
So little! "I think I can see where your special talent lies. You never did lung work before?" Lilac shook his head. "Outstanding; you should be proud. I could not have saved Ogive alone." Trocar stared at the mare, whose charred flanks were weeping a clear fluid as she breathed with a steadily, mechanical rhythm. He reached out, lifting a series of sterile saline bags from a storage unit while simultaneously loading an injection gun with the first of a series of drugs. He nodded towards Lilac's bloody flank. "Treat your own injuries, then we can see how much of Ogive we can rebuild before Spiral returns, okay?"
===
Rthar paced the room, ignoring the glare that Salrath was giving him. She was back in a hospital room again, although this time it was in a secluded wing that normally served the Pit's interrogation suite. The place was a marvel of modern medicine; the only clue as to it's less than altruistic purpose were the heavy restraints that lined the bed and an extensive collection of cameras.
Why is this one here? he thought, turning and striding the short length between security door and a large cube of machinery filled with softly glowing crystals. If the Sector Chief wanted a meeting, then this one is only a comm call away. Instead, he'd been pulled off an interesting line of enquiry reviewing the Eugenics Board's assessment of deaths at Corral Twenty Seven to wait in one of the basement levels with an Agent who, if there was anything to the Maker's justice, should be in one of the cells just down the corridor.
"Will Rthar stop that!" Salrath hissed from between clenched jaws. "This one is getting neck pain watching the Captain move."
"Is your recovery not going smoothly, Agent?" Rthar put as much sympathy and concern into his voice as he could, then started pacing again, hiding a smile at the sigh of frustration from Salrath. The Agent has been pushing herself too hard, undoing the doctor's good work. What a pity.
The door to the medical bay opened behind him and he turned, stepping back as Orgon walked into the room, followed by the large shape of his personal servitor. The creature quietly closed the door, and there was a ripple of pearly light that seemed to dance over everything in the room. As it passed, electronic and crystal thaumic systems alike all stopped working or went dark. Rthar's own comms bracer emitted a mournful croak, then displayed a string of error messages before turning itself off.
The ceiling panels flickered, then went out, plunging the room into darkness for a moment, before the emergency lights came on, filling the room with a pale glow. Then they went out, leaving only the ghostly dance of active magic.
Rthar's paws twitched, and he resisted the urge to touch the pistol holstered at his side. "Is there something the Sector Chief would like to discuss that is too sensitive for regular channels?" he said, pointedly tapping at the controls of his bracer. The thing won't even turn on. He sniffed, nostrils flaring wrinkling, but there was none of the scorched plastic odour that came normally came with a battery failure.
"A minor problem with the power control systems," the grey servitor said without emotion, "the repair will be straightforward." The only light came from the tip of its horn, turning its large eyes into dark voids and casting long, sinister shadows down its muzzle
Rthar blinked, staring at the skull-like head uneasily. "What, all of them?" he said, then dragged his gaze to Orgon, who was looking at Salrath and shaking his head slowly. The Sector Chief waved the pony forwards, and the creature turned without a backwards glance, leaving Rthar open-mouthed and fumbling for a reprimand.
"This will not do at all," the Sector Chief said. "What is possible in the time available?"
Rthar found himself staring at Salrath; the Agent had opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again when she realised that Orgon wasn't actually interested in what she had to say. Hope dawned in her eyes as the servitor's horn brightened and worms of pale light started to crawl over her body. Muscles twitched of their own accord, starting at Salrath's ankles and moving upwards in waves. The Agent ground her teeth together, making the occasional hiss of pain as the magic found a particularly sensitive spot.
Fur down his spine tingling, Rthar swallowed and took an involuntary step backwards. An objective measure of mobility... couldn't it have just asked Salrath where it hurt? The manipulation of the Agent's body continued for a disturbingly long time; a quick glance showed that Orgon had the same gentle smile he always had, and was obviously quite happy for his servitor to work at its own pace. Let this one never fall into either of these one's clutches, Rthar thought fervently, wincing as Salrath gave a particularly sharp gasp.
"I can reshape her hips and rebuild the cartilage in her knees and spine; that will stop the majority of the pain and is probably the best compromise given the timescale. Neurological modifications will take care of the rest." The pony gave its report absently, as if talking to another of its kind and not one of the more important People in the Hive.
