Homeworld Conflict

by Lily Lain


Thief

“Fleet Intelligence, give me an overview of the data on our operation in the Griffin Kingdom, and a reassessment of our objectives for that region.”

Six months and twenty-five days have passed since the start of the operation ‘Solar Guide’.

Our psychologists have been sent to work on sufficient propaganda and social engineering to change the behavioural patterns of the Griffin Kingdom’s inhabitants.

Military, religious and political leaders are resocialized and integrated into the loyalist groups that support the griffin king above the word of their leadership council. They also support our anti-war efforts.

Assessment of the Griffin population within and without the Islands is in effect. Birth control in all forms is being administered freely in all social ranks and circles. The amount of recorded births is decreasing steadily.

The most prominent pro-war and rebellious members of the Griffin Council have been assassinated, or convinced to join our cause. The rest has been replaced for the loyalist agents.

There is but one member remaining. He’s been noted as a prominent pro-war supporter of the expansionism, with little to no chance for redemption. He had an important role in the series of decisions that led the Griffins to war with the Equines. He’s been deemed unfit for resocialization.

Following your orders, an assassin is being dispatched to remove him. He will receive the call to action in thirty minutes.

“Very well. Return to analysing the data. Attempt to create more efficient ways of working with the Griffin nation.”

Understood.

“Who’re you onto now?” Ambassador unit’s advisor took a small puff of smoke from his electric cigar. He hadn’t been seen smoking for a long time.
 
“A griffin chancellor by the name of Locke. He didn’t have anything to do with military for quite a while. He isn’t trained. None the less, he might be well guarded. He’s the last. Do you suppose he’d suspect something?” He was probably the only person in the whole Fleet whose uniform wasn’t white and whose equipment didn’t shine like a torch in the darkness. Oh, well, maybe not the only. One of the very few.
 
“I should knock you out for compromising the mission details to me, officer.” Advisor hid his electric cigar in his pocket.
 
“You’ve got the clearance, sir.” The advisor blinked in surprise at that. “As far as I’m aware, in the event of our ground forces losing contact with the Mothership, the Ambassador is to take over. You’ve the clearance for all the possible tasks going on down there.”
 
With each ship being merely an insect under control of Fleet hivemind – Fleet Command, there was no chain of command at all. Every ship simply responded to her orders. “Well enough you’ve learnt. Even if it’s not your specialization. I want to talk to you afterwards. You’re off soon.”
 
The officer saluted, to which the advisor merely nodded, and chased off through the ship. In his run, he was met with stares of respect, sometimes of fear. He’d been the man they had all the right to fear, should he turn against them. He paid them no heed, though, and reached the hangar bay in no time. Within, a Cloaked Fighter awaited to take him on board.
 
The interior was cramped up. Most of the vessel’s space was taken up by the, machines and consoles and the crew had only their seats to fit in. The engineers managed to stuff in another seat for him, but it was far less than comfortable. “See that hole?” One of the pilots pointed at a vent in the ground that wasn’t there in the standard Cloaked Fighters. “We’re throwing you off through that hole.”
 
It was far less than encouraging. “We can’t land?” he asked.
 
“They might spot us. We want to drop you closer. Then we’ll pick you up from somewhere farther on the shores. Or from the sea, if you fancy yourself a fisherman.”
 
Another pilot chimed in, “You know what’s the plan. But keep in mind you’ll be dropped near the beaches, the manor’s a bit farther inland. You drop the guy, then go north, to the beaches. You’ve got five hours until we get to you. Better spend them well.”
 
“Should I activate the beacon here,” the officer poked a small spherical device with a long antenna, “only in case of emergency, right? Or when you’re near?”
 
“Better not click it on at all. We don’t know what these birds can snuff out. Just stand on the beach and wave hands. We’ll pick you up,” said the first pilot.
 
The officer nodded, less than encouraged. The beach they dropped him on was deserted, and hardly any Griffin crossed the skies above. Even in case they did, the cloaking was on. The quiet generator hummed out a magnetic field that made the officer feel strangely elated. He was glad to be off the ship as fast as possible.
 
