Chapter Seven - Nerve-Wracking Negotiations
Starbrought
Slayer absentmindedly tapped a finger against his knee as he waited. The Zebra council had asked the bounty hunter to leave their tent so that they could discuss him in private, and so he waited a short distance away, sitting on a stone bench. Shamon had been delegated to watch over Slayer and make sure that nothing went wrong, and was propped against the wall closest to the bench.
For a time, Shamon had tried to establish some small-talk with the metal-clad warrior. But each attempt was shot down by brooding silence. Eventually, Shamon stopped trying a conversation altogether, and began busying himself with watching lazy sand particles drift through the desert air.
“What is taking your Elders so long?”
The response was accompanied by a shrug. “I am not sure. They are probably just weighing whether you are a threat or not, Mr. Slayer.”
A grunt left the hitman. “Just ‘Slayer’ will be fine, Shamon.” Idly, Slayer went to scratch his chin, before he realized he was wearing a face-mask and growled. Sometimes, the Suit really got in the way for him. Standing up abruptly, Slayer addressed his escort. “I don’t exactly appreciate being treated like a criminal, you know.”
‘Even though I damn well am one,’ Slayer quipped to himself with a snark in the back of his skull.
His Zebra acquaintance was quick to placate. “You must understand; these are tough times to just blindly trust. The Elders are just ensuring amongst themselves that they can trust you.” Shamon shook his head, causing his long locks to wave in the wind. “It is nothing personal towards you. I assure it.”
The words caused Slayer to quietly examine the equine. “...Do you trust me?”
Shamon remained silent, his brow furrowed as he processed the question. Neither said anything for awhile. “I... I believe I do. You had saved both my life, as well as that of my kin’s at the risk of your own. You asked for no reward, and had no hidden intention. So, yes; I trust you.”
The gentle smile offered to Slayer forced his brain to fully absorb what was said. ‘How wrong this little Zebra is. Had I more foresight, I would have ransomed you back to your people for a significant profit and for Drake.’
The soldier’s face tightened. ‘Knowing that he trusts me, and that his people may have nothing to do with Drake’s disappearance, though... I’m not entirely sure if I could still.’
Before either party could say anything further on the matter, another Zebra approached. He gave a nod of respect towards Shamon, but coldly addressed Slayer. “The Elders are ready to speak with you again, Interloper.”
Slayer snorted behind his visor; whether the name was said out of ignorance or arrogance was unknown. ‘Doesn't really matter, I guess,’ Slayer considered as he was once again sat down in the tent.
The crescent of senior Zebras appeared the same as before to Slayer. The only notable difference was that they all seemed more... on-edge. Strained, somehow. As if it was taking their entire wealth of willpower to remain sitting, and composed.
Slayer gave a predatory grin. This could be very advantageous.
“Could you please inform us as to why you are in our country?” Elder Imamu’s voice wasn’t necessarily terse, but the easy-going undertone prior to Slayer’s little presentation was gone. Slayer’s eyes squinted in contemplation. The truth was a powerful thing, and left little room to work with if they didn’t like it. Then again, lying dug a very big hole to climb out of. If discovered.
The assassin shrugged. “I happened to crash-land my ship in your desert. Pure coincidence, actually.” It wasn’t exactly a lie as it was a denial of the full truth. A half-truth, if you would. Slayer mused that perhaps all of his answers would have to follow a similar format.
Imamu gave a nod. “What is your species, if you could elaborate?”
“It’s not very important, to be honest.” Slayer rolled the glass orb from his experiment around his palm casually. For some reason, he decided to keep it around instead of just throwing it away. “All that is important is that my species was having a war. Me and my crew-mates wanted nothing to do with it. So we fled. And we crashed.”
“Your crew-mates?” Imamu tilted his head in confusion. “I see no one with you. Where are they?”
“That’s what I want to find out.” Straightening his back, Slayer spoke with a bit more authority in his tone. The other Elders, no doubt still shaken by Slayer’s demonstration earlier, tensed their muscles by an almost incalculable amount. “When I came to, my pilot was missing, and my engineer unconscious. Through some investigation and logical follow-through, I discovered some hoof-prints in the sand next to my ship.”
The Elders cumulatively squinted. Slayer didn’t have to fully voice his accusation. “Are you implying that you believe that we had something to do with your pilot’s disappearance?”
Another shrug. “Not precisely. But to my current knowledge, you are the only present sentient race here that has hooves.” While the sadistic grin wasn’t prevalent to the Zebras, the sensation carried itself through his words. “And I intend to exact significant revenge on whoever kidnapped my pilot.”
Imamu flicked questioning eyes towards Shamon, who stood behind Slayer once again watching the spectacle known as negotiations play out. Shamon met the Elder’s gaze with a shake of his head. Imamu looked relieved. “When did you crash-land, you say?”
“I didn’t.” Slayer retorted, watching the sapient equines’ unease with a vague hint of relish. It really was too easy. “It was some days ago, though. I do recall a meteor shower occurring as we crashed. In fact, that was the sole reason why we did.”
An intake of breath sounded out within the tent behind Slayer. “The Night of the Falling Skies...”
A curious brow rose behind Slayer’s visor. “The Night of the Falling Skies? Elaborate.”
“It’s a rare event that happens once every one-thousand years,” Shamon’s explanation floated in the silent tent. “Princess Luna from the lands of Equestria would pull meteors from the stars and unleash a shower to commemorate the loss of her oldest friend. Who that friend is, no one knows.”
A light, thoughtful sound left the assassin. “Who is this ‘Princess Luna’, exactly?”
Shamon tapped his hoof on the ground softly in thought. He was having some difficulty considering how to explain it to an interplanetary foreigner. “Princess Luna is an Alicorn. One of the co-rulers of Equestria, the kingdom of the Ponies. They had sent an envoy to convene with me some time ago to establish trade with my kin.”
Slayer’s back stiffened. ‘Ponies? Those are prepubescent horses. Horses have hooves. Zebras talked to a Pony escort a few days ago. We crashed a few days ago. And if the Zebras know nothing about Drake? Wait a fucking tic...’
The sudden shift of Slayer’s head to fully address Shamon caused the Elders to flinch unnoticed. They were no doubt thankful for this fact as Slayer spoke. “When exactly did you meet with these Ponies?”
“I believe it was a day before The Night of the Falling Skies had occurred. Why?”
The assassin nodded to himself. He had a hunch. A very strong one. Looking back towards the Elders, Slayer began speaking in a resolute tone. “I believe the... Equestrians, are responsible for my pilot’s disappearance. If they’re a convoy, then they no doubt stumbled upon my ship and extracted my pilot to bring him back with them.”
One of the nameless Elders spoke out. “How are you so sure that they are responsible?”
Ice entered Slayer’s voice. “Because if they didn’t, and if no other sapient races with hooves are available to blame, that means your kin is to be held accountable for my pilot’s current hostage state. And that isn’t good for you.”