"Do the neuro work first; this one needs the Agent focused," Orgon said, moving to sit on one of the swivel chairs next to the bed. The pony had started to work, even before he'd finished the order, and the Sector Chief turned to face Rthar. "Sit," he said, pointing at a second chair.
Body moving almost without conscious thought, Rthar did as he was told, his mind racing. There can be only one reason; Orgon really doesn't want this conversation overheard. He did his best to push aside the implications of this measure, here, in the depths of the Pit, and focused on the Sector Chief.
"It turns out that everything we suspected is true, and there is more bad news to follow." Orgon watched his servitor work for a few moments, waiting until the traces of pain left Salrath's face. Unpleasant crackling sounds came from the vicinity of the Agent's pelvis, but the Agent herself showed only pleasure at the pony's ministrations. "This one has direct evidence that at least one of the rogue servitors escaped the destruction of the Institute." He went on to explain, then paused, waiting for any comments.
Salrath gave a dark chuckle. "This one wanted that to be true; that blue servitor has a lot to answer for. These ones should start by taking the pony's kin; make it showy and obvious what is going to happen to--"
The level of anticipation in the Agent's voice made Rthar cringe, but it was Orgon who raised a paw to stop Salrath's planning. "That will not be necessary. As Salrath's own work has shown, the rogues have an attachment to the juvenile servitors that are currently in the Naraka facility. They will be ample bait for a trap."
"Sector Chief, the level of destruction visited on the Institute... is Orgon planning to move the foals to another location?" Rthar asked, brow furrowing.
"It is important that there is no evidence of Security complicity; there may be suspicion if the foals are moved. This one has ordered real-time tracking of servitor comms units; any deviation from normal activity will allow these ones to react swiftly. Both the corral in question and Naraka are distant from population centres and strategic sites... should extreme measures prove necessary.
Rthar's ears flattened. "What is the population of Naraka? Will the People be evacuated?"
"These ones must retain the element of surprise." Orgon said it with no emotion, other than his normal slight smile, an expression the Sector Chief wore so often that Rthar suspected it was surgically applied.
"Rthar sees," the Captain said, softly. "How reliable is comms tracking... would a more direct view not be more secure?"
"The units are able to identify which servitor they are near, for authentication purposes," Salrath said, voice wavering as the grey servitor twisted something in her upper spine. "Don't do that while this one is talking, pony!" she snapped, not in pain, but in anger, then looked disappointed when the creature didn't so much as flick an ear in her direction.
"Servitors are naturally attuned to their surroundings; additional technical or arcane surveillance is too much of a risk." The Sector Chief stared off into the distance for a few breaths, then sighed. "Nothing will stop a physical World Court audit when the excavators finally open the Institute... all Lacunae has left is mitigation. Almost all of the witnesses to the rogue's actions now sit at Naraka. If the World Court wasn't so interested, this one would have them all euthanized."
Even Salrath froze at that. Orgon has just made these ones accessories to a planetary crime. Rthar held his breath, staring at the Security Chief. That explains the blackout.
"Orgon plans to lure the rogues in and blame the subsequent failure to capture them for WC study for the loss of any evidence," Salrath said wonderingly.
"This is correct; it will be a tragic loss to the Hive. Very few must know this plan, which is why Orgon requires Salrath and Rthar to be on the inside." Rthar struggled to keep his face blank, but something must have shown. "Rthar should not worry; he and Salrath will be extracted when the time comes." The Captain nodded uneasily, a gesture ignored by Orgon. "There is one other thing... now Captain Rthar is no longer officially on field duty, he is of enough rank to have an assistant, and yet has not requested one."
"This one was hoping to be assigned back to a reaction team," Rthar said, staring at a point over Orgon's left shoulder.
"In due time... if all goes well here, this one is sure something can be done about the stain on the Captain's record." Orgon's smile widened fractionally. "A combat officer like yourself should have a suitable assistant... so this one has assigned the gryphon that Rthar was so interested in. It has healed nicely after all that expensive thaumic treatment, and this one is sure it would also relish the chance of redeeming itself by covering the Captain's final retreat."
