//------------------------------// // Chapter 14 // Story: Hegira: Option Gamma // by Guardian_Gryphon //------------------------------// The next morning Wrenn came down to the customary breakfast table to find Hutch, Skye, and the others waiting for him. He had slept in a few minutes, simply glorying in the comfort of waking up slowly. The media was gone, having been forcibly evicted the night before. Things were more or less ‘normal’ again, but there was still an air of action and muted chaos, likely due to the coming advent of Gryphonization as a full blown program. He found a place between Varan and Skye, and settled in to enjoy the same stuff the Bureau always seemed to serve for a Gryphon breakfast; bread and meat strips. He chalked up ‘diverse food’ as another thing he was looking forward to in Equestria. “Morning everyone.” Skye smirked, “Morning Mr. popular. Glad the circus is over?” “More than you know. What’s on the schedule today?” Kephic spoke up, “You and I are going to get you re-certified for Earth weapons, then maybe we can do some arbalest practice. I brought a couple with me, thought the first convert would want to learn to use a ranged weapon that works on the other side of the barrier.” Wrenn winced, “Last time I tried to use a bow, I nearly shot my instructor in the foot. Granted I was nine, and it was a compound bow strung to an adult shooter's tension...” Skye snickered into her plate of hay cakes. Wrenn glared, “*Hey*. I couldn’t help it. The arrow slipped.” Varan took over, “This evening, I thought I might help you do some obstacle course training.” Wrenn nodded, “Sounds fantastic,” he looked over to Kephic, “already have some gear checked out?” The speckled Gryphon nodded, “The stuff we use when we’re in combat over here. I figured we could fit you for the armor too, and if you do well on the obstacle course tonight, you could do a few rounds in the armor. Start breaking it in.” Wrenn grinned fiercely, “I do love a good new set of armor.” He glanced at Hutch, then at Sildinar, “So... how does this work? I suppose I’m no longer technically an active duty Lieutenant in the military?” Hutch gulped down a mouthful of coffee and leaned forward, “Actually, I got an orders packet this morning with your name on it. They want to ‘reactivate’ you after your ‘retirement’ as an official military liaison to the Gryphon Kingdoms. I’m not supposed to tell you, so you didn’t hear it from me, but they’re also going to pin another bar on you and promote you to Lieutenant Commander sometime this next week.” Wrenn practically beamed, “I suppose, until the end of the month, that makes me the only Gryphon in the Earthgov Military.” He focused on Sildinar, “What about our military? You explained the structure to me during the courses, but how do I fit in?” Gryphons organized their forces into two divisions; Knights and Paladins. Knights made up the army at large, and came with four ranks; Squire, which was an entry level position recruits occupied, Knight Errant which all soldiers occupied for a time, and then either Sagittars, who were primarily archers with secondary training in swords, or Alarians who were primarily trained with swords, and carried lighter bows as backup weapons. Some Alarians were as good with a bow as a sword, and vice versa for talented Sagittars, but the choice of specialization was still technically necessary. A Knight Errant would choose to advance into one of those two classes on promotion. Knights who especially distinguished themselves would be tapped out to become Paladins. Paladins had to take on both intensive leadership training, and train in the opposite class that they had not chosen to initially specialize in. Paladins provided the leadership for the Knights, and within the order there were four ranks; three for various levels of command positions, and the fourth was a position as Champion Paladin for one’s own Kingdom, and a member of the King’s Paladin Council, a position equivalent to *being* a King in a way. This final position was only by election. A Paladin had to be voted in as a potential candidate by his fellow Paladins, with at least four supporters, then they would run for public election to the station itself. Gryphons who had once served the forty year term as Champion Paladin were frequently asked to serve on the Council of Elders for a Kingdom, which wielded nearly as much pull and came with the same level of prestige if not more. Sildinar chewed the piece of bread in his beak, swallowed, and downed a glass of juice before answering Wrenn’s query, “Military service is, as you know, not legally compulsory for us, but is both common and expected to the point of being compulsory from a societal standpoint.” Wrenn interjected, “I want to serve anyway. Military guy, born and