Chapter 37
Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 26th, Gregorian Calendar
The 'Safe Room' was quite aptly, if obviously named.
Like thousands of its kind across the world, the small sound-proofed emission-proofed chamber was secreted two stories beneath a legitimate place of business.
Every single chamber was connected by a satellite-based communications architecture. The orbital devices were ostensibly for entertainment companies. While they performed that function adequately enough, nearly half of each device was given over to an encrypted low band signal processing system.
To any external observer, even a suspicious one, it appeared as if Mr. Utah had simply entered the hotel, checked in, and ducked into an elevator.
What no observer could have guessed, however, was that the elevator had taken him two floors beneath the basement and opened out into the Safe Room.
The chamber was dark and cylindrical. Only two items graced the space; A semi-comfortable metal chair, and a sweeping attached console.
Mr. Utah carefully placed his briefcase beside the chair, and seated himself. He straightened his suit, and tapped in his personal authorization on the console.
After a moment, a series of colors audio waveforms appeared, each tagged with a cabinet member's name.
Mr. Churchill spoke first.
"We're here today to discuss potential action items, valid projects, and functional assets."
Dr. Omaha's voice sprang up next. Calm, collected, but adamant.
"We have several battalions of Phase Three augments, completed and ready. About twice as many refurbished Phase One and Two troopers exist, all told, on a global scale. Unfortunately, they represent the only cybernetically enhanced assets we will have access to for at least a year's time. All of our supply chains have to be re-worked between now and then."
Mr. Utah flicked open his lighter, and spoke as he prepared a cigarette.
"We've been stockpiling large amounts of Draconic Potion. We have more than enough to last through any serious supply restructuring that will be required."
Mr. Corsair quickly interjected, his voice dripping concern.
"My section audit indicates that we're critically low on military assets. The Retribution will be back in mint condition within the week, but we can't risk lofting our last three aircraft, and we can't acquire new large scale airframes any time in the foreseeable future. We'll be reliant on sub-standard light drones. We may as well rule out any form of armored ground asset larger than an APC as well."
Mr. Argus rounded off the grim string of bad reports.
"The political front is in dire straits at present. Pro-Humanism sympathies are at record lows across the Council, and to make matters worse, this comes on the heels of the impeachments which removed myself, and several of my best assets. The only good news is that sentiment isn't especially high for the Bureaus either. We have a chance to do good damage control in the weeks to come."
Mr. Churchill's voice seemed tired, but resolute.
"I agree. I want Midway Section to spend the next three days building a strong line of political attack against the non-Human sympathizers. Mrs. Truman; I want you to make good use of your position on the Council. Find me someone we can use as an anchor, and a powerbase."
The woman's voice came back sure, and strong.
"I think I have someone in mind already."
Mr. Utah cleared his throat, and finished the last of his cigarette, putting it out on the edge of the console with a barely audible hiss.
"This still leaves us without a major line of direct attack."
For a moment, there was silence. Then Mr. Churchill's voice came back sternly.
"We don't have the assets to commit to a major attack. Right now, we are in recovery mode."
Mr. Utah shook his head slowly, and steepled his fingers.
"I disagree. The best thing for us, right now, would be a major victory. A victory I can deliver."
After another pause, Ms. Daladier spoke cautiously.
"What are you proposing?"
Mr. Utah stood, and began pacing behind the console.
"Ragnar was doomed from the start. I don't disagree that doing away with the Solar Tyrant and her ilk was a bad notion, but I vehemently disagree with the proposition that it was worth the type of risk we took. Even if we had succeeded, what would that have earned us? The same scrutiny, the same public ire, and little to no reprieve in terms of the spread of Conversion. A symbolic victory, nothing more."
Ms. Juno's familiar tone of derision nearly brought a grin to Mr. Utah's lips.
"And you think you can do better?"
The man smiled, and straightened his suit.
"As a matter of fact, I can. You see..."
Mr. Utah paused to flick open his lighter once more, and extract another cigarette. As soon as the softly burning tube was clenched firmly between his lips, his smile widened.
"I can offer us the chance to, in a single day's assault, wipe out the Equestrian threat. In its entirety."