The field he welcomed like an old friend. Be it the desert sands of his homeworld, or this lush, green forest, he was at home. No twig broke under his swift, light step. No bush snapped its leaves and no bird was startled as he passed by. The further inland, the more patrols he encountered, but none spotted him. Where he misstepped, he’d dart into the thickets. If a Griffin pursued, he’d end up in the bushes, his throat slit with a titanium dagger.
 
Most of the patrols were in flight, and the Griffins had eyes sharper than his daggers. In the dark, their eyes were much blinder, however, and standing watch constantly had made them weary. They knew they could tear a Kushan apart in open combat, should one come their way. They expected the Fleet to come in, guns blazing. How their other leaders fell over the course of these months, they hadn’t been told.
 
The manor was an ornate place of wood and stone. At its door, two marble lions, and a dozen or so guards awaited. Though the main door weren’t what the officer aimed at. He circled the manor, carefully weaving between the two-Griffin patrols, hoping none of the dogs would catch scent of him.
 
A blast lit the night. “Sabotage!” some guard shouted. The officer couldn’t tell who started explosion and lit the fire, but now the forest all around the manor was lit with furious, orange flames. He had no time. He recalled the basic Griffin defence system, and threw a hook on the roof. The guard had stood a moment in the place the hook impacted, but he didn’t notice, not yet.
 
The officer climbed the rope as fast as he could. All around him there were shouts, the barking of dogs, sometimes the discharge of rifles. His time was shorter with each moment. The third story of four-story manor, was his destination. He hoped none would see him in the windows he passed on his climb.
 
The last window was just as unguarded as the rest. Without much thought, he broke the window’s lock with the hilt of his dagger and opened the window itself. The manor wasn’t as unsafe as he thought, though. Inside, he saw a tiny string just at the base of the window, leading deeper into the hallways.
 
He slipped in carefully. Just as he was inside, he heard a call from out the window. A Griffin guard, the one at the roof, descended, following the rope of his hook. He almost flew into the open window. That killed him. The officer dragged the body into the manor carefully, then unlatched the hook and sheathed it back into his pocket.
 
The body, however, as it fell to the ground, slipped. It nudged the cord. Nothing happened, though, and that meant the cord led to the quarters of the watch on this floor. He took out his dart gun. Its darts were designed to look like anything the Griffins could’ve manufactured, but the poison was beyond their comprehension.
 
The body count should’ve been null. Any bodies found and examined will point very clearly to an assassination. The officer waited quietly behind a corner of the corridor. A far-off music he could barely hear broke the silence, but it didn’t muffle the clawsteps. Not a moment later, four guards fell to the ground in spasms. For his charge, though, he had a different toxin.
 
Darkness reigned in the halls as he passed. There was some erratic music in the background, but to the listener’s credit, it was done with actual instruments. It rose unrest, however, although quiet and far away as of now, it made him thrilled, bloodthirsty, and all the more happy about his task. He had never been truly happy about them, not even for a faintest moment.

The halls were now devoid of life. Portraits of Griffins looked at him from the walls with disapproval; judging, hating him. The door was oiled fantastically, it didn’t make a sound when opened, let alone one that could rise above the music.
 
A Griffin sat at his desk, scribbling on some papers. He dipped the quill in an ink container and sipped from just as black coffee. He didn’t feel the needle between his feathers. It wasn’t designed to be felt.
 
“I hope we don’t need to be making introductions here,” he said to the Griffin and sat comfortably on a nearby armchair.
 
The Griffin shuddered, but to his credit, he turned back slowly and calmly. “To whom do I owe this interruption?” he asked.
 
The officer smiled. “Oh, how polite. Well, I merely wished to inquire, why do you strive so eagerly for war? You see, I’m quite curious as to what has made the Griffin population so hateful throughout these years.”
 
“Thief?” the Griffin asked.
 
The officer yet again smiled calmly. “Assassin.” His smile persisted when he saw the Griffin’s pupils shrink and his paws start shaking.
 
“Have you already…”
 
“Yes.”
 
“I could scream now. They’d know it was an assassination.”
 
“Go on, the walls and the door are muffled,” he lied. “All hail technology.”
The Griffin fell silent for a moment. “But, why?”
 