raised.” Sildinar nodded, “You have previous distinguished service. Therefore I see no reason to start you in a Squire position. Provisionally you will be a Knight Errant, and then I expect that when we arrive home it will be made official, and you may even be promoted to a specialization immediately, providing you can figure out which track you wish to pursue by then.” Sildinar’s position was a Paladin, first order; they were second only to the Champion in their own Kingdom. Kephic and Varan both held third order positions, which entitled them each to command seventy Knights, if they so desired. Wrenn smiled, “Well then, let’s get to it. I haven’t shot anything since the Conversion, and my trigger talon is getting itchy.” The ConSec firing range at the Bureau was well designed, and fully equipped, but it was simply too short for practicing the kind of ranged shooting a Gryphon was capable of. The Fort Hamilton Military base in Brooklyn, however, had the third largest indoor shooting range in the world, with simulated wind conditions, variable terrain, and automated moving drone targets. The range had been built into an unneeded section of the storage warehouse system, so the longest downrange line of sight distance was three miles. No human soldier ever shot that distance without a high powered computer aided scope, a rail rifle, and spotter with a dedicated LADAR rangefinder. Even then, the accuracy for a three mile shot, in normal conditions against a moving target, with the best teams, was one kill per fifteen attempts when using standard rail slug munitions. If Wrenn could have trusted himself to know how to use his wings, he and Kephic could have simply flown to the range, but since he was still a ‘newfledge,’ as the media had taken to calling it, they had to take mass transit. The two Gryphons stepped out onto the empty front steps of the Bureau. Kephic let Wrenn have a moment to take it all in again. It was early in the morning, so the sky was still a dark dusky gray, the clouds tinged with amber from the city lights below. The horizon peeked through between the buildings of the city, a brighter shade of sickly teal that confirmed the sun was still shining, somewhere up there. Kephic stared at the thin line of lighter sky, “Were you born yet when it happened?” Wrenn looked over at him, “What, the burning of the sky? No that was a few years before I was born.” Kephic said something under his breath that sounded like an expletive, “I can’t even begin to imagine being born into this world. Its like perpetually living under the beginnings of a summer storm that just won’t break. But worse, it’s all wrong. Sickly.” He turned to Wrenn, “Stay outside long enough and you’ll begin to sense it too.” Wrenn shrugged, “It wouldn’t surprise me. I’m not a scientist, but I read a couple books on what happened. The experiment fundamentally wrecked the molecular composition of the atmosphere. We’re lucky to even still be breathing.” The two took in the vista in silence for a few moments. An icy breeze ruffled their feathers, giving them a windswept look. The temperatures for most of the planet ranged from lows of thirty eight to highs of fifty three, year round, regardless of location, except for the arctic regions, which were colder than ever. Wrenn finally broke the silence, “We should go. We can take the ‘lev because its a long haul, but the Brooklyn station gets crowded after nine...” Kephic nodded and the two set off across the street. Wrenn hadn’t been to the Bureau's maglev station yet, thanks to the attempted train heist that had gotten him into everything in the first place. The station had been set up around the same time as the Bureau in order to service the increased traffic to the area. There was no one else on the platform at such an early hour, the area wasn’t home to much in the way of residential zoning, so most of the pedestrians using the station in the morning would be disembarking to work at the Bureau or some nearby business. As the train approached, Wrenn realized he could hear it coming much earlier than before, and the memories of that fateful day came back in full force. As they waited for the exiting commuters to clear the doors, Wrenn glanced at Kephic, “Thanks again. For saving my hide. You know, the last time we were on one of these death traps.” Kephic chuckled, “I only did half the saving. Your thick skull did the rest.” The two Gryphons would have taken up too much seating space on the train, despite the sparse number of passengers, so they opted to stand near the doors on the inbound side, which wouldn’t need to open until the train reached the end of the line and swapped tracks. Maglevs presented the illusion of silent operation to their passengers, but with his new ears Wrenn could detect a subtle whirr