Fyrenn twisted a strip of meat idly in both claws. Kephic cleared his throat, and leaned forward.
"You weren't at dinner last night. What has Hutch got you doing that's keeping you out so late?"
The red Gryphon glanced up, and shook his head, "I can't really say."
The statement brought looks of concern, shock, and even a little anger, to the group. Varan glowered as he spoke.
"For what reason?"
Fyrenn sighed and closed his eyes.
"Because I had to agree to keep it off-books. At least temporarily."
Carradan cocked his head and snorted.
"So?"
Fyrenn fixed him with a piercing glare.
"So lives beyond ours are at stake. I tell any of you, and it not only puts you at risk, and puts Hutch in an even more compromised position... But others, very vulnerable people, could die as well."
The statement broke the general atmosphere of irritation, replacing it with concern, and contrition. Skye frowned.
"Are you sure we can't help you?"
Fyrenn shook his head curtly.
"Trust me; I wish you could. I really do. I think it would make my task infinitely simpler. But we all have our jobs. Hopefully if I make enough progress, mine will meet up with all of yours somewhere soon, and then we can make real headway."
Neyla sighed, and shook her head.
"I knew I should have demanded to be included in that discussion."
Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, "Then why didn't you? I could have really, really used a second set of eyes. I mean... You have no idea."
Kephic snorted, and scarfed down a piece of bread.
"That bad?"
Fyrenn nodded, "Try to imagine finding a golf ball buried somewhere in the world's largest cave system. Now imagine someone moves that golf ball every day. To say nothing of all the monsters and slimy things in the cave that you have to push past to get where you're going."
Varan nodded, and sighed.
"That does beg an important question."
All eyes fixed eagerly on the golden Gryphon.
He finished chewing a strip of synth-meat, and cocked his head slightly.
"What precisely is a golf ball?"
Fyrenn decided that a little extra exertion was a small price to pay for a large boost in protection.
It certainly didn't hurt that the full suit of unmarked body armor added to his intimidation factor considerably.
The red Gryphon spent most of the morning circling fruitlessly through alleyways, steam vents, and maintenance tubes.
Mile after mile of drab gray duracrete, older decaying concrete, and imposing steel support beams fell away. The monotony was disheartening.
The discouragement was only compounded by his attempts at uncovering information. The Gryphon spoke with nearly everyone he crossed paths with; Two Diamond Dogs, three gang members, a pair of maintenance workers, and two homeless women.
No one had anything of relevance to disclose.
Just before noon, Fyrenn decided he'd had enough. He spent fifteen minutes scrambling his way to a surface street, and another ten finding a place to get lunch.
He reluctantly settled on a small fast-food kiosk. The automated device was barely as large as two banking terminals put together, and only offered a limited selection of kelp and synth-meat products.
Fyrenn selected a triple portion of synth-meat, and made his way across the street to a series of empty benches, the plastic encased 'food' clutched under one foreleg.
He yawned, stretched, and took up a relaxed position draped over one of the benches. He removed his helmet, sighed, and tore into the synth meat packages.
As Fyrenn began to chew the disgusting rubber-like substance his gaze, and mind, wandered aimlessly.
He swept his eyes over the sleek curvature of the nearest megaskyscraper, and tried to frame the sight in optimistic terms. He tried to imagine what such a structure would look like against a lush green landscape, and a piercing blue sky, Gryphons and Pegasi circling around its open air balconies freely.
Fyrenn's musings were sharply disrupted by the unexpected advent of a white and red projectile. Reflexively, he raised a claw and snagged the object out of the air, interrupting the latter potion of its flight.
Fyrenn glanced down at the baseball with an expression of bemusement, then up at the item's point of origin.
A small gaggle of children, mostly young Humans, and a smattering of colts and fillies, stood in the mouth of an alleyway across the street. The kids shuffled awkwardly, and peered out at the Gryphon with expressions of dismay and fear.
Fyrenn smiled, and waved one claw. The children shrank back.
The red Gryphon glanced down at the baseball, and tossed it lazily skyward, catching it easily as it came back down. He slowly rose from the bench, and took a thrower's stance on his hind legs.