Imamu bristled. The two guards that had quietly entered the tent after Slayer’s experiment drew stout staffs in defense. Slayer almost lazily glanced behind him for a moment, before returning his attention to the front. “Threatening us in our own city is hardly a wise move, Interloper.”
In a harsh blitz of speed, Slayer stood up and drew one of his Sabres. Without mercy he leveled the pistol and aimed it at a now-frightened Imamu. Slayer’s patience, and Drake’s time, were both running short. Things had to be moved along. “Getting in the way of me getting off this planet is hardly a wise move, beast.”
A few moments passed in tense silence. The guards were like springs, coiled and ready to incapacitate Slayer the very instant one of the Elders commanded it. “This is how it’s going to work." Slayer began. His voice was like silk. "In return for me protecting your caravan, I demand passage to Equestria. If you will not give me said passage,” Slayer made a move to click his Sabre to Kill, “I will simply start shooting until someone will.”
Shamon stood to the sidelines of this. And he was hardly believing his eyes. Elder Imamu, one of the most respected tribal leaders of Nazar--and by extension, the entire Zebra race--had just been threatened with his life by some unknown being from the sky clad in crimson armour and fire-projecting weapons.
Imamu’s fright had been suppressed with defiance. Slayer had to admit; the equines’ inability to submit to violent coercion was something to be admired. “Do you even realize who you’re threatening, Interloper? If you were to kill me, you would have to face hundreds of warriors in order to leave these city walls.”
“I, frankly, do not care.” Slayer rolled his free wrist to loosen it. “I will do what I have to in order to get my pilot back, and get off this forsaken rock.” A flexing of his hand unleashed several quiet pops as he held the sphere. Slayer’s tone made his words not threats, but simple facts. “Besides, are you willing to sacrifice hundreds of your people for a dozen of some other people?”
The Elder seemed mostly unperturbed, save for a small twitch. The other guards, meanwhile, couldn’t suppress their audible gulps in time. “You underestimate the strength of our kin.”
“You underestimate my resolve.”
Imamu flinched fully this time. Clearly, Slayer’s unwillingness to yield to the potential of being overwhelmed by sheer numbers was unexpected and astounding to the Elder. In all honesty, Slayer was pulling a major bluff. He knew that it would only take a small mob to win out over his arsenal, and he would quickly be systematically eliminated by sheer numbers alone.
In hindsight, Slayer considered that going this route wasn’t necessarily the best one. Actually, it was one of the worst possible situations he could have placed himself in. But he didn’t have another option; amiable negotiations were infamous for being overly tedious, and underwhelmingly successful. Slayer had to introduce some... incentive.
Otherwise, Drake’s life could be compromised, and Slayer would be shit outta luck, all because he tried to be Mr. Nice Guy and attempted to handle things like a politician or a bureaucrat would. Slayer didn’t enjoy wasting time when there were things to do, and this was one of those instances.
Imamu glanced towards the other Elders, who showed no signs of getting in the way of the Sabre Shot pointed in their general direction. With a shaky sigh, he spoke. “Fine... I will get you your transport.” He dejectedly looked over towards Shamon. “It seems your convoy will remain on course, Bwana Shamon. One passenger extra.”
Slayer blinked. The word hadn’t been translated. It must of been a local term exclusive to the Zebra culture. Using some logical analysis, Slayer simply concluded that the foreign syntax was a rank of sorts. ‘Strange that Shamon was not referred to this sooner... or that it was never mentioned at all during their initial greeting,’ Slayer pondered. ‘And apparently Shamon was riding towards Equestria before the dog-creatures attacked? This is too convenient for my liking...’
Meanwhile, Shamon’s mind was a whirlwind. Out of everything he had been expecting the space-born warrior to do, threatening the Elder council with their lives was hardly one of them. Perhaps he had been wrong; Slayer might had saved him and his kin purely for leverage later on. The thought depressed the leader of the Zebra nation. He had been hoping that this Slayer character would be a paragon of sorts to break the spine of the Diamond Dogs’ war effort against the Zebras.
Obviously, Slayer seemed to be anything but that.
“As you wish, Elder.”
Imamu turned back towards Slayer, an unreadable expression on his face as the assassin had finally holstered his weapon. The Zebra guards likewise shouldered their staves, though more begrudging than Slayer did. “You may leave whenever you like, Interloper.” The wrinkles on the aged muzzle seemed to deepen with sadness. “Please do not hurry coming back. You are no longer welcome amongst our kin.”
In another scenario, Slayer might have felt more remorse for what he had done. The Elders were senior citizens, and civilians on top of that. Threatening them to further goals was pathetic, and was overall a sign of an atrocious lack of honour on his part, which meant a lot to the warrior. But this scenario involved the potential death to the only competent twat who could fly the Ethereal.
So honour had to be sacrificed for survival. ‘An unfortunate thing to do’, Slayer thought quietly.
The assassin stood, and dipped his head deeper than he normally would. “I am sorry for doing this, but I have no other choice. If my pilot dies, I will have no way to leave this planet.” Slayer turned, not wanting to look into the Elder’s eyes. He had a mission to focus on. “I will depart immediately. Shamon, if you could please lead me back to your car-”
“Where were you fleeing to?”
Slayer stopped mid-step. The light howling of the wind outside was the only sound. Setting his heel down fully, he gave a half-glance towards Imamu. “Does it matter? If I get my pilot and repair my vessel, you won’t have to worry about me ever again.”
“Sate my curiosity.” There was a certain indescribable undertone to Imamu’s voice. One that gave Slayer pause. He was not one to take orders well, and what the Zebra just said almost sounded like a command. Or was it a plea? The neutral look on the weary muzzle made it hard to discern. “Amuse an old beast.”
Slayer almost winced. The beast comment he made was a venomous bite that held no genuine poison in the soldier’s heart. For a moment, Slayer considered just walking out the tent without another word. But, for some reason or another, Slayer decided to indeed sate Imamu’s curiosity.
To a point.
“Me and my crew learned of a place separate from the warring factions of my people. It had been lost for hundreds of years, but we figured out where it was. When we tried to make the voyage, we had been attacked, and was forced to land here. On your world.”
Imamu squinted. Slayer mused that this was the reason why the Zebra had significantly more crow’s feet than the other Elders. “Did you have any evidence that this place was even still there?”
Slayer’s face sagged a smidge, but the action went unnoticed behind the tinted glass. “No. We were simply running on hope.”
“Are you still hopeful you’ll get there?” The question wasn’t intrusive. Slayer didn’t have to answer. Answering would only expose a potential weakness. Something a potential enemy could exploit. That was the last thing he needed, right?
In fact, for what felt like eons, Slayer didn’t respond. The stillness caused Shamon to shift uncomfortably. Subconsciously, the assassin rolled the glass orb around in his hand once more. Eventually, however, he gave a brief chuckle--one void of actual humor--and walked out saying only three words.
“I hope so.”
Starbrought
“Take a right up ahead,” Gilded Feather yelled back as she ran down the hallway towards the vault at a speed that would have impressed a sprinter. “We’re nearly there!” Her white lab-coat fluttered behind her as she sped through corridors, reminiscent of a cape in an old movie.
