//------------------------------// // Chapter 44 // Story: Hegira: Eternal Delta // by Guardian_Gryphon //------------------------------// Earth Calendar: 2117 Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact) March 31st, Gregorian Calendar "Well this is certainly an escalation." Minos slammed the DaTab down onto his desk, and began shaking his head slowly. Councilor Loryss sighed, and readjusted her position in her chair, pursing her lips at the physical display of frustration. "You sent two aircraft full of your best troopers. Only one returned. Empty-handed, I might add. And all because of one Gryphon with a single pistol. No spare rounds. No armor. No fire support. 'Escalation' is a crude term, and a gross understatement." Minos shrugged, and threw up his hands. "What exactly would you have me do? If he keeps at this with this kind of ferocity, he's going to blow the lid on the entire operation. Our little 'Twelfth Echelon' will be the only thing on the evening news for the next eight months running." The man sighed, and leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk. "Forgive me for saying it, 'ma'am,' but I disagree with your pattern of attack here. You suggested that if we took the asset out the equation, the Gryphon would back down. I think once we dispose of the girl, things will actually get even worse. If he has nothing to lose, he will have even less restraint than we've seen so far." Loryss crossed her legs gracefully, and stiffened, turning her head slightly up and to the side. "Well. If you think you have a better solution, then by all means Minos, share with the class." Minos stood, leaning even further forward and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial hush. "Take out the entire problem in one swift stroke. We know they're shielding the asset with some sort of device, so lets stop beating around the bush. Kill both the asset, and her Red Guardian. Anyone else associated with them will come out of the woodwork within hours or days, and as soon as they're in the open? We pick them off too. One by one." Loryss inclined her head, and made a slight 'hmph' noise. "Proceed as you see fit. But further loss of assets will result in reassignment to another tasking." Moments after Fyrenn knocked his fisted claw twice against the surface, the door irised open to reveal Neyla's smiling visage. The expression was midway between a slight welcoming smile, and a tiny hint of a smirk. "Good morning you two. Sleep well?" April smiled widely, and nodded. Fyrenn snorted, and shook his head, speaking quietly to the blue and tan Gryphoness as April ducked past Neyla and into her room. "I spent my sleep cycle time on... More pressing issues. Which is why I'm here." Neyla moved back into the center of her room, and nodded. "Do tell." As the Gryphoness began to carefully cinch on her armor and weapons for the day, Fyrenn took a brief moment to cast his eyes around the space. He spied his old music player, jacked into the room's speaker system, lying on the dresser, together with a stack of his mother's cookbooks. Against one wall was an armor rack, from which Neyla was extracting her JRSF-issue equipment. Beside it was an ornate wooden case containing her Equestrian gear. Fyrenn noted, with a knowing smile, that the Gryphoness opted to add her two short swords and hidden under-wing sheaths to her standard issue Earthgov combat gear. Near the opposite wall sat a small steel rack filled with polished titanium javelins. One of the vertical slots was, tellingly, empty. Fyrenn realized that when Neyla had machined the Javelin for Sonya's headstone, she had created a complete set of prototypes. He gestured with one claw to the rack. "You mind if I take one of these?" Neyla shrugged her wings slightly, and blinked. "I don't mind. They're manufacturing spares from a batch. Are you planning to make a statement?" Fyrenn nodded as he hefted one of the weapons, and checked the balance. He set the weapon down, tip against the floor, and glanced over at April. The child was happily, but reverently, examining pieces of Neyla's light leather armor. "Yes. Of a sort. I want to leave a strong impression with today's work. Which, as I said, is why I'm here in the first place." The red Gryphon dipped his head towards April, then fixed his gaze on Neyla. "I want to know if she can stay with you today. I understand you have a lot of responsibilities, even with Aston and Hutch on-claw, but I have it on good authority that you're due a leave day. Please take it." Neyla paused, the cinch to her left leg protector gripped in one claw, and locked eyes with Fyrenn. A moment of electrifying emotional exchange occurred, and Neyla nodded. "For you, and for her? Absolutely. When do you think you'll be back?" Fyrenn hefted the Javelin once more, and inclined his head. "Late." The red Gryphon paused as he crossed the distance towards April, and smiled back at Neyla. "Thank you." The Gryphoness returned the smile warmly, and nodded. "You are most welcome." Fyrenn reached down, and gently laid a claw on April's shoulder. "Will you be alright spending the day with Neyla?" April's face lit up, the same way it had when Fyrenn invited her in the previous