“Answer my question.”
 
The Griffin cleared his throat for a speech, determined to die a more noble being. “For the interest of the Kingdom, of course. War drives our nation, it ignites passion in hatred, in love. It drives us–”
 
The officer measured him with a stern gaze. “Truthfully. Truth will cost you nothing. Not today.”
 
The Griffin sighed. “The colonies. They allow us to buy lower from them and sell twice as high to Ponies, or the Dragons, or anyone else virtually. And every lord, and there’s sixteen of us, has his own piece of a colony. Some have islands or huge plots of land of their own that allow them to earn five times as much. It’s all calculated.
 
“But it’s not all. War allows us to keep countries in constant fear of us. We are a thing of legends on the battlefield, that’s why other species would rather accept a horrible treaty than be on the other side of the barricade. War is calculated, even when it’s not even present.”
 
“Why Equestria?”
 
“Well, while it isn’t a sure-fire colony material, it wouldn’t hurt to own the Elements of Moon and Sun for ourselves. We could even have the Dragons on their knees. If the Elements worked for us, that is. And not only that, the conflict also allows us to force other countries to remain completely neutral, or side with them. That way Equestria’s colonies take ridiculous measures to remain neutral.”
 
“Like the Saddle Arabians?”
 
“Exactly like the Saddle Arabians. Ridiculous, isn’t it? A country with essentially no water, with controlled population, nothing but desert and some ruins here and there. We’d take them over if the only commodity they had wasn’t sand and dry winds.”
 
“Why Dragons though?”
 
“They...” the Griffin coughed heavily, “they have the knowledge. Answers we’ve taken centuries to obtain and always failed.”
 
“For example?”
 
“The Fifth Island. Where is it? What happened to it? The Dragons are known to distinguish history from myth; it could be a complete overhaul for our faith if the Fifth Island turned out to be true. Let alone the—” the Griffin coughed heartily once again, “the secrets of the Sea-Ponies. Tartarus, the Sea-Dragons.”
 
The officer nodded. “Thank you.” He stood up and headed toward the door. “Make your peace. You have twelve seconds.”
 
He left as quietly as he came, but satisfied with the answers he received. He blamed himself for not taking the recorder, though. There was a Cloaked Fighter waiting for him a few kilometres north through urban and rural terrain, but there was no hurry. The fire had distracted the guards well enough, and the third floor, as called the Griffin custom, had no connection to the floors above and under it. They’d eventually come to check up on the chancellor, but then, it’ll be far too late.
 
The officer was glad when he was back aboard the Cloaked Fighter, and even more glad once he left it for the hangar of the Mothership. There was hardly a stain of blood on his black uniform, and his dagger he cleaned with a handkerchief as he passed. With that, he caught all the gazes of nearby soldiers, and excited murmurs of the recruits. He paid them no heed, though.
 
The advisor caught him on the way. “It seems rather shallow to say, but they do it for money,” the officer told him once they reached a more secluded room. “At least, mostly for money. They want to sell things cheaply to the colonies they’ve taken over. Though, I don’t think it’s just that. There seems to be this deeply-rooted belief in their people that what they’re doing is right.”
 
“No one caught them on it? How long can a jingoistic fervour last?” asked the advisor, tapping at his cigar, but not taking whiffs from it.
 
“A long while, if the whole social system’s based on it, I presume,” said the officer.
 
“You didn’t get anything more out of him, did you?” The advisor measured him with a hopeful gaze.
 
“Not at all, I’m afraid, sir.” The officer nodded in disappointment.
 
“Have you then noticed anything unusual happening around when you struck?” The advisor’s eyes wandered far off now, his mind lost in thought.
 
“A fire started near the manor right when I reached it for reasons I don’t know. Not to mention, I had to take out no more than six guards, and very few were on the floor with the chancellor. None of the dogs had caught smell of me, and only one of the guards saw me when I entered the mansion. It seemed as if something had deliberately worked in my favour there.”
 
The advisor nodded slowly. “All right. You can go. I’ll need time to think it through.”
 
“Of course, sir.” The officer saluted and left the room.