Thoughts raced through her mind as her synapses fired, calculating nearly every move that she, the creature, or the soldiers could possibly make.
Her colleague however, was not doing so well. To be fair; when you’re in your late 50’s, what would one expect?
The much older, and out of shape Glass Wing was struggling to even get into a running speed as his hips were hurting him immensely. He wheezed and coughed as he moved as fast as he could, his lab-coat staying right on his back where it belonged. He looked up to see his colleague moving away from him at a rapid speed, and soon she disappeared from view.
“Doc...cough... Doctor, do you mind slowing down for a moment? Doctor?!” Glass yelled as loud as he could, which sadly forced a small coughing fit to develop. Glass waited for a moment, hoping that he was not too far behind. After a small bit of time passed, he was starting to get worried.
“Fine,” came the lone reply from down the corridor, forcing a small smile to appear on his old beak. He began to do a half-stumble/half-limp in the direction the voice came, which was the only way he could progress without having a heart-attack.
Several moments later, the shape of a Griffon appeared in the Doctor’s vision. However, several more steps later caused the lone shape of the Griffon to be split into several more shapes. Glass stopped for a moment and squinted, trying to get rid of what he thought was just his bad vision messing with him. The shapes did not go away, however, but instead got clearer and more precise. There was definitely more than one Griffon, and they were much bigger than the Doctor.
‘Soldiers. Why did she go to the soldiers? She must know something my old self doesn’t. Wait, that was a stupid thought. Of course she knows more than I do; she freaking works here!’
As Glass got closer, he could see a clearer picture of what was happening. And what he saw worried him. Gilded Feather was in the middle of a semicircle of five fully-armed Griffon soldiers. They stood around five feet tall, and were built to par. However, the thing that caught his old eyes the most was the armor.
The usual Griffon soldiers that he had seen had the same simple armor. They were a dark, midnight black chain and plate armor that covered their sides, chest and neck. There was a hole in the armor by the wings so that the soldiers could fly without interference. The wings themselves were not guarded, simply due to the fact that the extra weight could cause problems when it came to flying.
The helmet however, was one of the main symbols of the Griffon race. It was similarly related to the helmets of the ancient Pegasus race and the modern day helmets of the Equestrian Royal Guard. However, there were some notable differences. For one, the helmets had a fortified section that went over the Griffon’s beak to protect it from blows that could fracture the beak, and in general it was much stronger than the Equestrian version. Another difference was instead of the plume on top of the helmet, there was instead a traditional set of the soldiers’ own feathers.
These soldiers however, had different armor. Instead of the dark, midnight black commonly found on the persons of the usual rabble that composed the Griffon Army, they were a gleaming porcelain white, and the armor looked to be made of a different material than the usual steel armor. The feathers were still there, but there was also custom, flexible armor covering the wings.
As Glass neared the circle of Griffons, he began to pick up words from the semicircle.
“So, let me get this straight, Ma’am. You believe the sudden loss of power and tremors could have possibly been caused by a subject of yours, and that we need to instigate a Level-3 Lockdown of the section up ahead?” A gleaming white soldier with the stripes of Sergeant spoke to Feather in a very militant tone, with no hint of humor or sarcasm in his voice. He was a dull brown color, with sharp yellow eyes and a small scar running from his beak up to his right eye.
“Yes Sergeant, I do,” Feather said in a slightly panicked tone. She had a minor twitch in her legs, showing her nervousness at the situation.
“And as someone like yourself must know, Doctor Feather, we cannot instigate a Level-3 Lockdown without proof of the action. So, could you please provide me some, Ma’am?”
An awkward silence developed as Gilded Feather raked her mind to find some evidence that she could possibly use to convince the Sergeant to initiate the Lockdown. Beside her own opinion, which sadly the soldiers would not take into consideration due to their training, she had no evidence.
“...No Sergeant, I cannot provide you any evidence as of now that this creature did cause this event,” she said with a slightly saddened tone. “However, I do ask that you contact the guards in the room to ensure that nothing could have happened.”
The Sergeant considered this for a moment, before opening his beak again to respond. “Very well, Ma’am; that I can do for you. Private Iron, hand me the P.R.I.C.K.” Behind him, a Private who responded with a ‘yes sir’, took one of the magical crystals out of his backpack. He handed it to the Sergeant, who opened up the channel to the guards in the room.
“Private Griphook, this is Sergeant Diamond: please report in.”
Silence filled the room as no reply was given by the guards, and Feather felt her blood run cold. She had a bad feeling about what was going to happen, and her feelings were usually right. A look of confusion marred with irritation appeared on Sergeant Diamond's beak.
“Private! Report in!” Once again, silence filled the already quiet room.
“Sergeant, I do believe this is proof that something happened in that room. Can you start the Lockdown, please?” Feather whispered in a hushed voice. The rest of the soldiers looked around, a small bit of fear emerging on their usually stone-cold visages. The Sergeant took a minute to think, which allowed Glass to finally join the group, although a bit behind the rest of the soldiers.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to say but this does not prove that this creature was the one that caused the problem. Perhaps the tremors may have damaged their P.R.I.C.K., or the channel is down for whatever reason." The distraught expression that came over Feather's face made the Sergeant backpedal slightly. "However, since there is no way to be sure of this, I shall lead my squad to investigate what happened regardless. And if the creature has escaped, it shall be subdued. You can be rest assured, Ma’am.” The other soldiers grunted in approval, their minds filled with a pride that had been drilled into them.
Glass took this as his cue to step in, mostly because he had something to say. And from the look of Feather, she may have had something along the same lines until she noticed him. He gulped, and hoped that these formidable looking soldiers would listen to an old Griffon like himself.
“Sergeant, with all due respect, I don’t believe you understand what you're dealing with,” Glass said with the clearest, most straightforward voice he could manage. “The creature that we were... are dealing with, is unlike anything we’ve ever dealt with or seen. I don’t think-” He was cut off by one of the soldiers rapidly turning around and drawing his sword, before pointing the razor sharp blade directly at Glasses’ neck. The poor old Griffon's eyes got so wide they looked like dinner plates.
The blade was a pure white color, with light gleaming off its surface. It fit the Private’s talon perfectly. The blade was double edged, with the two sides meeting in the middle of the blade to form a stabbing point.
“Calm down, Private! He’s my colleague on the project," Feather yelled as she grabbed the Private’s arm and pushed it away showing a surprising amount of force. Nearly instantly after that, Sergeant Diamond grabbed the Private on the shoulder and pulled him back before exchanging a stare that said everything without saying anything.
An awkward silence followed, while Feather helped Glass calm down a bit, which in Glasses' opinion was an odd turn from her usual cold personality.
The hallway was filled with the usual silence that came with hallways inside secret mountain bases. The only other sound that could be heard was the small hum from the lights that lit up the hallway. So, it may have been a bit of a surprise when suddenly, out of the blue, the lights turned off.