night. "Of course! I would spend *every* day with you guys if I could." Fyrenn once more found himself holding down a series of complex emotions, including empathy, melancholy, and a deep paternal instinct that seemed to have swiftly and silently taken root deep in his heart. As Fyrenn stepped to the door, Neyla finished removing her Earthgov issue gear, and moved to sit beside April. The Gryphoness gestured with one claw towards her leather armor, and crossbow. "Would you like to see how it all works?" April's smile rooted Fyrenn to the spot, as if someone had turned on an immense electromagnet, and fitted his paws with steel boots. He watched as April began to help Neyla with the cinches to her wing-joint guards, babbling incessantly with questions about how the leather was tempered, and the way the wing itself bent. All at once, a new feeling struck the red Gryphon. His chest warmed as if a blast furnace had been ignited, and time seemed to slow to an almost complete stop. Neyla sat, ears perked, tail swishing, and beak turned up in a radiant smile. April stood under one wing, similarly beaming, both tiny hands grasping up at the strap to Neyla's wing-guard, face buried in her primary feathers. April was on the verge of a sneeze, and Neyla, seeing what was about to happen, was on the cusp of a pure, joyous laugh. The entire picture was framed by streamers of Equestrian sunlight pouring in through the east-facing window, dancing in motes of feather dust against the piercing blue sky beyond. At last, Fyrenn identified the collection of emotions that was overpowering his entire existence. Down at the center the moment was a brightly burning core of love. Pure, unadulterated, and piercingly strong. Wrapped around it was a complex layering of melancholy, longing, and even an impetus towards acceptance. Internally, Fyrenn had to put it into words to completely make sense of it, and when he did, the force of it was so powerful, that he found himself falling. To prevent himself from splaying out on the floor, he sat down hard on his haunches, as the realization hit him. He wanted that moment to be defining. For a split second, he saw Neyla and April not merely as friends, or loved ones to be protected. But as a mate, and a daughter. As quickly as it had arrived, the moment passed. Like a wave breaking on a rocky shore, the emotions triggered a domino effect of other, more negative feelings. Fears, concerns, and worries about the present, and the past, streamed in and overpowered everything. Neyla let out her chuckle. April succumbed to her sneeze. The Gryphoness looked up and tilted her head in curiosity as the thud of Fyrenn's hard landing reached her ears. The normal flow of time was restored as she spoke. "Something wrong?" Fyrenn shook his head, and offered a weak smile. "No. No. Just... Tired. I shouldn't have skipped a night's rest like that." He rose, doing his best to cloak his roiling emotions, and darted through the door, tossing a farewell over one shoulder. "I'll see you both, later tonight." "I want to know what the hell prompted this." Mr. Churchill's voice carried a strong hint of anger, and even subdued panic, despite the encoding degradation resulting from the heavy encryption. Mr. Utah sat back, and took a deep pull on his cigarette, letting his eyes wander around the safe-room as he frowned. "I'm as surprised by this as you sir. We knew that it was only a matter of time before our working relationship with the Changelings collapsed, but we expected to have more than enough warning to enable us to make the first, decisive move. Have you briefed the others?" "Not yet. I wanted a full report from you first. They were your pet project. I want your full analysis." Mr. Utah exhaled a puff of smoke, and leaned forward towards the console, and the jagged waveform displayed on it. "In my opinion, someone is manipulating the situation for their own gains. The species has always been paranoid and xenophobic to a fault. We had to initially be introduced to them through a Diamond Dog intermediary. It would only take something small to set them off. If you're asking for a damage assessment?" Mr. Utah sat back and inhaled another deep draught from his cigarette before continuing. "Minimal. Our infiltrators are becoming less effective with each passing week. The Changelings can't strike our interests here in any significant manner. We're already close to Phase-II on project Cerberus, so we're in no danger of losing our eyes, ears, and influence on the other side of the barrier." "That's good news. But I want something more. The shock-factor of a surprise attack like this needs something else to offset it. Not every cabinet member is as subdued as you and I." Mr. Utah nodded, and smiled slightly. "Tell them... Tell them that we're making excellent progress with our new allies on this side. Tell them we're close to an agreement, and that all of our simulation work so far is highly promising." "Good. How soon could we be ready for this operation?" Mr. Utah sat back, and allowed his smile to widen. "If all goes well? A matter of days." "Pitot tubes are clear. Make sure you tie off that coolant port properly this time. I'm not playing a game