"Yes, Sector Chief," Rthar mumbled, trying to avoid looking at Salrath's smirk. What in the Maker's name is this one going to do with a gryphon? The Agent's smile widened at his obvious discomfort, and Rthar felt cold inside. Perhaps having one of the client race that owes Rthar his life would not be such a bad thing.
It was five kiloseconds later, after the Sector Chief had fleshed out the scant details of his plan, that Rthar made the connection. Salrath, Rthar and that gryphon, Bergathor. Rthar's missing gryphon troops. All of these ones are also witnesses to everything the rogues did. How much does this one trust Orgon?
===
Korn shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position while keeping his paws still enough to work on the irritatingly small connectors at the end of one arm of the interferometer. The machine's pressure vessel, a tetrahedral agglomeration of stainless steel like a giant caltrop, loomed overhead, suspended by wide straps from the roof of the airtruck. The floor twitched, setting the multi-tonne mass swaying like a giant, lethal pendulum.
With a gasp, he snatched his paws out of the maintenance hatch, saving them from being crushed at the cost of a chunk of fur from one wrist. The sudden pain brought tears to his eyes and he slumped against the hull, cradling that paw while the oscillations damped down. The temptation to scream obscenities at the pilot was very strong, but he resisted the urge. The other Person in the cargo compartment looked up from her console, a hastily constructed agglomeration of processors and displays, and smiled unpleasantly.
"Is the Student having problems?" Agent Salrath said, in a silky voice.
"No, Agent," he said, gritting his teeth. This one will not give that creature the satisfaction-- The line of thought stopped dead at the expression of interest on Salrath's face, and he made his face go blank. She has been ordered not to harm this one, Korn heard it. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a smile flash across her muzzle, then he turned away.
Compared to the broken, bloodied thing he'd seen thrown out of the Institute's surgical suite, the current Salrath was almost back to her old self. This one wishes that Gravity Resonance had killed the Agent when the pony had the chance. Salrath should still be in an intensive care ward, but someone had obviously found a use for her and lavished hundreds of kiloseconds of thaumic medical on her body. There were still traces of her injuries: an imperceptible limp, as if one leg was fractionally shorter than the other, and patches of very short fur everywhere she wasn't covered with armour. She won't even have any scars. That thought alone filled him with outrage; that an ordinary body could hide such evil seemed unfair.
"If Security wants this thing to be working when we get wherever we are going, Salrath better ask the pilot to fly more carefully," he muttered. "The terminal mirrors are very sensitive to alignment shifts."
"This one is sure the Student will manage... especially if he wants to have a taste of freedom ever again."
Korn ignored the Agent, half convinced she'd probably tell whoever was flying this thing to actually speed up. Sighing, he eyed the interferometer warily, then reached into the housing at the end of one arm, feeling for the loose cable with his claw tips. It had fallen under the mirror housing, and it took a few nerve-wracking seconds to grasp it, his head wedged between the hull and the lumpy end of the pressure vessel. Every slight twitch of the airtruck translated into motion of the heavy machine, a chaotic pattern of squeezes, like the Maker was trying to decide whether or not to crush his skull like an egg.
Finally, he had enough slack on the cable to reseat the connector and pulled his paw back out. Slamming the little hatch shut, Korn glared at the control panel, mounted by means of blobs of bright pink sealant to the junction of the interferometer's four arms. Come on you piece of-- A little chain of lights flickered from red to green as the machine ran through its self-check. The final light changed colour and Korn slumped in relief. A few taps on his bracer opened the scratch-built software, a crude, text-based thing that would crash at the slightest command error, and he could check that the lights actually meant something.
Three kiloseconds later the airtruck came into a careful landing, leaving Korn making hurried notes on one arm of the pressure vessel with a pen and trying to ignore Salrath's increasingly sour expression. The big rear doors swung open, letting in the wan light of an overcast dusk and the spicy-herby smell of many ponies. Korn's muzzle wrinkled involuntarily; mixed among that complex scent was an underlying rankness, a hint that brought back memories of his last encounter with Salrath, before everything went so badly wrong. Gryphons as well, he thought, nervously peering out of the doors, then stumbling forwards when Salrath shoved him hard from behind.