“OK, you guys really need to work on your power supplies. I mean, come on,” Glass complained. Two of the Privates pulled out glow sticks and activated them. A faint neon glow filled the corridor, which allowed everyone to see a small distance into the now pitch-black hallway.
“Dr. Feather, you don’t think that our little friend could have been involved with this, do you?”
“I wouldn't put it past him. That’s why we're in this situation to begin with, right?”
“...Doctor. Say that the creature does show up while the guards are here. What will happen?”
“To make it short and sweet?" A sigh left the hen. "They’ll try to reason with it, and if that does not work they will use any necessary force to either capture it or prevent it from escaping. And if worse comes to worse, they’ll kill it,” Feather stated with remorse in her voice. Wing gave an odd expression, like he could not believe what would happen.
“What? That makes no sense!”
“It doesn’t need to make sense. Down here, security is placed higher than above all else, even life. You know, all that for the greater good and such,” Feather said, nearly copying the speech that was given to her at the orientation.
“What could be hidden down here that would cause you to do something like that?!”
“Like I said before, I don’t know. However, you can guess that due to the severity of the rules, that it’s something big.”
While their conversation had been going on, Diamond and the other Griffons had been trying to get in contact with the power room to get a sit-rep, but with no results. The power room head engineer explained that the mountain's power supply had a sudden loss in power, and the engineers couldn't understand or explain what had happened.
“Sergeant Diamond, can you come here, sir?’ Diamond turned around to see one of the Privates pointing out into the darkness.
“What is it?”
“Sir, there’s a light down there, or something along those lines.” Diamond peered into the darkness, and sure enough, there was a very dim, red light at the end of the darkness. It did not appear to be moving.
“Doctors, come here for a moment,” Diamond called and waited as the Doctors came over. “Do you two see that light out there?” They both looked, or squinted in Glasses' case, but soon enough both nodded.
“Any idea what it is?”
“No idea,” Glass said back, clearly becoming nervous. This was right out of a ghost story, and those usually turned into horror stories. Before Feather could get out her response, the light suddenly disappeared, returning the dark hallway to what it was before. The group of Griffons stood in silence, their minds trying to explain what the light could have possibly been.
“Perhaps we should go and check it-” Doctor glass was cut off by the Sergeant raising his right talon.
“Don’t even think about it. I’m not going to risk my life, my soldiers lives and yours to go and investigate an unknown object in a dark hallway. We could get ambushed or anything along those lines.”
Before anyone could mutter out a response, the P.R.I.C.K. suddenly received a message from the power station.
“To all sectors currently without power, we apologize for any inconveniences that have occurred. Power to all sectors will be restored momentarily. If any more problems continue, please contact Maintenance at once.”
“Well, that’s good news,” Glass said with a happy tone. ”Sergeant, when the lights come back on, will we be able to continue our journey to the creature?”
“Yes. I don’t believe I was told your name, Mr…?”
“Dr. Wing. Glass Wing, sir.”
The officer quirked an eyebrow at the aging Griffon. “Is this your first day down here, Dr. Wing?”
“Yes it is.”
“Hell of a first day then,” Diamond let out with a laugh, which sounded forced coming from such a grizzled vet.
“I guess you can say it is,” Glass said back with the same little laugh at the end. He however, was suddenly blinded as a rush of something white eclipsed his vision. ‘I take it this would be the power coming back on. Funny, it wasn’t this bright before.’ As his vision cleared, he noticed that there was something dark in front of him. He squinted again, but still could not see anything. He heard Feather gasp, and several of the soldiers cursed.
“Did something happen?” Glass asked with a questionable tone, wondering what exactly was happening.
“Nobody move. We don’t want to startle it,” he heard Feather blurt out, a slightly terrified tone to her voice.
“Startle what?”
“Doctor, open your eyes. We have a guest.” Diamond’s voice was calm and authoritative. Glass opened his eyes--when he closed them, he couldn't recall--and was shocked at what precisely his eyes were telling his brain.
Standing maybe twenty feet away was the exact same creature that he had just been studying thirty minutes ago. However, it was not bound and lying on a table. It, or rather he, was standing up on his legs, and he was tall.
He easily stood over six feet in height, towering over the soldiers and nearly scrapping the ceiling with his head. He wore the same set of sandy black clothes that he had come in with, and a pair of ruined coverings on his feet. He was a peach color, with what looked like a mane of shaggy and dirty brown hair. He had what looked like a faded scar on his right forearm, though the origin of what may have caused it was unknown to the Griffon party at that time.
He seemed to be well built, with very little fat on him at all from what they could see, and from what the doctors had learned when they examined the lower part of his body. They had been stopped due to Glass getting rather hungry, much to Feather’s silent annoyance.
They could not see the color of his eyes, but they could tell that he was just surprised to see them as they were to see him. However, the thing that worried them the most was the glowing red glove on his right hand. Glass could see the soldiers clutching their weapons, just in case the situation got out of hand.
The creature was giving them a puzzling look, and it took a moment before Glass could figure out what the look was. He was being inspected and looked over, as well as every other Griffon in his group, and the same was happening from the soldiers. To put it simply, they were sizing each other up, and that had led to a standoff. A tense standoff had developed, but that was soon shattered by a single, unknown sentence.
“C’est nouveau,” The creature spoke in a deep voice, the sound echoing off the walls of the hallway. The language was unrecognizable, but had a definite accent to it. None of the Griffons answered back his response, but several gulps were heard. However, at least one Griffon was happy.
“This…. this is amazing! Out of anything that could have happened, and of all the creatures, I finally get one that can speak! To be fair, it’s in a language that I can’t understand, but still! This is the best day ever,” Glass exclaimed as he practically hopped around the narrow hall.
Even in the oddity of the situation, both the creature and the rest of the group turned around and stared at the Doctor. The creature had a slight smile on its face, as if he was unsure if he found the whole situation funny.
“Uh... sorry about him. I guess he’s somewhat excited,” Feather said as she face-taloned at her colleague’s odd behavior.
“Je n'ai aucune idée de ce que vous dites,” the creature said back in its odd language. Feather was able to catch a word that sounded like their own word idea, but the rest of what he said was meaningless. Feather was confused, and for one of the first times in her life she truly had no idea what to do. She had gotten a degree in Cryptozoology, and most of the creatures she had been studying did not speak any language besides grunts and tweets.
“Pouvez-vous me comprenez?” No one answered, but a cricket decided to voice its thought on the creature. Thankfully, none of the soldiers nor the bipedal being could understand the small insect, else they would have blushed at the vulgar word-choice. “Prenant cela comme une no. God damn traducteur! Je blâme Slayer. Fatass probablement assis sur elle.”
“We have no idea what you’re saying,” Glass interrupted, and it appeared that his sudden bout of energy had gone away. He thought for a moment. Maybe they could establish communications if he spoke slowly? “My. Name. Is. Glass Wing. Do. You. Understand. Me?”
“Je. Ne. Peux. Comprendre. Que. Vous. Veuillez. Arrêter. De. Parler. Comme. Ce.” the creature said in a tittering response.