of chicken with the temperature redline this go-round, you hear me? If we have to get out fast like last time, I don't want to be hobbled." The pilot stepped around the side of his VTOL, and rapped on the left wing strut lightly with one fist. Fyrenn waited for him to notice his presence, and make eye contact. He carefully ensured that the man's face matched his memory of the escaping VTOL's occupants, before offering him a slight smile. "You know, if you want to get more performance out of a compact turboprop, like those Textrons, you should keep the intake manifolds clear of large debris." The man recognized Fyrenn immediately, and made a grab for his side-arm. By the time his hand reached the holster, the red Gryphon was already holding the pistol, twirling it lazily around one talon. Fyrenn raised the gun and placed two rounds efficiently into the co-pilot's right knee-cap before he could even process the words. As the pilot turned to run, Fyrenn simply lashed out with one back paw, snapping the man's leg ninety degrees, in the wrong direction, against the joint. "Let me give you an example of the sort of thing you need to look out for." The red Gryphon rammed a fisted talon into the left side of the canopy, and reached carefully through the hole, towards the center control console. With a few deft flicks, he spun up the vehicle's left turbine to full idle, filling the hangar with a piercing whine and a stiff breeze. He paused, crossing his forelegs and surveying the chamber as the engine came fully alive. The majority of the space was empty as a result of the city-wide evacuation. Virtually all that remained were two crates of spare parts, a fuel truck, an external APU unit, and some maintenance carts. "Pay attention gentlemen. Because I will offer you mercy once, and only once. I'm prepared to believe that you two don't have a day-to-day hand in the things your organization does. I'm also prepared to believe that you do. Trust me when I say your best interests involve convincing me of the former. So. Where are the rest of your strike-team friends from yesterday?" Fyrenn glanced between the two men as they clutched at their injuries, eyes screwed shut against the pain. The co-pilot worked up enough gall to spit out a whispered answer. "Go to hell you feathered freak." Fyrenn sighed, and shook his head slowly. "That's just not the answer I was looking for. You two obviously need some remedial training. Here's that promised object-lesson in blocked manifolds." Swiftly, and forcefully, Fyrenn snagged the co-pilot by the back of his flight suit, dragging him along the duracrete floor until the pair were within a foot of the spinning prop blade. Fyrenn gestured up to the massive intake ram, and shouted to make himself heard over the din of the engine. "That device is capable of processing more air in five seconds than you breathe in five months! But on an engine this 'small,' it's kind of delicate! Particularly when it ingests hard physical objects of a certain size!" He hefted the man effortlessly, and pressed his flailing legs towards the roaring maw. "Take a closer look!" With a sickening crunch, followed by screams, acrid smoke, and a spine-chilling change in the engine's whine, the co-pilot disappeared feet first, inch by inch, into the intake. Eventually, the overtaxed device succumbed to air starvation, belching forth a short-lived jet of flame, and a large cloud of sulfur-smelling smoke. The onboard computer automatically shut down the turbine as it became too congested with biomatter to function, and the noise level slowly dissipated. Fyrenn turned to the pilot, who had managed to regain a half-standing position by grabbing onto the side of the cockpit. The man was staring at the burning, bloody, smoking results of Fyrenn's impromptu execution with a contorted mask of pure horror. The red Gryphon shrugged, and sighed, speaking once more in a forced cavalier tone. "To be honest, I didn't expect him to say anything. Torture of the physical kind is rarely useful in getting someone to talk. But you want to know what it does really, really well?" Fyrenn stepped calmly to within an inch of the man's face, and gripped both of his shoulders in his claws, squeezing until blood began to soak the flight-suit's shoulder pads. "It makes a statement. And when you're trying to demoralize your enemy, and get them out into the open, making a statement is everything. Basics of asymmetrical warfare. All that being said? My offer stands. You tell me where you were planning to pick up your strike team, and I'll make your death humane. Painless and fast." The man winced, and screwed his eyes shut, but kept silent. Fyrenn sighed, and rolled his eyes. He released one claw, and reached into the cockpit once more, flicking a pair of override switches and depressing the ignition key for the second turbine. The sound of the engine whirring to life seemed to jar the pilot, and he held up both hands, spluttering incoherently. Fyrenn smiled slightly, and released him, allowing him to collapse into a heap on the floor. "Calm down. Use your words please. And keep in mind... I like liars even less than I like loud-mouths." Veritas permitted herself a small sigh