The landing platform was high up on the side of a black, pyramid-shaped structure that was surrounded by a wide circle of fields, all cut into concentric rings of wedge shapes. "This one thought we were going to the Security Hub," Korn said, looking nervously at the edge of the landing pad; there was no safety railing and the drop was far enough to make his ears flatten. "What is this place?" he mumbled, but the answer was obvious. So many ponies and gryphons; this must be a Eugenics Board site.
"Maybe later," whispered Salrath, so close that her breath ruffled his fur. "For now, welcome to Naraka."
Korn flinched, taking an involuntary step forwards towards the edge. A hard paw closed on his shoulder, pulling him back. "My, Korn is jumpy this evening," the Agent purred. Her claws tightened and he gasped, knees sagging. She twisted him around, gesturing at the airtruck with her other paw. A group of figures in Security uniforms were unloading the interferometer, placing it on to a cargo floater that hovered a paw-span off the ground.
One of the figures, a dark-furred male with green eyes, strode towards them, nodding to Salrath. "I am Technician Dulkon," he said in a flat, bored voice. "Is this the... expert?" Korn shrank slightly as the Technician looked him up and down, his gaze as devoid of interest as his voice.
"Yes. He is responsible for a large part of its design." Salrath released Korn and gave him a little shove. "Now is your time to shine, Student. Do this well and Korn may yet get to see his Ithra again. She misses the Student terribly; it's very sad." He didn't turn around, yet somehow he could feel the teeth in the Agent's smile. "It would be a tragedy if something were to happen to Ithra."
Korn's stomach dropped and he tasted bile. "Salrath can't; my mate has broken no laws--"
The Agent laughed, a low, bubbling chuckle. "Salrath won't need to. If these ones fail, the World Court audit teams will go everywhere. Does Korn really think that Ithra, a close associate of a known criminal, will be exempt from their scrutiny? The Synod will be looking everywhere for someone to blame, anything to divert attention from their own precious hides." The words ended in a hiss, and the Agent prodded him into motion as the cargo platform's crystals glowed and it started towards the hangar door.
They placed the interferometer a few floors down from the antenna farm that sat within the cap of the pyramid. The next dozen kiloseconds passed in a blur of increasing fatigue, as Dulkon quizzed him mercilessly on every aspect of the improvised sensor's calibration and operation. As temperamental as the control software was, the actual hardware was very well built; it was the product of some Security fabrication facility, and no doubt constructed by the most skilled servitors the organization could lay its paws on. Before long, it was fully operational, and happily reporting all the little vibrations and movements that made it through the damping systems.
Salrath strode into the room. "So, this thing is operational?" she said to Dulkon.
"It is. Sensitivity will be as predicted, especially at the higher gravitational wave frequencies."
"And does the Technician fully understand the design and operation of the device?" Salrath was talking to Dulkon, but her eyes were on Korn. She smiled slightly, the harsh overhead lights glinting off her canine teeth.
"This one does. Despite the novel design, the principles are the same as industry standard models." He gestured in Korn's direction with one paw, the kind of motion a person might make to shoo away an insect. "Dulkon will have no problems installing the other one."
"Excellent, carry on." The Agent beckoned to Korn, and with reluctant paw steps he approached her. Her smile widened, and she put a companionable arm around his shoulder, her paw lightly gripping his neck and the sharp tips of her claws pressing lightly into his flesh.
They walked out of the room, leaving Dulkon to start work on the second sensor. His fear, never far from the surface in these last few days, threatened to overwhelm him, and Korn shuffled down the corridor like he was little more than an animated shell. They don't need this one any more. The idea swirled around his head, a roar that drowned out any rational thought. He stumbled, and Salrath's paw snapped shut about his throat, hauling him back upright.
Korn coughed, the pain pushing away some of the mind-numbing panic. "What's next, Agent? Does Security want any other sensors configured? This one can train another tech while he does this." He kept his voice as level as possible, drawing on techniques he'd learned to survive large scale academic presentations. The fear was still there, but locked away, held down by a lid of self-control.
Salrath was silent, pulling him to a halt by a lift capsule. The door opened at her touch, and she pushed him inside, then followed him in and entered a destination code on the control pad. "This one has another job for the Student first, far more important than the sensors." She smiled; the kind of expression a person would make after telling a joke. Korn looked away, studying the scuffed floor between his paws, waiting for the capsule to reach its destination. Not once did the Agent lose her smile, until right at the end of the journey, where it changed to an expression of interest.