Fyrenn made sure that he imparted as little momentum to the orb as he could without ruining its arc. He had no desire to crush the baseball to a pulp against the opposite wall of the alley.
The baseball sailed up and out, falling gracefully into a proffered glove as one of the older Humans stepped forward to receive it.
She offered Fyrenn a slight smile, and the group pulled back into the alleyway to continue their game.
The red Gryphon turned back to the remainder of his meal. As he chewed the last of the synth-meat, he fixed his gaze surreptitiously on the children.
In typical youngster fashion, their variation of baseball was crude, physically rough, barely confined to any set of rules at all. They looked to Fyrenn as if they were having a great deal of fun.
He paused, and cocked his head, as a thought occurred to him.
As soon as he had swallowed the last of his meal, he rose once more, placing his helmet back on his head, and dropping to all fours.
He crossed the street as silently as he could, his presence going unnoticed until he arrived in the mouth of the alley itself.
One by one, the children noticed the Gryphon's advent. Silence descended, and the youngsters pulled together into something resembling a protective huddle.
Fyrenn smiled as invitingly as he could.
"Whatever the rumors say; I promise I won't bite."
The silence continued, so Fyrenn sat back on his haunches, hoping the posture would decrease his intimidation. He removed his helmet slowly, and set it on the pavement beside him.
"Which of you pitched me that fastball?"
The group shrank away, leaving one of the younger girls to shuffle awkwardly, staring down at the pavement.
Fyrenn's grin widened as he noted her tomboy hairstyle, and baggy ConSec T-shirt.
"I don't really know anything about sports but I have to say... You've got a nice arm."
She smiled slightly, and finally spoke.
"Dad says I need to work on my control."
Fyrenn tilted his head slightly, and thrummed deep in his throat.
"That's a fair assessment. But I wouldn't worry too much about it. It's just a matter of practice."
One of the Colts peeked out from the back of the group, and spoke in a barely audible tone.
"Are we... In trouble?"
Fyrenn chuckled, and shook his head.
"Absolutely not. But I sure am."
One of the older boy's stepped forward, his eyes widening.
"I thought Gryphons couldn't get into trouble!"
Fyrenn laughed outright, dipping his head and closing his eyes, trying to reign in his mirth as best he could.
"Are you kidding? No one is better at getting into trouble than we are. And as Gryphons go, I am easily the worst."
A younger boy took a hesitant step forward, and squinted.
"Hey... I recognize you! You were on the 'net, and the news..."
The red Gryphon sighed, and nodded.
"Yeah. I was actually hoping no one would notice. Being a celebrity isn't all that wonderful."
Fyrenn smiled down at one of the younger girls as she tentatively brushed a hand against his right wing.
"Go on. It's very real."
To emphasize his point, he stretched out his right wing, forming a gigantic crimson canopy. The children crowded forward to examine the complex layering of feathers.
Fyrenn's smile widened.
"You know, I wonder if any of you could help me get out of trouble. You're all pretty good at it right? I certainly was when I was your age."
The words garnered Fyrenn a dozen curious, mischievous, entranced expressions. The red Gryphon lowered his head, and spoke in a faux conspiratorial whisper.
"I'm looking for someone. I think they're in trouble too, and if I can't find them, then I'll be in trouble. Deeper trouble anyways."
Fyrenn glanced up at the end of the alleyway, then gestured with a claw.
"You ever see anyone your age who didn't have a home? Ever hear anything about children with strange metal bits and pieces on the heads, and backs?"
One of the smaller fillies nodded slowly.
"I saw a girl. I thought at first she was wearing a helmet like yours. But I think maybe the shiny bits were actually part of her head. I think she wanted to play a game with me, but then another girl came, and the two ran away together."
Fyrenn did his best to hold back his enthusiasm. He had no desire to upset his young helpers.
"When was this?"
The little Pony stuck her tongue out one side of her muzzle, and glanced up at the sky thoughtfully.
"Yesterday maybe? Or the day before..."
The red Gryphon leaned in close, and held the volume of his voice in check as best he could.
"Do you remember where?"