“Doctor, what is it saying?
“Uh… It appears to be mocking Dr. Glass, Sergeant.”
“Well that’s rather rude. I’ve done nothing to it!”
“Je me suis réveillé sans pantalon. Vous avez fait quelque chose,” the creature’s tone grew to one of annoyance. It drew up its hand and pointed towards itself, making the guards reach a bit closer to their weapons.
“Mon nom est Yuri. Yyyyyuuuuurrrriiiiii.” He said, drawing out the last word. It took Glass and Feather a moment to realize what he was saying, but it told them something very, very important.
“Your name is Yuri?” Feather took a step forward, and noted that the creature shifted its stance a bit.
“A pris you long Assez.” Feather began to open her beak to remark that what the creature had said was a mixture of his foreign tongue and Equestrian, but the P.R.I.C.K. in Diamond's bag suddenly went off with a brisk ring. The creature named Yuri looked on in intrigue as Diamond took out the object and put it to his ear.
“This Is Sergeant Diamond. Ye- Yes sir, I’m sorry for not responding to your call. We were called away due to a Class 4 situation that-” The Griffon paused for a moment. “Yes, a Class 4. No- no, we don’t have the subject in binds yet. He’s trying to commu-” Sergeant Diamond trailed off, face contorting in surprise. “But sir, he’s not making any moves to try to escape or become hostile. I mean, he was mocking one of the Doctors…” Another interruption led to him sighing. “Yes sir, I understand,” Diamond put the P.R.I.C.K back in his bag, and called to his guards into a circle.
After a few moments of rapid discussion, the group turned around and stepped in front of the Doctors. A rattle was heard, and a pair of taloncuffs emerged from the bag. The creature’s face suddenly turned from a look of confusion to a look of anger as it fell into a defensive position.
“Sergeant, what are you doing?!”
“I’m sorry Doctors, but I need you to back up. Colonel Hard Rock ordered me to take this... thing into custody by using all available and necessary force.” As if by command, all of the soldiers drew their swords and took to a fighting stance. The corridor was a tight space, so flying in a combat situation would be limited.
“Creature by the name of Yuri, I hereby in the name of Leo take you into custody. You have no rights, and if you do not meet this order, we will respond with the necessary amount of force to incapacitate you,” Diamond said in the cold, emotionless voice that most soldiers spoke in. "Will you comply?" Yuri stared at them, his eyes digging into their chests.
His glove, which had stopped glowing the dark, crimson red suddenly turned back on as it illuminated with the light of Celestia’s Sun. The guards held firm as he moved the glove up to his chest, before moving into what looked like a fighting stance. The glove began emitting a high-pitched whine like it was charging up. A slight shimmer appeared in front of Yuri, before disappearing.
“Come get me, you feathered fucks.”
They came.
Starbrought
Slayer was really beginning to despise the color yellow.
Feeling as if he had been drowning in it, the offensive element of the spectrum assaulted his eyes to the point of a felony charge. He had to endure staring at the same, damn bloody yellow marring the stones, the sands, and everything in between for far too long.
He could hardly wait to be free of the desert.
The quaint hum-drum of Nazar floated lazily through the Solaris Suit’s speakers, filling Slayer’s eardrums with the bustle of the bazaar he had encountered earlier that day. His steel boots pinged off as they marched down the sandstone path, Shamon in tow. Shamon had not said anything to Slayer since they had left the Elder’s presence, and it was starting to bug the assassin.
Slayer glanced towards his acquaintance, a contemplative expression being donned on the striped muzzle. “I am sorry that I was forced to threaten your Elders.” Slayer was never good with apologizing. Or with using tactful euphemisms. Or with small-talk in general, really.
“It is fine.” From the tone of Shamon’s voice, Slayer could definitely tell that it certainly was not.
Slayer pursed his lips as the pair descended a brief bit of stairs. He was feeling much more guilt and regret than he had originally anticipated. Why was this affecting him so? They were aliens, sapient equines from an entirely different galaxy. Why did he care? Why did it seem unfeasible to just ignore the aggressive intimidation he had put that assembled council through, and proceed towards more important matters?
Shamon gave a tired sigh, and glanced up towards Slayer. The height difference was so monumentally great that the Zebra almost had to strain his head to look into Slayer’s visor. “Look; I understand why you did what you did. So don’t feel as if you must apologize to me.”
The bounty hunter shook his head. “I do not apologize because I feel like I need to. I apologize because I wish to.” This was another of Slayer’s half-truths, as he did feel like Shamon was entitled to an actual apology.
After all, Shamon gave him food.
Said Zebra gave a snort, which only prompted Slayer to continue. “I am currently stranded on an unknown planet, with my ship in tatters and the remnants of my crew scattered. I've been attacked by alien dogs on two separate occasions. My mind is stressed, frustrated, and above all else revengeful against those who kidnapped my pilot. It is hardly fair to hold my actions on what I felt I needed to do to survive against me--”
“Would you have followed through with your threat if Elder Imamu had not given in?”
The abrupt question made Slayer stop, and Shamon paused in front of him soon after. Would he have? It was a question he himself had been mulling over ever since he had passed through those fabric flaps of the Elder's tent some minutes prior. After a few moments, Slayer formulated an answer. “To be honest; no. The worst I would have done is fire warning shots a safe distance away from potential casualties. I will not sacrifice my morality to further my own goals, at least not to that extent.”
Slayer needed to tread carefully. He needed the Zebra to remain friendly. Shamon was Slayer’s only available lifeline. Severing it would do little in the effort of rescuing Drake, and inevitably repairing the Ethereal. 'Although that latter option may very well be improbable...' The recollection brought forth depressing thoughts. Perhaps Slayer was fucked either way. Even with Drake, the planet may not even hold the necessary materials needed to rebuild key components. All that tedious mucking about through sand could have potentially been all for naught.
The faint notion pissed him off.
Shamon stared silently at Slayer, neither of them having continued on their way to the awaiting caravan some city blocks away. Imperceptible to the common individual, Slayer noted Shamon’s leg muscles flexing in thought.
Eventually, another sigh left the Zebra. “I suppose you are right. I cannot blame you for what you did. While I personally may not have taken the same measures you have, you are from a place that seems to run on warfare. With no knowledge of how we function as a society, the only sound thing to do was to presume the worst. However, the matter of trust between us is now an unknown. For now.” Shamon gave a nod, mostly to himself, before he motioned back down the trail. “Shall we press on?”
Slayer nodded, glad to be rid of the gnawing feeling of disgust at his despicable lack of honour. Hearing the withdrawal of trust left an odd, unsettling sensation in the pit of Slayer’s stomach. For now though, as Shamon pointed out, he needed to focus on getting out of the desert, and into Equestria. ‘At least for now,’ Slayer thought. Shortly thereafter, the two were moving along once again, passing by shops both falling into vast disarray, and overloading with wealth from every nook and cranny.
The stark contrast caused Slayer to pipe up. "Is your city suffering from economic troubles?"