The capsule finally stopped its descent, the door opening onto a blank white corridor that curved away to the right. The inside wall was lined with floor-to-ceiling glass panels, but the angle was bad and he couldn't see what was behind them. Salrath gave him a push to get him walking, but this time didn't bother with the paw at his throat. What would be the point? Korn thought gloomily as the capsule's door closed silently. There is nowhere for this one to go. Next to each section of glass was a curved wall, obviously a door of some kind, with its own little control panel
The glass blocked access to a small, brightly lit chamber, within which was a pony and a foal. The animal was a young colt, very young, with disproportionately long legs and short muzzle. Korn stared into the room as they passed, his steps slowing. The colt took an unsteady step in their direction, his ears up and staring out through the glass in wonder. With the movement it was obvious that the colt was practically newborn; he had no horn, bar a tiny nub, and his wings were bare of everything but a fine dusting of fur between the still subcutaneous feathers.
His dam, a skewbald with a large, scarred patch of bare skin on her flank, looked up with exhausted eyes, her ears flattening for a moment before a great tremor rippled through her frame. Her ears relaxed, some of the fatigue evaporating to leave a kind of hopelessness that made Korn's fur stand on end. Fool! What did this one think went on at the Board? He averted his gaze and lengthened his stride, desperately trying not to think about the likely fate of that youngster.
The next chamber was empty, but the one after that contained half a dozen foals, all huddled together and looking confused and lost. After that was a pair of males, asleep on the padded floor. The glass-fronted rooms went on and on, each filled with different groupings. Korn kept his eyes firmly on the curve of the corridor, but with each glimpse at the edge of his vision, his stomach seemed to contract a little.
The corridor finally ended at a set of heavy, powered doors, and Korn started to relax, only to tense up again when they opened, releasing a faint and vaguely familiar odour. Slightly rank, a mixture of fur and dusty feathers, it made his skin twitch all over again. Beyond the door was another corridor, just like the first, only this time the glassed-in rooms held gryphons. Their reaction was not as subdued as that of the ponies.
He flinched at the challenging stare from the first occupant, a pair of great yellow eyes full of rage. The bird-cat didn't move towards the glass, just opened his beak in a threatening gape. The action replaced most of Korn's fear with pity; that beak, what should have been a set of razor edges large and strong enough to amputate a paw, was blunted and dull, its hooked tip sheared off by some power tool.
"Unlike the servitors, the average gryphon doesn't cooperate very well with the Board," Salrath said, in a happy, conversational tone. Korn hunched his shoulders and walked on, averting his eyes again, only to be stopped by a hard paw clamped on the back of his neck. "Salrath said there was something else for the Student. One final use she could put him to."
That paw twisted, forcing him around to face the glass. Inside was a quartet of gryphons who, up until that point, had been following their progress with little interest. The sudden motion attracted their attention and two abruptly stood up, their eyes locked on his. Salrath kicked at his legs, dropping him to his knees, then pushed his muzzle into the glass. "They tell this one that the Student is smart; perhaps he could guess Naraka's food bill. This one even thinks she might even get commended for saving the Hive a little bit of money."
Dazed, he stared back, feeling nothing but confusion when he heard the tap-tap of claws on keypad and the whine of a motor. One of the gryphons took a step forwards, a scaly, taloned foreleg held off the ground like the creature was uncertain. Inside the room was another section of curved wall; this began to rotate, like it was a cylinder set within the body of the wall. That's... that's like the radiation locks back at the Institute, he thought, must be how they get food to the subjects, then his eyes went wide and he started to struggle.
"Salrath said--" he gasped, then broke off as she tightened her grip. Half choking, he tried to prise her paw from his throat, but she just slammed his head into the glass. Light flared behind his eyes, and the sudden shock of impact made Korn let go. "Please--" The word came out amid a fine spray of blood, peppering the glass with a mist of ruby droplets.
She looked at him for a second, then slammed his head into the glass again. "Salrath will do what she likes!" Each word came out as a grunt, punctuated by more impacts on the wall.