of satisfaction as she lowered the DaTab to her desk. She had expected the Changelings to rise to the bait. That outcome was assured by their penchant for xenophobia. But an outcome in which they directly attacked the HLF was admittedly an absolute best case scenario. The Unicorn glanced first down the left side of the table, then down the right, as she spoke. The collection of officers, operatives, and leaders were predominantly Humans, interspersed with a generous number of Ponies and even the occasional Diamond Dog. "This is good news. The more time they waste on each other, the less chance they have to devote resources to combating our cause." Veritas paused, and inclined her head slightly before continuing. The room remained as still, and silent, as the dead petrified forests visible through the immense arced west-facing windows. "I would like those of you with ties to embedded operatives within the Front to ensure those links remain viable. The HLF may still represent a useful propaganda weapon for the generation of anti-Human sentiment. Or at minimum, the erosion of pro-Human sentiment." The purple hued Unicorn tossed her head to the side, and exhaled slowly. "Now. I'd like a report on this month's net Ponification numbers. Full breakdown. Conventional legal instances, Conventional illegal instances, and Forced Conversions. I want to ensure we hit our quotas, particularly given last month's poor Bureau turnout. We don't want to risk falling behind." "AUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHH!" The man collapsed to the pavement, pain exploding across the back of his left leg. Drawing on his training, and instincts, he grabbed frantically for his pistol. Fyrenn's claw met him halfway, batting his wrist effortlessly to the side, and sending the weapon spiraling into the gutter in the process. "I warned you about this you know. As I recall..." Fyrenn paused to yank the man to his feet, pressing him against the wall of his apartment building so hard, that the duracrete tore away part of his suit jacket. Fyrenn idly noted that it was the same make, and color, as the standard suit he had worn when he served in the same capacity. "My exact words were to the tune of; 'If you, or any of your ilk, set foot within a mile of April ever again...' Well, now that your boss has gone and crossed that line, I think it's only fair that I hold up my end of the bargain." The red Gryphon pulled the body guard's right wrist backwards, and slammed it into the wall with enough force to embed the remains of his hand several inches into the material, trapping him firmly in place. As the man screamed incoherently in pain, Fyrenn stepped back, and pulled the sleek, gleaming silver javelin from the strap on his back. "You're going to deliver a message to Councilor Loryss for me." The man glanced up, hissing through his teeth, and managed to at last form audible words. "You're... Not... Going to kill me?" Fyrenn shook his head. "I told you. I'm upholding my promise. That means I'm going to kill you. Violently. Mercilessly. Messily. A message is only effective if it can't be easily ignored. If you want my advice? Hold still. There will be slightly less pain if the blade pierces your heart cleanly." The agent began to scream once more. Loud cries of pain, mixed with shouts for help. Fyrenn ignored the ruckus, concentrating on aligning his shot, and getting a feel for the heft of the javelin. He rolled his eyes, and sighed. "Did I forget to mention that I really, really, hate the screamers?" With a subtle hiss, followed by the distinctive 'THUNK' of steel embedding itself in flesh and duracrete, the sidewalk went completely silent. "I'm only going to ask you this once General. And I expect a good answer." Councilor Loryss paused, and leaned forward, doing her best to fix Hutch with a steely gaze as she posed her question. "Why didn't you comply with your orders?" The General did his best to keep a straight face, subsuming his mild amusement, and burning frustration, in favor of the best neutral expression he could muster. "Would you like the longer answer, or the short and simple one?" Loryss sat back, and steepled her fingers, gesturing expansively to the room. "I didn't bring you all the way here just to find an excuse to use this old office one last time. Make this good, or---" Hutch snorted, rising and folding his arms. "Or what Councilor? Between you and me, off the record... What are you going to do if you don't like my answer? As we've previously discussed, you haven't got one whit's worth of jurisdiction over my command." Councilor Loryss pursed her lips, and raised an eyebrow. "Not everything is about direct jurisdiction Mr. Hutchinson. You and I both know that both war, and politics, are about much more subtle arts." The general snorted, and paced across the space to the ceiling-to-floor window that dominated the eastern side of the office. The Bureau, and several major Manhattan landmarks were all laid out in stunning array beneath the rays of the Equestrian sun. Hutch spoke without turning to face Loryss. "There are three reasons I didn't hand that little girl over. I don't expect you to understand the first two---" The Councilor