Shamon followed Slayer's ever-watching gaze to the run-down stalls paired next door to booming businesses. "Ah, not particularly. The empty shops and buildings you see are a result of the Diamond Dogs."
There was that name again. Slayer had heard it once before in passing of two guards while he had been waiting for the Elders to reconvene with him. "Diamond Dogs? Are these the hounds that we had fought in the desert?"
The Zebra gave a nod to a passing member of his kin, whom gave him a bow in return. The action made Slayer's mind tick. From everything that Slayer had been analyzing and observing, he was reaching an interesting conclusion: Shamon was either the leader of the Zebras--and therefore the Elders were merely his advisors whom he deeply respected--or Shamon was a member of some prominent royal family, and the Elders held the true power.
The assassin grumbled internally. He could have made a bloody fortune.
"Yes," Shamon said, bringing Slayer back to reality. "The very same. Over the past several months, multiple packs of Diamond Dogs have been regularly assaulting our cities, pillaging our caravans, and even taking prisoners as slaves within our borders. Nazar has been hit the hardest." He waved a hoof in front of him, as they had arrived back into the marketplace. His tone only became heavier than when he had begun talking about the Dogs. "What you see before you? This is how many of our kin we lose in a fortnight."
Slayer took a hard look. There were a lot of Zebras. At least a hundred from their current view, with no doubt hundreds more out of sight. How these seemingly unorganized beasts, these Diamond Dogs, achieved such successful raids in the span of two weeks befuddled the assassin, and perturbed him. He understood the value of a prisoner (he himself had taken a few on more than one occasion for credits and favours).
That didn't mean he condoned it. Especially when it was civilians being forced into slavery.
There was no honour in that.
"What about the Equestrians? They are your allies; surely they must provide some aid against these attacks?"
An almost mocking laugh left the Zebra, which surprised the assassin. "Ah, yes. Such great 'allies' the Equestrians are." He shook his head. "No, my kin and their kin do not share such a close relationship, despite us being of the same species. We have only recently established full trade, after all." Glancing back over his people, Shamon continued in the same dejected tone. “We’ve petitioned for assistance several times, each attempt coming back empty-hooved. The Equestrians want our wealth, not our troubles.”
Slayer was almost tempted to carry on the conversation, but realized there was anything of little importance he needed to voice. As such, another quiet (at least, what quiet that can surround one in a vibrant, thriving market) submerged the two as they inched closer and closer back towards the main gates of Nazar.
Soon Slayer saw the main gate in sight, and began to stride towards it with greater purpose. He was stopped, however, by Shamon drawing his staff out of seemingly nowhere and blocking the assassin’s progress. The hitman thankfully had enough control over his reflexes to not automatically snap the staff upon contact.
Glancing down irritably, Slayer’s body language perfectly depicted the silent asking. Shamon stepped in with a chuckle. “We did not stop in Nazar just for you, Slayer. We are here to gather supplies. Give me a few minutes to speak to my kin.” And before Slayer could hope to rebuttal, Shamon deftly trotted off, staff hung on his back.
‘I don’t even recall him bringing that staff with him,’ Slayer’s mind muttered in thought. ‘Where did he pull it from? A rip in the space-time continuum?’
With Shamon’s absence, Slayer noted that the sector of the city where he was now standing in had far less hustling of commoners dashing about. In fact, on the walkway Slayer found himself on in particular, there were hardly more than a dozen Zebras calmly milling about, most of them having the wear-and-tear of recent arrivals. Some carts stood idle just within the city gates, unattended save for a single guard.
The assassin smiled a devious smirk.
Upon closer examination as he approached, however, he realized one of the vessels was the same one he had rode in previously, and that the guard he faintly acknowledged was also part of Shamon’s caravan-guard. Slayer groaned under his breath. ‘Well, shit. So much for looting. If I got caught, there was no way I’d be able to negotiate my way out of it and retain my ride. Looks like I’ll have to settle for what I pocketed already.’ The smirk reemerged on his face. ‘At least until I have some quiet time with the wagon.’
Slayer patted his belt to assure himself that both the pouch stuffed snugly with golden coins was still on his person as well as the glass orb he decided to keep as a souvenir, and glanced around at his surroundings. Shamon could be gone a while; why not do a bit of shopping? He was starting to get peckish, after all.
With casualty and subtlety, Slayer mosied on over to a food-stand built into one of the structures. There were apparently no walls within the visible space, so one could take full view of how the Zebra prepared his items. From the look of the shop, Slayer presumed it to be a curry shop of sorts. Those had become a rising rarity back home, where planets focused their resources more on atmospheric defenses and less on civilian entertainments.
The owner of the establishment stood distracted, lazily cleaning some pots in a sink. Due to the open bar nature of the small store, Slayer walked right up to spitting distance and waited to be noticed. He had originally planned to just announce his presence outright, but he figured to have a little fun with the Zebra, and surprise him.
Slayer hated being surprised, but loved surprising others. ‘Karma will kill me one day.’
It took a while for the Zebra to begin noticing anything. For several seconds, he seemed content to lightly whistle a tune to himself as he scrubbed away at a pan. Slayer watched, breath held when suddenly the stallion’s nostrils flared. The Zebra paused, finally recognizing the Slayer-shaped shadow overtaking the sink. Slowly glancing up, the hitman met the equine and leaned in.
The end result was a girlish scream, and said owner of girlish scream swiftly hiding behind the bar of the store. Slayer’s eyes were alight with mirth, but he kept the humor out of his tone. “I apologize; I did not mean to frighten you.”
‘Bullshit,’ Slayer thought automatically with a grin.
“Oh holy divine, you nearly sent me to Tartarus.” Slayer’s curiosity rose significantly watching the middle-aged Zebra recover his wit. For one, he now had confirmation that the aliens had a religion of some sort, which was unusual to find amongst such... primitive people. The second thing Slayer noticed was the name Tartarus. That was another word that came from Earth. What was it, though? Slayer always had difficulty remembering.
“As I said, I apologize. I was merely seeing if you had anything for sale.”
Shaking his head to dispel the previous fright, the stallion fully heard Slayer’s words. “I do. My name is Wampum, and this is my shop. Anything edible in the desert, and beyond; I strive to provide.” An almost mock bow was given towards the assassin. “How may I assist you?”
At this point, Slayer was staring strongly towards the Zebra. He hadn’t finished debating on whether Wampum was a sleaze or not. There was something different in the tone, something darker than what Slayer had heard in passing. Perhaps a trick of the mind? He wasn’t so sure. Slayer decided to drop the more refined dialect he was using in favor of a more informal speech. “I need food. Meat, if you have it.”
A disgruntled look overcame the stallion. “You’re an omnivore, yes?” Slayer’s nod put him to ease, or rather, slightly more at ease. No doubt dealing with a die-hard meat-eater was much more nerve-wracking than someone who would be willing to substitute a cranium for a carrot. “In that case, I can provide. I only serve fish, however; we Zebras are not so barbaric as the Griffons to serve... red meat in our borders.”