accompanying the operation of various components. He could also listen in to most of the quiet conversations taking place in the compartment. Most of the passengers had ceased their usual morning activity, and were instead staring at him and Kephic, discussing them in whispered tones. A few were simply observing silently, most because they had no travelling companions, but one which stood out to Wrenn, because he was simply slack jawed. The passenger in question was a young boy, no older than ten or eleven, and he was paying rapt attention to Wrenn’s every move. The boy was obviously on his way to school, as evidenced by a rather trim uniform with the school crest, a backpack, and the distinct absence of a parent or guardian. Wrenn smiled and waved ever so slightly with his right foreclaw. That seemed to make the kid’s day, even if it did also seem to scare him a bit. Kephic watched with interest, “Ever think about having a family?” Wrenn shook his head, “Nohohoooo... absolutely not going there.” Kephic cocked his head, “The idea of children scares you?” “No. The idea of a mate scares me. The idea of caring for a child, not nearly so much. I doubt I’m ready for it, but that won’t be the case forever.” The black and white Gryphon continued to hold his confused expression, “Why does it scare you? Having a mate?” Wrenn turned to stare out the window at the scenery rushing by. Before, it would have been a shapeless blur of color in the foreground punctuated by blue jaggies in the background. Now the world was clear and sharp, despite the speed with which he was travelling. “I’ve seen people do things in the name of ‘love’ that changed my conception of it. I’ve watched unhealthy infatuation take over a mind I thought I understood, and twist it into a horrifying, disgusting, parody of itself. I’m not willing to take the same chance with my own sanity.” Kephic smiled and clapped a claw to Wrenn’s shoulder. The force of it felt normal against his new shoulder blades. “I’ve been here on your world for a little over a year, and I’ve seen plenty of humans make it through building a relationship successfully. And if that doesn’t convince you, don’t forget, you’re part of our kind now, and we don’t even work the same way mentally. Its not *possible* for you to...” he punctuated the human phrase with air quotes, “ ‘go off the deep end’ like that.” Wrenn shrugged, “Maybe... but I don’t intend to test that theory.” The next two minutes passed in relative silence. The train arrived at the station for Fort Hamilton, and Wrenn noticed that the young boy exited the train behind them. He stopped and turned to see the boy frozen, trying to maintain a safe distance. Wrenn beckoned, “We don’t bite. Not you anyways.” The boy hesitantly took up a position between Wrenn and Kephic, and the three walked out of the station. “What’s your name?” The boy looked as though he was gaining a bit of traction, “Conner. What’s yours?” “I’m Isaac.” Wrenn gestured to his friend, “He’s Kephic.” Conner found his courage, all at once, “I saw you on TV you know. I wanna apply at the end of the semester. Be like you. But I don’t know if my parents... I haven’t said anything...” Wrenn glanced down in surprise, it took him a moment to collect himself, “Well. Better to ask now than let the question fester. If they say no, then what? All you have to do is be patient.” Conner slouched, “Eight years? Really? that's FOR-E-VER....” Kephic chuckled, “To you maybe. You might appreciate the extra time to see your world. You will be part of the last generation to be raised here. You should see everything you can. Take it in, so you can pass it on one day.” The boy’s expression made it clear that he had never considered it that way before. The trio approached a crosswalk. Conner made to go right, Wrenn and Kephic were headed straight ahead to the Fort. The sidewalks were beginning to fill up as New York got its morning momentum up to speed. Conner smiled, “It was *awesome* to meet you guys. Never in a million years... no one is gonna believe this....” Wrenn shrugged, “You could always take a picture.” The boy dug, eagerly, into his pocket and produced a DaTab. Wrenn passed it to Kephic, and moved to stand next to the nearest building. Conner bounded up and stood beside him. He splayed out one wing behind him to form a sort of backdrop. Kephic seemed to know the workings of the DaTab well enough, and, standing on two legs, he raised it high, “Say... well.. whatever that ridiculous human picture taking phrase is.” The device made a warbling sound, followed by a short sharp chirp. Kephic lowered his foreclaws, and passed the DaTab back to an elated Conner. “Thanks!” He darted off with youthful enthusiasm, clutching the object as if it was his most valued possession. Kephic snorted in amusement, “Some