snorted. the sound was so prim, and laden with connotation, that Hutch had to physically grit his teeth to maintain control as she spoke. "Try me." He shrugged, and rapped on the window experimentally. "Fine. Suit yourself. Reason one; Fyrenn is my friend, and I respect his desire to protect that child. I trust him, and his family, more than anyone else, to see to her needs. And two?" Hutch turned, and smiled slyly. "Well number two; You're a lyin' cheatin' conspirin' bitch. If it weren't for the political mess it'd make, I'd pitch you out this window right now and get better sleep tonight than I have all month. And if you'll 'excuse' me for saying so... Your perfume smells like a dumpster." There was a long pause, during which the General felt an immensely powerful sensation of warm satisfaction rush through his veins, as Loryss steamed from the comfort of her overstuffed puce executive chair. At last, she seemed to get her emotions in check. "Your third reason?" Hutch's face fell, taking on a more serious, hardened aspect. "Reason three? I value my life. The lives of those under my command. And the future of the Human race." Another, albeit considerably shorter pause ensued, before Loryss spoke. "Elaborate." Hutch sedately moved back to the guest chair, leaning against it and folding his hands casually. "How much do you really know about Gryphons Councilor?" Before Loryss could respond, Hutch held up a hand, and continued. "Because I know quite a bit. I work with them very closely, every single day. I took time to understand them. To get to know them. To read their literature, and history too. And let me warn you... You think you have this situation under control? You think you're holding the cards? That you're safe?" Hutch leaned forward, dropping the tone and volume of his voice as he narrowed his eyes. "You are like a child playing with a stick of dynamite, and a box of lit matches." The general paused, inhaled, and pulled back to a casual standing position before continuing. "The last time someone kidnapped Gryphon fledglings, it started a war. In less than a decade that war turned a race with vast political influence, stable culture, and the largest military by-numbers in all of Equestria, into a smoldering ash heap. It was two inches and a sneeze away from total genocide of a species." Hutch held up both hands and shrugged. "Want to know why? Let me enlighten you. Gryphons see justice differently than our courts. To them, anyone who stands by while preventable evil is done, anyone who willingly or through negligence aided those who committed the atrocity, and anyone in a position of authority who fails to disavow the evil actions of a subordinate and act to restore justice? Is directly complicit. Is equally guilty." Hutch raised an eyebrow as he finished the thought. "Is subject to the same punishment." He paused once more, and began pacing. Loryss did not speak, so he continued. "I've seen a lot of things in my time as an officer. And I've learned a little something about how the different species tick. The one thing Humans have, that native Equestrians generally don't, is our drive. To expand. Invent. Challenge ourselves." Hutch folded his arms, and directed his gaze out the window once more. Loryss sat back and sighed, drumming one finger absently on the desk as the General went on. "But they have things that we lack too. That's why they call Conversion a 'cultural-instinctive symbiotic process.' You want to know what the warrior races, Gryphons especially, have that we don't?" Loryss sighed again, and closed her eyes momentarily. "Since I know I can't dissuade you from babbling inanely about it... 'Enlighten' me." Hutch once again took up a position leaning on the back of the guest chair. "They are predators." He locked eyes with Loryss as he continued. "I've worked with thousands, and thousands, of Human trainees, and soldiers. You have to break a Human being, completely, and remake them in a crucible just to get them to fire their weapon *at* an enemy, instead of over his head. Even if you put aside our relatively weak bodies, and in spite of all our fantastic technology... We're 'only' adaptors. Merely soldiers at our best." The General threw up his hands, and once again allowed himself a small grin. "Gryphons? They are warriors by nature, and predators by birthright. Even a ten year old fledgling can, and will, fight viciously, lethally, and with total abandon in defense of its morals, or homeland. A lone adult Gryphon doesn't even need training to have a military effectiveness rating hundreds of thousands of times higher than the most highly trained and well equipped *squad* of unaugmented Human soldiers." Hutch extended a finger, shaking it emphasize every word. "The hunt, the kill? Blood in the sand and the cries of the dying? For them that is a natural state. Politics mean nothing to them but a dirty word for two-bit power hungry thugs. Rules? Laws? They exist, for a Gryphon, to serve morals, and morals alone. When they fail to do that, they become meaningless. Justice? They'll bring down an *empire* at the expense of millions of their own lives, for the sake of justice." The General ran a hand through his hair, and screwed