The bounty hunter shrugged. Any meat was better than none. “Hell, I’ll take it. What meals you got with fish in it?”
“Depends on your budget.” Slayer smirked. ‘Ah, and here comes out his crafty side...’ Slayer responded by dropping the bag of coins he stole from the caravan onto the counter. Wampum raised a hungry eyebrow. “Ah, a big appetite. I like big appetites.”
Slayer rested one of his elbows on the bar, glancing over at a hanging menu. It was composed of a variety of scrawls that not even the translator could decode. Slayer merely chalked it up to the script being so informal that the archaic dead language stored inside the mainframe couldn’t compute it. Some words did become distinguishable, though; the squiggly lines actually formed coherent words that overlaid the original on Slayer’s HUD.
Wampum caught Slayer’s gaze. “Can you read Zebrican, Interloper?”
“Aye. Not well, though--” Slayer gave himself a moment to half-think, half-groan at the name of the natives’ language. It was so... obvious. “Wait, you know of me?”
“Of course.” From the expression adorned on the muzzle of Wampum, this was apparently a stupid question. Slayer wanted to smack said muzzle of said Wampum with a satisfying amount of force, but restrained himself. No antagonizing until he got his meal, dammit. “News is all over Nazar about how you saved Bwana Shamon from the sand devils.” The Zebra leaned in a conspiratory manner. “Good thing you did. Otherwise the prince’s uncle would have taken the throne, and our lands would fare even worse times.”
A hum of thought echoed in the assassin’s mindscape. ‘So, that title does signify that Shamon is royalty? That must mean that his father is, or rather was, the king. Really starting to regret not taking him for ransom now...’
“Why did Shamon take the throne instead of his uncle? I presumed the eldest relative gets first shot at the throne.”
“Normally, yes. However, in our culture, if there is a son of the King, then he gets the throne first, regardless of age. If there is more than one son, then the eldest takes the mantle first, and runs through the bloodline until there are no more direct heirs.” The stallion had returned to cleaning the remainder of his dishes. “If there are no direct relatives, then the Council of Elders elect either one of their own members, or a prestigious chieftain to become King.”
“Interesting.” Slayer, more often than not, didn’t exactly have time to pursue academics like history and philosophy. Those studies had to take a lesser role in turn of survival training and hand-to-hand combat. However, the allure of an alien civilization was too much for Slayer. Learning about the natives would help him survive, after all. There could be no harm in it.
Wampum nodded. “Yes, well, we can talk more if you’d like once I have your order down. What are you having?” Slayer glanced at the menu, and simply pointed to the first item he saw that said the word ‘fish’. The Zebra nodded once more. “Good choice. It’s my own recipe. I’ll have it done in a few minutes.”
As the Zebra began preparing some filets that he pulled from Fate knows where, Slayer took to lazily examining the street once more. There were a few more pedestrians trotting about, and two guards armed with tribal staffs patrolled diligently. Slayer raised his budding asking. “I heard of Diamond Dogs attacking and kidnapping your people for slavery, yes?”
A sad sigh left Wampum. “You have heard correctly. Those sand devils have been plaguing our kin for far too long.”
“Is there any sort of pattern to when they attack?”
“Ah, you notice the guards.” Slayer looked back to see Wampum watching the patrol with an unreadable expression. “The Diamond Dogs tend to strike a few hours before sunset on random days. Patrols start happening around this time daily.”
The hitman glanced up. The sun had perhaps three hours before it would reach the horizon and descend. No wonder the Zebras were on edge. Slayer watched passively for a few moments as Wampum ignited a wood fire, and began setting vegetables into a pan. “Go easy on the turmeric. It cuts right through me.”
An interested sound left the Zebrican chef as he cooked. “You recognize the spice? You must be someone who likes to cook.”
“Not particularly. I just remember the name of the ingredient the last time I ordered something spicy.” Slayer let out a snort. “Was stuck in that damn stall for an hour.”
“Heh, yes it does that to some.” Wampum raised an eyebrow towards the assassin, multi-tasking his cooking and his conversation abilities. “So where do you hail from, Interloper? Talk of the city is that you’re from the stars.”
Slayer offered a shrug. “All I will admit to is that I’m not from around here.”
“Well, it was a good thing you were where you were,” continued the Zebra. “Had the prince suffered the same fate as his father, our livelihoods would be at extreme risk. The prince’s uncle is not the... sharpest stallion, if you get my drift.”
Idly, Slayer jingled the bag of gold coins to himself in thought. “Shamon’s father? I presume he fell to Diamond Dogs?”
Another sad expression appeared on Wampum’s face. “Aye. The king had died protecting Nazar from a Diamond Dog assault two months ago.” Slayer was surprised; Shamon did not show the signs of someone who had lost their father so recently. With the Zebra’s heavy emphasis on healthy family ties, it must have been harder than usual on Shamon, Slayer thought. “Many of our kin admire Shamon’s strength for carrying on the position of his father. He represents us proud.”
The assassin nodded. “I’m sure he does.” Suddenly, Wampum set down a plate in front of Slayer. His eyebrows skyrocketed in appraisal at the speed. From the look and smell of the dish, it was cod fillets topped with onions, broccoli, and other various vegetables served over brown rice. “I have to say; this is an impressive spread.”
Wampum gave his mock bow once more. After chatting with the cook for a few minutes, Slayer considered that perhaps he had been expecting too much in the department of being a conniving sleaze from the Zebra. “You flatter me, Interloper. Now, about payment...”
‘Or not,’ Slayer quipped in amusement. ‘No matter the galaxy, no matter the species; money speaks the same language.’
As the warrior clipped the bit purse to his belt in order to properly fish out some coins and eat his meal, something happened. Vibrations began to rise from the earth, and cutlery in Wampum’s shop shook along with the tremors. The plate that held his sought-after food began bouncing. Slayer was confused. Was there an earthquake happening in a desert?
Abruptly, a distant civilian cried out in fear as a furry paw exploded out of the ground, seizing and dragging the helpless individual through the gaping hole. In the distance, a multitude of screams echoed out shortly after. Several more pits erupted from the sandstone floor, and what emerged set Slayer on edge.
“The Diamond Dogs are attacking!”
A tired sigh left Slayer. ‘Damn. I didn’t even get a chance to eat yet. Fuck you, Lady Luck. I expect to be able to eat after this...’
Zebras broke out in a mad panic at Wampum’s shout. The two guards that had been patrolling drew their staves and began engaging random Dogs that attempted to haul them underground. Civilians sprinted this way and that, scattering in alleys and alcoves. Slayer saw three Dogs approach with claws extended, muzzles baring vicious scowls and sharp teeth.
Without breaking his stare, Slayer casually fished in his bag, dropped more than enough wealth than what was probably needed onto the counter, and muttered ‘Keep the change’ to Wampum (who at this point was eyeing the Equestrian currency with an anxious expression).
With this, Slayer drew his sword to meet the Diamond Dog that lunged for his throat.
Starbrought
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That spaceship at the end...