Salrath let him go and Korn slumped to the floor and stared up at her, too dazed to do more than open his mouth and make a quiet whimpering noise. Blood made warm runnels down his face and dripped from his muzzle, soaking his empty equipment vest and spreading through the fur of his chest. Stunned, he just lay there, half propped up against the glass. Some had made its way into his eyes, covering everything with a stinging red filter. He tried to move, tried to shy away from the looming shadow of the Agent, but the pain came on all at once, near paralysing in its intensity.
Through the haze of pain and random flashes of light and shadow that seemed to crowd his vision, Korn saw Salrath kneel down and study him intently. "This one must be losing her touch," she murmured, flexing one paw like it ached, "she should really get back into the gym." The paw came up, one claw tracing a line down his muzzle to tap lightly on the end of his nose. He whimpered again, trying to push himself into the glass to get away. "There's no need to worry any more," she cooed, the claw moving to the underside of his jaw and forcing up his head so he looked her straight in the eyes.
"W-why? The Agent said--" The words were barely recognisable to his own ears, but the Salrath seemed to understand.
"You are dead, Student Korn, and have been ever since Security pulled you out of the Institute." The Agent smiled; that same interested look on her face that he'd seen before. "By all accounts it was a quiet funeral; that Ithra of yours was quite distraught. It's always hard when there is nothing to return to the ground." Her other paw came up, smoothing the fur above his eyes and wiping away some of the blood. "Ah, don't cry... at least it is nearly all over for Korn. Ithra, on the other paw..." She reached around his head, gripped him by the scruff of the neck and dragged him along the floor, then placed him almost tenderly inside the rotating drum of the lock.
"Please, this one did everything--" Some sensation returning to his body, Korn reached out, but the motion just toppled him forwards. Salrath smiled, and the last thing he saw of her as the lock door rotated was the light glinting off her teeth.
===
Humming to herself, Salrath used her comms bracer to instruct Naraka's control systems to disable the punishment collars. Security had remotely taken over the running of the site 'as a precaution', although the existing staff were mostly still in attendance. Unlike in the prisons, there was no direct oversight of collar operation, so the system relied on a mixture of motion, stress and proximity cues. The parameters were conservatively set, significantly reducing the level of freedom for the inmates, but by all accounts they soon got used to moving carefully.
Claws poised over the master control settings, Salrath paused. This one could set the maximum speed for all the collars to zero... she thought, the sudden vision of every cell filling with lightning and screams, where even the involuntary twitches of the electrocuted were enough to trigger further shocks. Her breath quickened and then she shook her head. Perhaps just one cell, an accident while this one was adjusting the system...
Reluctantly, she shut off the specific collars, then closed the connection. The gryphons in this cell didn't have the beaten, unexercised form of the long-term confined. The four had an air of military about them, and the Agent nodded, lips pulling away from her teeth in a smile. There were several units transferred here after their involvement with the rogue... Another quick enquiry gave her the information, and her smile became wider. A Talons training unit and one from the actual Institute itself. All rendered into the care of the Board, just because they knew too much. Their sense of betrayal must be incredible.
One of the gryphons had moved to the opening lock and poked his head inside. Surprise was obvious in the lash of his black-tufted tail, as was the sudden anger in the eyes of one of the grey ones. Salrath rested one paw on the window and listened intently, but the thick layer of artificial sapphire that the Board's architects had used acted as an excellent sound proofer. Whatever it was about, the result was exactly what she'd expected: the first gryphon dragged a bloody Korn from the lock and threw him into the middle of the room.
In seconds he was surrounded by the inmates, the one closest to the window flaring his wings and staring back at her aggressively. But this one wanted to see! Salrath thought, frowning, the disappointment making her paws twitch towards her bracer and its link to the punishment collars. Then a head dipped, reappearing with a shred of something bloody that was flicked aside. The Agent inhaled sharply, watching with wide eyes as a second gryphon leaned forwards, this time coming back with blood smeared along the edges of its beak. Red liquid dripped from the tip, and the creature lifted its head feathers in what was obviously a threat.
"The Talons get a little interrogation training, if this one remembers correctly," Salrath murmured, wagging one claw back at the gryphon. "Salrath is sure they will be able to keep their new plaything alive for a while." She turned and walked away, unable to get the smile off her muzzle.