his eyes shut as he conjured difficult images from his memory. "The race that loves the young of any species, and treats them like the most valuable treasure in the world? They mercilessly orphaned thousands of Troll pups, just because the species in question forcefully passes down its beliefs and objectives hereditarily. Because every Troll is potentially a combatant. They orphaned those children, doomed them to difficult lives, without hesitation, because they had one hundred percent ironclad assurance and knowledge that they'd grow up to seek out, and kill Gryphon and Pony young if they matured under the ideals of their forbears." Hutch snorted, and chuckled grimly. "And now? You've pissed off one of the few Gryphons who used to be a Human. Product of symbiosis. He has the best of both worlds, and full military special forces training to boot. He put two of my men in intensive care because they didn't catch on to the situation fast enough. He put a dozen of yours in caskets without even breaking a sweat. And every member of his kind will back him to the hilt, no matter what that entails. He doesn't even have to ask. Because he is fighting for a shared species-level ideal as much as for that little girl." Councilor Loryss echoed Hutch's chuckle. The sound was so fundamentally annoying, that Hutch imagined it was the equivalent of taking a cheese grater to his eardrums. "What are you implying General? That you're afraid of this red feather-bag?" Hutch's face hardened, and he nodded emphatically. "Afraid, Councilor? No. I'm absolutely fucking terrified. If you provoke him, there is no limit, to what he is capable of. None. And if you push it far enough, you risk involving more people on both sides. If you make this into a wider scale issue? You will potentially endanger the stability of this entire planet in the process. You know he has the ear of the Gryphons' King, Queen, and Crown Prince directly, right?" The General gestured to the window, his tone and pace quickening. "You know that they would consider what you're doing to these children an act of war? Right? You have any idea what the simulation numbers say about a war between us, and them? Even the most pacifistic agrarian Equestrian race, the Ponies, are capable of ending us as a goddamn species inside a two year span, if they mobilized fully. And that without any help from the others, facing off against all our technology and assets. You involve the Gryphons? Our military would be non-existent inside two months, the rest of humanity in FIVE. And that's our best-case guess, leaving the Dragons out of it." Loryss tilted her head, and smiled slightly. "For the sake of argument, General, let us assume I know something about these children's... 'Illegal augmentations.' If that's the case, might they not be our government's answer to these statistics?" Hutch shook his head, his mouth falling open in shock. "You don't understand! Technology is not at issue here! No matter what we do, or what we have, we will always be natural-born prey animals. They have the advantage in every single category outside technology, and most of those benchmarks matter far more than which particular model of toy pop-gun we can bring to bear on any given day." Hutch chuckled grimly, groaned, and threw back his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "I've watched UNARMED Gryphons disassemble tank brigades with minimal losses. I've seen a LONE Dragon wipe out an entire naval missile cruiser. I've even heard tell of Pegasi obliterating whole regiments of their enemies just by dropping three-mile-wide tornadoes on them. I am not about to tell my men to stand in Fyrenn's way. They would be no match, and he would not hesitate to squish them like so many tin soda cans under a train." Loryss rolled her eyes, sat back, and steepled her fingers once more. "This is moot, General. The subject in question is a Human child. Not Fyrenn's fledgling." Hutch shook his head, and sighed. "I'm not so sure. Species is irrelevant on this point. Gryphons are vicious and merciless in their defense of those under their care. They've carried out entire campaigns, suffered intense pain and loss, to defend Ponykind. Fyrenn in particular has taken strongly to April, in a personal way. Maybe he doesn't fully grasp it yet, but I think it has a *lot* to do with paternal instinct." The Councilor sighed, and shook her head. "General, I think you're vastly overstating the issues at play here. This is a case of an insubordinate soldier going off halfcocked on a wild wide-eyed chase for a nonexistent conspiracy theory." She rose, and gestured to the door. "If you won't hand over the child, I will have her taken. By force. As it is within my legal right to do. If your men, of any species or rank, stand in the way, mine will have orders to treat them as terrorists. And to pursue with lethal force." Hutch paused at the door, and turned. "You're wrong Councilor. Until, or unless you start to see Fyrenn as a Gryphon, not just a soldier, you won't even have the most basic grasp of the variables at play here. And when your men run afoul of the fate that's coming to them? Mine will have orders not to lift so much as a finger to save them."