The filly nodded adamantly.
"Mom says I can't go there anymore. She was really angry when she caught me... Won't your mommy be angry with you if she catches you? My mom said no one is supposed to go down there."
Fyrenn shook his head and blinked.
"I... Don't have a mom anymore. She went away when I was just a bit younger than you are."
The unicorn hung her head, her ears drooping to match the melancholy in her voice.
"Oh. I'm sorry."
The Gryphon sighed and shook his head once more.
"I'll see her again. I've learned not to worry about that so much anymore. But I am worried about your little friend. Don't you think she might get in trouble for being 'down there' too?"
The filly's eyes widened, and she nodded slowly, as if everything had become clear at last.
"Oooohhh yeaaahhh. Well, you know the place with the huge big holes in the ground? Where all the boxes come and go?"
Fyrenn inclined his head. The description could fit only one place in all the world that he knew of. The little Pony sat back on her haunches, and gazed up into Fyrenn's eyes.
"I wanted to see where the boxes come from. So I found a really old set of stairs. Close to all the big red lights. It kinda smells down there, and there's lots of icky puddles."
The red Gryphon smiled, and tapped the top of his helmet absently.
"Well your mom is right; You shouldn't go down into places like that. There are scary people down there. People who might hurt you."
One of the younger boys tilted his head, stepping back slightly as Fyrenn rose to all fours, and donned his helmet.
"Won't they hurt you too?"
Fyrenn reached over his shoulder and tapped his scabbard. He gave the young boy a knowing wink.
"Not if I hurt them first."
Fyrenn spent several minutes circling his destination, simply taking in the scope of the engineering feats on display.
Thought much of Manhattan's port lay silent for the first time in centuries, it was not difficult to imagine the din of activity that would normally fill the air.
The majority of the actual mega-structure was underground, in the form of thousands of acres of warehouse space. Nonetheless, much of the cargo had to complete its journey aboard trucks, or heavy lift VTOLs.
To facilitate the transfer, hundreds of immense parking-lot sized elevators studded a six by twelve block area abutting the docks-proper.
Adjoining the vast space on one side was a series of loading bays for trucks. On the opposite side, there were two dozen large VTOL pads. Each duracrete octagon was ringed in bright red marker strobes.
Fyrenn dipped and wheeled, easily picking out a set of rusted stairs tucked into a hidden culvert near the edge of the landing pads.
He decided that he didn't trust the flaking, twisted structure to hold his weight, instead opting to close his wings sharply at the last minute, alighting in the gravel at the bottom of the culvert.
The Gryphon froze, and examined his surroundings carefully. He had no desire to disturb any potentially useful imprints in the damp, muddy surface.
Gingerly, Fyrenn picked his way down the concrete gash in the earth, sweeping his eyes back and forth over every single granule of mud, and every tiny piece of gravel. The first ten yards yielded only a few rusted bolts, two pieces of shattered formless plastic, and the positive side of a burst micro-capacitor.
A moment later, however, Fyrenn found what he had been hoping to see. Three distinct sets of imprints.
The first and closest set were obviously the hoof prints of a small Pony. The other two were removed by several more yards. Fyrenn carefully stepped as close as he dared, and dipped his head to examine the impressions.
Encouragingly, the footprints seemed to have been made not by the thick boots of pilots or maintenance workers, but by two small sets of light running shoes with deteriorating soles.
The red Gryphon smiled slightly, muttering under his breath.
"Even ghosts leave foot prints..."
He carefully followed the tracks, noting that the distance between each imprint increased, and the depth proportions altered significantly. The shoes' owners had been running, and at quite a respectable clip.
The prints predictably came to an end at the mouth of a metal drainage pipe. The aperture was several sizes too small for an adult Human, let alone an adult Gryphon.
Fyrenn snorted, and shook his head slowly.
"Clever girls."
He sat back on his haunches, and stared thoughtfully down into the darkness of the metal tube.
"What are you running from?"
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Well we know it is a who. But. A what that I not sure of.
I'm starting to get a Mr. Garibaldi feel toward Fyrenn.
8842794
Oh B5... If only it had ended as spectacularly as it began.