Also, this chapter was out pretty fast, relative to your usual schedule of course. Thanks for giving me a good read ^_^.
The chapters are getting better. Not meant as an insult just a general feeling from reading so far.
Yesh.
I missed you too <3
4234049 Your picture... It horrifies me but fills me with glee at the hilarious concept.
4236323
1-media-cdn.foolz.us/ffuuka/board/vp/image/1380/92/1380921008502.gif
Good chapter but just a quick note...
If you want reliable English to French translation, you can PM me and I will be more than happy to do it ^^.
4239036 doesn't mean they have to realize that.
I really like this. So it gets a fav. Moar please!
I WANT SO MUCH MOAR!
Well slayer's a likable sob lol
4094084
I would have responded sooner, but for some reason I never got a notification you sent this - I only even remembered this story after I got a notification about the second response to me. At any rate, moving on.
All right. Then how did they expand to other worlds in the first place? Why can't they just do that again?
You misunderstand. I refer to nearby colony worlds. Surely people on any given colony would tend to know which other inhabited worlds, particularly rather important ones like Earth, are relatively nearby.
That's nonsensical. Unless these Enlightened are damn near omnipotent relative to humanity, and remain so now, humanity could clear out a virus barring an incomprehensible level of incompetence on a galactic scale.
This is one of the worst arguments I have ever seen. Saying that something is fiction does not negate the science part. Otherwise, by your logic, it is perfectly valid historical fiction to have a story where Napoleon wins at Waterloo against his enemy, King Arthur, by using an atomic bomb. If you're going to ignore all the relevant science, at least have the decency to not call your story science fiction - call it future fantasy or something.
4363640
Ah, I was wondering when you'd get back to me. Nice to see you again. I would like to start this second reply by admitting the point you made here:
I would foremost like to apologize for my childish example I made in an attempt to state my point, as well as how I didn't precisely word the rebuttal as I had meant to, which no doubt caused some degree of misled confusion. When I say this is fiction, I mean that we, as authors, are genuinely entitled to forgo established truths in favour of ideals that aid our own.
I would also like to make an assumption, that I assure you is designed in no way to insult you in any shape, way, or form; you seem to be incredibly bent out of shape over non-fiction elements. Is the capacity for Humanity to populate several star systems in only a few centuries entirely implausible, as you've stated before? Of course it is! But because we needed humans to be scattered all across the cosmos, we here at Ethereal Cerberus simply shrugged our shoulders and ignored an obvious factor of reality. See where I'm going with this?
If this fact has not been blatantly stated, then allow me to be the first to state it: Starbrought is, at of this moment, only a semi-serious work of fiction, and an even-less serious work in the regards of science fiction. We embellish, we admit. We spit in the face of logic and reality so we can find entertainment writing about space pirates that harass magical ponies.
If that is not your cup of tea (which I am getting the impression it isn't), then by all means you are more than entitled to send us a large helping of a middle finger and leave at your leisure. Anyways, I am getting carried away and distracted by that round-about discussion. I'll start on your other topics.
This is a scenario where we, once again, did not feel the need to explain it in the story because we personally felt that it was nonsensical and not worth adding in. In Starbrought, our canon explanation we've decided on behind closed doors is--well, would you look at that?--science! Astronomers used big 'ole fancy telescopes, picked out initial planets, and mapped coordinates and potential orbiting debris by hand. Telescopes either got stronger or were shipped to these frontier worlds along with their astronomers. Rinse, repeat, rinse, repeat; until finally there was tech designed to just make the calculations by itself [the FTL drives].
If that answer does not satisfy you, I am sorry.
You might notice I've rolled two responses into one; it'll save me the trouble of addressing two similar topics without sounding repetitive. The first quote, in regards to how FTL-jumping functions from the meager (and might I add rather unimportant) section of the story: Earth is isolated by a virus. Even if a relatively nearby planet could relocate Earth, they could not do anything about it because the Enlightened virus would delete any data associated with Earth the instant it was entered into a mainframe.
As for the second quote, this is a situation that I can't answer. Not for reasons you think, but because there are spoilers involved where I simply cannot divulge them in order to try and justify myself in an argument. I will just say that if you are curious about why this is, you could stick around and see what happens, or just as simply walk out the door and forget Starbrought altogether.
I will state for the record though, that just because our version of Humanity could not best this virus (a short musing: I am not sure if you've ever heard of the Eternity Code before, but if you haven't it was a concept contrived from the Artemis Fowl series that referenced a code placed on something that was designed in an entirely new language, and would 'metaphorically' take an eternity to crack. Think of that situation here, if you would), does not mean our humans are complete dolts.
So, in conclusion: there are spoilers around certain topics that I can't talk about (so cheer in victory if you so desire), there are certain factors in the story that are genuinely irrelevant for the vast majority of the story (see: every point involving how Humanity lost Earth/populated the multiverse before we can explain it at a later date), and from repeated impressions, you seem incredibly aghast and cynically passive-aggressive against our story on magical ponies (who in of themselves are incomprehensible phenomenons who defy gravity and physics on a regular basis) because it does not follow 'relevant science' but attempts to be 'science fiction'.
I feel like I cannot win this argument over the pointlessness of discerning Starbrought from science-fiction and "future fantasy", but if you wish to continue it as well as any other points, I will try to match you to the best of my ability without eluding to potential spoilers.
-Dumb
8# humm
while having read your discussion with cthulu (never thought I'd type that in a serious way
) about this being fiction and so on, I still have to point out:
Wouldn't such an occasion (needing a high-level lockdown I assume), be enough to set the lockdown in place as soon as just the sniff of a suspicion of something of that caliber was felt?
I might be misinterpreting it here, but it still sounds like it's the "the semi intelligent, murderous, hard to contain gas has escaped" kind of lockdown, where if it was suspected you'd want a complete lockdown ASAP.
a bit of a rambling answer, I'm a bit tired, but I felt like I should post this while I remembered
4516507
Sorry for the late reply, but we haven't checked the comments in quite some time as we were busy caught up writing thousands of words for the next chapters!
Anyways! To answer your question: we acknowledge the point you were trying to make, and we have already thought ahead to answer it as such. While we apologize for not blatantly giving an immediate response in the story, the answer is fairly simple: we are riding off the notion that a Level-3 lockdown is super serious business, and that there has been several previous occasions where false-alarms have occurred. So, they would require indisputable and physical evidence, due to the fact that these lockdowns of this caliber would require the base to be shut down and sealed.
Thanks for the heads-up, in case we had decided to become stupid and forget to explain ourselves. We appreciate it, mate!
-Soviet
4614558 Alright...
I guess that makes kinda sense.. 
.
What might have been a better response is to have the severity of the disciplinary action for a false alarm follow the severity of the alarm, so that a super serious alarm that turns out to be false would have some super serious consequences. Since it IS a super serious situation, it should always be acted on ASAP regardless, BUT, they are people* after all, and people make mistakes
* with a somewhat broader definition of people
.
Oh, and don't worry about late replies, I get much happier over a new chapter than over a reply.