things are just universal.” Wrenn nodded, “Yeah. Especially to the young.” After checking in and the front gate, Wrenn and Kephic descended in a secure elevator to the Fort’s armory. Wrenn had been in many a similar installation before, and was able to find the room they needed once Kephic had yielded, begrudgingly, the number. Wrenn guessed that his friend didn’t want to admit that his sense of direction wasn’t as good underground. Clearly Kephic hadn’t yet had sufficient cause to learn the standard military numbering system in use for ships and buildings. The chamber was a small storage room, with a long, low worktable for stripping down weapons, and some wall racks that were mostly empty. On the floor lay two large gray crates. They were thickly ribbed, with electronic locks, and the Earthgov Military emblem stamped on the top in white. The side bore a six digit number, and the symbol for the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Kephic hoisted one crate to the table, and began to key in his authorization code, while beckoning for Wrenn to do the same. Wrenn used his usual military access code, not knowing what else to do, and the lock accepted it. He popped off the lid, laid it against the wall, and peered inside. “Oh ho ho yes. It’s Christmas again and nobody told me.” Kephic smirked, “Connoisseur of weapons and armor are you?” Wrenn stared at the contents of the crate and whistled, “Well I sure don’t collect stamps if that’s what you mean. Good grief, this thing is immense...” He reached in and pulled out a matte toned gunmetal gray rifle. He recognized RAC design elements in it, but it would have taken a tripod for a human to operate it properly. The kick alone was likely enough to break half the bones in a soldier’s body if the stock as was actually pressed to the shoulder. The gun was, however, properly sized as a carbine for a Gryphon. Kephic gestured at it, “They call it a RAC-8 DX, The stock has been adapted for us. It has about thirty five percent more force behind the rounds than a RAC-7. More range, more armor piercing, and more round capacity in the clip. I’m going to miss these when we go home.” Wrenn popped open the stock of the weapon, grabbed the magnetic safety lock from the crate, and rammed it home. With one claw he snapped the weapon shut again, with the other he shoved a clip into place and pulled back the action. “Seems familiar enough.” Kephic nodded, “It might take some getting used to in terms of firing it correctly.” Wrenn leaned over the crate again and began removing large silvery plates, “So this has been sized for me?” Kephic nodded, “You were holo-imaged a few thousand times for the newscasts, it was easy to pull some measurements from that. It’s not exactly family armor, but it has its advantages.” Gryphons tended to pass down family armor and weapons. Wrenn wondered what that meant for him, seeing as how he had no living family, certainly not any with Gryphon armor and weapons to bequeath. Kephic began putting on his own armor, “It’s a Gryphon design, milled up here on Earth. High quality nano-carbon reinforced titanium with an energy diffusion matrix. You might as well try it on. If you want to learn to fight in it, you’d best get it broken in.” Wrenn started to pull out pieces he could recognize, and attach them in the most logical way. He had never done it before, but it made sense, in the same way as putting on a shirt would for a human. It helped that he knew the general principles of military armor inside and out. There were a few complex items that needed explanation from Kephic, but in the end Wrenn managed to put all his armor on more or less by himself. The set was somewhere between light and medium armor. It left some weak points open, but Wrenn was sure that the flexibility that left him made up for the vulnerabilities when combined with his speed and reflexes. The burnished surface contrasted nicely with his red feathers. Kephic gave him an appraising look, “Good. Keep tightening it down if you feel any loose spots. I probably don’t have to tell you that though, you maintained your own set of armor for years.” Wrenn shifted and took a few experimental steps. The armor appeared, from the exterior, to be made up entirely of solid metal, but underneath there was some kind of synthetic leather knockoff to keep the bare titanium from chafing against feathers and fur. The material had good traction without pulling or pinching. Wrenn extended a wing to look at the armor plate protecting the joint. It had a deadly looking reinforced bulge on the leading edge, designed to allow him to hit someone with the full power of his wing muscles without endangering the underlying bones. “How do I look?” Kephic smiled, “Intimidating. Like a Knight who’s been at it for a few years. Its in the way you carry your shoulders.” The final object in the crate was a plain, but serviceable looking sword. Wrenn knew, from watching, that the other Gryphons’ swords were unique, part of their family inheritance. They apparently took them everywhere with them, on both sides of the barrier. What he was being given was little more than a shard of metal. He knew that. But it was still a significant step. Swords hadn’t been used in any human military for centuries. He was taking hold of a weapon that was considered obsolete, but that he now had the power to make as deadly as any human gun. The backplate of the armor came with a scabbard. Wrenn tucked the sword away, finding it easy to reach, and well secured between his wings. The weapon was simply too long to hang at his side. Wrenn shook himself, slightly, to make sure everything was properly seated, and picked up the RAC-8. “Shall we?” Wrenn’s first few shots missed by a fair margin. But once he had the feel of the gun, and more importantly the feel of the gun in his new claws, he started making every single shot. Even when the targets started moving, he had a flawless kill streak, and the time it took him to sight targets began to decrease to almost nothing. If he needed extra time to get a good fix on a target, he simply thought and acted at an accelerated pace, as necessary. Wrenn’s new reflexes surprised even him, and he had seen Varan fight, so he had been preparing himself for the effects of a faster nervous system since he took the serum. He could also see how his eyes would be useful for more than their acuity and speed. He could pick out the most microscopic of details on even the farthest drones. That wasn’t especially useful on a target range, but on a real battlefield it would let him identify the enemy’s armor and weapons long before the enemy could see him. The range was an immense space. The ‘sky’ overhead was a concrete vaulted ceiling. The ‘floor’ was an eclectic mixture of fake terrains, made up of a rough short plastic grass like substance, rock, and sand, arranged into hills, gullies, and flat spots. The left and right walls contained protected galleries from which snipers could shoot at targets that lay further downrange without putting themselves in the line of fire coming from snipers at the main firing end of the chamber. The drones that comprised the targets were actually created by a sophisticated holographic simulation system. Wrenn could even pick out the millions of evenly spaced projection diodes in the roof. Once Kephic was reasonably sure Wrenn had the feel for using firearms again, they moved on to a pair of rail-snipes that had been set up for them. The long, menacing looking black weapons were setup with a view downrange, positioned so that they had the maximum distance possible in their line of fire. To the left and right, Earthgov Military Special Forces sniper teams were practicing with their own similar weapons; aiming for drones, both moving and stationary, that were in the one mile range. Every so often a loud report would ring out, usually accompanied by a tiny pinging sound as the round struck and shredded a distant target. The holographic ‘deaths’ of the vaguely humanoid robots were fairly realistic, including simulated shrapnel and coolant fluid, that faded after a few moments along with the ‘corpse.’ Kephic lay down on his chest in front of the rifle on the right, “We can start stationary. If you manage to get a feel for the weapon, we can try from a standing position as well. Just shoot at the farthest target you think you can hit, and work out from there.” Wrenn adopted a similar position on his chest in front of the left rifle. He had worked with the lighter infantry version of a rail-snipe before, and he could recall the weapon’s basic operation. As a human, lying on his chest for long period had been somewhat uncomfortable, a factor that affected all snipers. As a Gryphon, with a somewhat more felinoid skeleton, the position was much more tenable in the long term. He glanced over at Kephic, who was mumbling invectives as he fiddled with his rail-snipe. Wrenn cocked his head, “Problem?” “I’ve been practicing here for a while now, and I keep telling the requisitions officer; *remove* the blasted scope.” Wrenn did a double take, “What... you want us to use these with iron sights?” Kephic raised an eyebrow, turned back to his weapon, and simply smacked the scope with enough force to break the mounting clip. He gingerly picked the shards of fracture plastic out of the sights as he answered, “The maximum magnification on one of these scopes is 44 times normal. Our eyes can do well over ten times that on a bad day, with no detail loss. So which would you rather use?” Wrenn deftly unsnapped his scope, the proper way, and laid it to rest on the faux grass beside him. The substance reminded him of the green on a golf course, but rougher, like plastic. Kephic glared, “Showoff.” Wrenn smirked, and gazed downrange through the iron sights. He concentrated on the back wall of the three mile long space. Now that he was looking at it, it made perfect sense that his eyes would be superior to a rifle scope. He could easily pick out, magnify, and analyze the target drones at maximum distance. Most were set up to be shot at from side galleries that were much closer to them. Wrenn was about to load his rifle, when he became aware of movement nearby. He wasn’t sure if it was hearing alone, or some other sixth sense, but he could tell that three of the two-man sniper teams were making a beeline for him and Kephic. He waited until the six Special Forces operatives were close enough to hear him, “Greetings. Target practice getting dull?” The sergeant in charge, a tall burly man who looked to Wrenn like he was in his fifties, laughed and smacked one of his soldiers on the arm, “You owe me twelve. I bet they had us pegged from five minutes ago.” Kephic looked up and grinned wolfishly, “Ten.” The sergeant chuckled, “We just wanted to see if you two were for real. There’s a lot of stuff going around in the media about your combat skills. Some of us are betting its hyperbole.” Wrenn glanced up from loading a cartridge with long, slender, heavy tungsten-steel-carbide armor piercing rounds, “Hyperbole? It’s probably an underestimation.” Kephic snapped his safety back to the ‘armed’ position, “I tell you what, our Knights love a good friendly competition, and I’d guess your soldiers are the same. Lay out your score keeping device, and we’ll play a few rounds with these drones. I’m willing to bet you that our combined score...” here he gestured at Wrenn, “...Will beat the combined score for each of you added together. As individuals, not teams.” It seemed preposterous, even to Wrenn. Their opponents were trained hard to be the best shots in the world. They spent more time target shooting than Wrenn figured he had probably spent eating or sleeping in his entire life. And to top that, usually snipers were scored as teams. If you added their individual scores, instead of averaging them, even when they were working as a team, the final number would go up considerably. It was already a six versus two competition. Three to one odds. And Wrenn hadn’t used a rail-snipe in years. Before he could object the sergeant nodded, “Loser buys everyone lunch?’ Kephic cycled a cartridge into his rifle, “Deal.” By the time the three teams finished setting up, most of the soldiers in the range had heard about the impromptu contest, ceased their practice, and taken up spectator positions. The scorekeeping device, a silver disc that sat on the grass and projected a holographic scorecard based on data from the range’s sophisticated hit/miss sensors, lay between Wrenn and the sniper teams on his left. Kephic lay to his right. The rules had been agreed upon beforehand; Each Gryphon, or team, would get seven shots. The number of shots in a medium rail-snipe clip. They would go in sequence, seven times, starting with the first sniper team, and ending with Kephic. They had as long as they needed to make the shot, but the amount of time taken would factor into the score along with range, and where on the target the round impacted. The rangemaster had agreed to act as referee. He stood at the end of the line beside the first sniper team, with a whistle in his mouth. His diminutive stature was compensated for with his booming authoritative, classic drill sergeant voice. He reminded Wrenn of his first instructor in basic. Each team signaled its readiness, ending with nods from both Wrenn and Kephic. The first duo lost no time in preparing their shot. The spotter quietly called out the range as a series of numbers, while the shooter made quick adjustments to his scope using thumb controls on the side of the weapon. Within twenty seconds, a shot rang out, followed by the telltale faint ping, and a warble from the scorekeeping device as the first team’s kill was recorded. The sequence repeated itself twice more. Wrenn knew enough about sniping to know that the teams were picking medium difficulty targets, as a way to cement their partnership and get ‘in the zone,’ as they liked to call it. Finally, after a solid minute, it was Wrenn’s turn. He inhaled, and did his best to bring time to a standstill, or as close as it would go. He browsed the selection of targets, and decided on a drone that he judged to be a mile and a half distant. No sense in pushing his luck on the very first shot with a new weapon. The range was designed to simulate real conditions, so there was a light cross breeze. Some primal part of Wrenn’s Gryphon brain knew how to handle that, as well as the inherent pull on the round from gravity, the kick from the weapon, the slight downshift from exhaling on firing, and the compensating pull-back from the action of working the trigger. Most of that information crossed Wrenn’s mind as sensation, rather than raw numerically translatable data. But he understood it, as surely as he understood flavor, or smell, or sound. The only concerning factor was the weapon itself. He replayed the earlier shots in his mind, and decided he could handle the kick, despite not having felt it himself. He sighted the target down the barrel, it was a mover, unlike the team’s targets so far, and thus it was worth more. As time began to snap back, he judged its movement, and began to pivot the weapon ever so slightly on its tripod. He exhaled, and his perception of time returned to normal. He spent a tenth of a second verifying that everything was lined up, and squeezed the trigger hard. There was a pause as the round traveled the extraordinary distance. He could actually see most of the rounds as they traversed the space, his mind and eyes were simply fast enough to process that kind of information. The silver pointed cylinder tore through the chosen drone, right in one of its superfluous glowing eye sockets. The entire head shredded spectacularly. Kephic moved to take his shot, as if nothing special had just transpired, but Wrenn could feel the eyes of every spectator on him. From the whispers his ears could pick up, he knew they were more than a little impressed. Kephic’s shot came within two seconds of his own, and struck one of the three mile drones directly in what might have been its jugular. That further compounded the shock the human troops were feeling, and it took the sniper team at the head of the line a few moments to process what had just happened. The range-master's voice rang out, “Clocks ‘a tickin’ folks!” The words sent the soldiers into overdrive. Wrenn realized that Kephic’s bet had not been crazy at all. If anything, the Special Forces sergeant had been a fool to take him up on it. Wrenn’s first shot had been modest compared to Kephic’s and it had been worth more than the score of the first two teams combined. By the time it was his turn again, Wrenn had selected his next target, and observed its movement patterns thoroughly. He was going to try for a three mile shot, like Kephic’s. Again, his brain kicked into overdrive, taking less than a second to instinctually analyze the variables and plot the potential outcomes. He sighted down the barrel, the distance seeming to compress as his eye produced a telescopic effect on command. He squeezed the trigger, and was rewarded a few seconds later with the sight of the chosen drone’s chest exploding into a million pieces. He had chosen the chest, as a way of testing his accuracy. If he managed to hit the Earthgov Military logo dead center, then he would be confident he had the aim to hit an eye, or a a throat. If not, he could keep going for chest shots. He replayed the moment in his mind. His round had punctured the logo clean through its exact center. Wrenn was surprised, so the snipers must have been outright flattened. The first team did not repeat their earlier mistake, they launched into a much more complex shot, trying for a two mile drone at the max theoretical limit for a rail-snipe team to make a good kill shot. From Wrenn’s calculations, they had been aiming for the drone’s head, but instead the round pierced its shoulder. After that, the contest was easy, and the conclusion foregone. The teams did their best to hit targets at the maximum range they thought they could handle, hoping their combined scores as individuals would counterbalance the fact that Wrenn and Kephic spent the remaining rounds getting eye-shots on three mile distant moving targets. As Kephic discharged his last round, Wrenn finally allowed himself to look at the score-card. He did some quick math, and grinned. His score, combined with Kephic’s was over ten times higher than the combined scores of the teams. As for the individual scores, he was less assured. The range-master collected the score device, as everyone stood. The sniper teams stretched to ease out small cramps. Wrenn and Kephic had suffered no such discomforts. A few seconds later, the range-master whistled, and held up the score keeping device for all to see. He shouted, “The Gryphons, individually, beat the combined individual scores of these six snipers individually, by a factor of three. Each on their own. Combined, there’s no question about it.” The sergeant ambled over and shook Wrenn’s claw, then Kephic’s, he grinned sheepishly, “Well. I guess we know who buys lunch. And I guess I know what I’m doing when it comes time for *my* Conversion.”